I don't deserve him, I know it. Buck stroked the soft dark hair, calming himself with the touches to Ezra's head. The smaller man had fallen back to sleep shortly after their exchange of a few healing words. At least, I hope they were healing, he thought as he sighed. He'd managed to crawl up into the hospital bed, carefully rearranging the tubes and wires, so that he could sit with his back against the headboard and lift Ezra up into his lap. The southerner had not protested, merely snuggled closer in his sleep. He was tucked up against Buck's chest now, head resting easily against Buck's collarbone, under his chin. Probably curl a few hairs on the nurses when they show up, but right now this is what we need.

Settling his arms tenderly around the compact form of his lover, Buck raised his eyes to stare blankly out the hospital room window. He really didn't see the blue sky or drifting white clouds that now graced the fullness of another day. Chris had stopped back in for a short time, seen that the two men were at peace, at least for the moment, and left. Buck would stay with Ezra, that was understood.

Understood? By Chris, anyway, Buck mused as he fondled one of Ezra's bandaged hands gently. It had been almost too easy to get back in Ezra's good graces earlier. Now, Buck wondered if he'd still have the same reception when Ezra was no longer drugged with sedatives and painkillers. I've sure been a dope. Only, it's hard to change the ways of a lifetime, or near lifetime, he corrected himself.

Closing his eyes, feeling the warmth of the body wrapped in his arms, he drifted back in time. Sarah. She'd been so beautiful, so breathtakingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. He'd fallen hard, didn't want to ever get up and find out she wasn't going to look back at him in the same way he'd looked at her. She'd liked him, sure. Hung out with him and with his good buddy, Chris. They'd been a threesome for a while there, then something changed and he was the third wheel. The inconvenient extra at a cozy dinner. Buck unconsciously gripped Ezra tighter and heard the tiny grunt of pain. Immediately, he loosed his grip and looked down to see that Ezra hadn't wakened. He made a soft, soothing noise to keep his lover sleeping, then closed his own eyes again and returned to his bittersweet memories.

Chris and Sarah were magic. His friends. He'd so wanted to make Sarah his own, but she just didn't love him, not that way. Not that Chris or Sarah ever intentionally hurt him or threw him out. No, they'd kept old Buck by their sides, a best friend to both. His jaw tightened in the remembered pain of his broken heart when he'd finally reconciled his young self to this. It hadn't been easy to continue to smile, joke, and be with those two once they'd recognized their love for each other. They'd been in no hurry and that had given Buck a false hope for the years that he trailed after them to college. When they'd tied the knot upon graduation, he'd been best man. A shell of his former self. His insides burnt away in pain at seeing the love of his life in the arms of his best friend. He loved them both, though, and could not feel any jealousy or anger, just a soul deep wrenching of his own at the knowledge that he'd never find such love again.

He breathed in now, feeling the pain again. Ezra moved slightly in his arms, nuzzling his head in against Buck's chest. And as simple as that, he was healed. Whole again after all these years because he had finally found someone whom he could love with the same, no even greater intensity. And his feelings for Sarah took on a new perspective as he finally saw that what he had felt, however deeply he'd thought at that time in his youth, was nothing to what he felt for this dear man in his arms. He felt a release that was like a joyful epiphany, the knowledge a balm to a torn soul.

He could look back now at all those years after Sarah had chosen Chris, look back and wonder that he'd even survived, he'd been in such pain. No one to confide in, either. He couldn't, not with his best friends the very reason, the cause of his agony of spirit. He pasted that buffoon's face on his personal tragedy and forced himself to find what happiness he could in the company of others. After a while, the face had become his own, and he ceased to realize that he'd donned the mask to hide his true self. Chris had known, though, he thought with new insight. All this time, he'd known and let Buck be. When Sarah was alive, Chris had welcomed him to their home, their lives, shared Adam with him and made him feel at home. Uncle Buck had continued with his jollity, never ever revealing anything else. Yet, Chris had known. But, even after Sarah and Adam were gone and Chris was a burning flame of pain, even then, Chris had made room for Buck, not sent him away like he did all others. Because Chris knew that the loss was just as great, just as painful for Buck. Or nearly so, Buck now admitted to himself. Because now I know. I know what true love is like.

He looked down, resting his chin on Ezra's head, lifting one of Ezra's hands in his to weave his own fingers between his lover's. This, this is true love. If I ever lose you, Ezra, then I will finally know what Chris has suffered. I don't ever want to know that. And, Chris knows. Knows that, too. A single tear trickled down the tall man's face, dripping onto the dark mustache and riding it to fall down onto the dark, sweat matted hair of his lover. I've been hiding out, just like with Chris and Sarah, hiding what I felt, not even letting myself see what I was feeling. Oh, Ezra, I'm so sorry. I've treated you so badly. He put a shaking hand up now to touch the small man's face, pat it lightly. Maybe, if I'd told you, if I'd been there for you yesterday, maybe it wouldn't have gone down this way. I was still hiding, still being the ladies man, the clown. How did you know that I was under all that? How did you see 'me' in here? Ah, Ez, I can only be grateful that you saw, that you came to me and put up with all my shit and still hung on. It's gonna change now, I promise, I'm gonna change. Drop the front and just be me for you. You deserve better, but since you're willing to take me, I'm yours. Forever love.

Four determined ATF agents walked grimly into the holding pen area of the precinct. Only to be met with chaos. It seemed that the sergeant in charge had just been found in the outside alley, dead from a slit throat. And, the prime suspect of the bust was gone. Escaped. Herve Jardain was out on the streets. Alerts had already started out to all the police and agencies, but he'd disappeared without a trace and hope was faint that he'd be found. Vin, JD, Josiah, and Nathan were alarmed and angry but could see that the locals could do nothing more than they'd already done. They were coping with their own dead now.

"We have to warn Buck and Chris," JD said suddenly as they re-emerged onto the sidewalk, the bright morning light an insult to the eyes of those accustomed to the dark shadows of the night just past.

Vin swung around nodding. "We need to get back there now."

Josiah was already flipping out his cell phone to call Larabee and let him know what was happening, and Nathan stepped off the curb to hail a cab. They'd come in cabs, no one wanting to take Buck's or Chris' trucks away from the two men, and JD's bike was of no use now.

Piling into the taxi, they listened as Josiah finished his short, clipped conversation with Larabee. He slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket and looked over his shoulder at the three men in the back seat of the cab. "Chris had a few words for what happened."

"Yeah, I can imagine." Nathan shook his head. "I do too, but it won't help none."

JD slouched down between Nathan and Vin, winding his hands together nervously. "You don't think Jardain would go back for Ezra, do you?"

Vin turned to look at the younger man beside him. "Damn, kid, I hope not. But, Josiah's warned'em and we'll be there soon."

JD shrugged and nodded. "Yeah."

Josiah shared a look of concern with Jackson, then turned to face forward and had to suppress a groan at the wall of traffic they faced. While commuter hour should be over, due to street construction and detours, regular morning traffic was clogged and slowed to nearly a walking pace. Damn good thing I called Chris, he thought was resignation, not bothering to tell the others, they could see the problem themselves.

Herve sat heavily in the small dim bar, two of his associates hunched over the table with him. "The heat's going to be up for a spell, Mr. Jardain. Ain't likely we can do much until things chill."

He ignored the softly apologetic words of Rodney, one of his lesser henchmen. All his good men were now in custody or dead. He'd have to recruit aggressively. For now, at least he had a few lackeys to follow simple orders, just as well, what with his picture gracing post office walls just now. He was waiting for one of his other informants, Jose Torres, who was also a low ranking police officer. Torres had promised, when he'd contacted him, to come and meet, let him know what was going on. Herve flung his cigarette butt on the floor and ground it out savagely with the toe of his shoe. Such a sweet set up and now, all gone. Rebuilding would take some doing. Moving was not that appealing, now that he'd had time to reflect. A new name, some minor changes to face. A new apartment and new operations center. Would it be enough? He had favorite hangouts. Could he still go to them?

He flushed in anger at the thought that that one ATF agent had managed to get through his defenses. The boy was a looker and had used it, and his singing, well, hell, he had the talent. Strange, though, ATF was a fairly conservative agency. To have one of their own in drag, performing in public in a known transvestite nightclub? He shook his head in frustration. That one was a wild card. He wondered where the man was now. Like to have him. He felt himself harden as he remembered shoving his gun barrel up the boy's ass. He shifted in his seat, suddenly rock hard again. Damn, that was good. He remembered the flashing green eyes that had taken on a shocked look of fear. He smiled slowly, thinking, I'm gonna come in my pants, just thinking about that sweet ass. He dropped a hand to fondle himself through his trousers, under the table.

Herve pulled his hand back in anger. What the hell? If they knew I go to that club, they know too much. No, I'm not going to be able to stay here. Damn, starting over is a bitch. He fingered his lip, deep in thought as his two tiresome henchmen edged slightly further away from him in their chairs. It's all Ezra's fault. Wonder if that's his real name or a stage name? Troy Beckwith. I'll pull in my markers with him. He'll know. Or find out. Jardain's smirk grew and he licked his lips with pleasure. Yes. Beckwith's with the FBI, but those feds all talk to each other. He can find out for me. Then, Ezra, or whatever your name is, then you are going to take a small journey -- into hell. And I shall be your conductor. Herve leaned back, relaxing for the first time in hours, and laughed. The angry barking laughter did nothing to reassure the two men who sat attentively at his table.

Ezra opened his eyes. He was still in the hospital room but the perspective was different. He wasn't lying on the bed any longer. He was sitting up, leaning against? Buck. He shifted slightly and tipped his head back to find the man snoring softly, head thrown back against the headboard of Ezra's bed. His two arms, though, encircled and supported Ezra's place in his lap, and were still holding firmly, even in sleep. Experimentally, Ezra tried to squirm free only to feel the arms tighten though the sleeping man didn't move nor his snores even alter pattern. Relaxing back into the nest of Buck's body, Ezra was thoughtful.

He's here for now. How long will it last this time? He vaguely remembered his earlier conversations with Chris, and with Buck. Lots of consolation and encouragement. Wryly, Ezra's lip curled. Lots of promises. Only, Ezra'd had a lifetime of broken promises. Promises are not worth the air spent in making them. He loved Buck. No turning back from that, he'd known it for sometime now. But, he'd also known that Buck didn't love him back. No, he was just a convenient lay. A little sex toy for the nights when the little black book didn't produce a date. Ezra closed his eyes in pain at the remembrance of those mornings, in the office, when Buck would peacock in with a satisfied grin and tell JD and the rest of the team about his latest conquest. He'd never even look my way. As if I just didn't matter. Not until the next time he had an itch to scratch and no one else was around to do it for him.

Ezra opened his eyes again and looked up at the quiet face, so handsome, so vigorous, even in repose. Why can't I believe your promises? Because you make them too easily, Buck, and you never keep them. Hell, that last wasn't really true, because up until now, Buck had never really promised to be true to only Ezra. He'd just say some fancy words about wanting to be with Ezra but needing to keep his 'cover' intact. Whose cover? Ezra had wanted to cry out, but never had.

And where were you when I was getting ready for this case? I needed you! Do you have any idea what it did to me? To have to dress up like a fucking fag? Just because I don't want women, doesn't mean I have to be every stereotype of a gay that ever was. I was embarrassed, I was shamed. Humiliated. Hell, I was GOOD at it! And that hurt most of all.

Tears started to flow silently down Ezra's face as the high emotions of the last twenty-four hours caught up with him. That man, that ugly, gruesome, lecherous man touched me. Kissed me! Slurped his vile saliva on me. Ezra shuddered in memory. And he violated me. Even in his mind, Ezra whispered the words. Barely letting himself think. He took that gun. He took that gun and he. He took that gun and he put it. He took that gun and he put it IN ME! INSIDE OF ME! Oh, god. Shaking violently, Ezra twisted and rolled out of Buck's hold and on to the mattress sideways. Floundering and kicking out in his anguish, his turmoil, he didn't see the tubes being ripped brutally from his arms with his actions, didn't feel the others, lower down, pull free. Physical pain would come, but now he was so totally immersed in emotional pain, that the rest didn't register. Crying, sobbing now, nearly hysterical, he shook and cringed, falling off the bed to roll into a ball on the floor, shaking.

What? What? Buck blinked awake and tried to focus. It took a moment for him to realize just where he was. And remember. The bed was empty except for him. Something had wakened him. Ezra! Then he heard the sounds of pain and misery coming from the floor near his feet.

"SHIT!" Chris dove for the floor and Ezra. Coming into the room, furious with the police for somehow letting Jardain get away, he'd only wanted to warn Buck. Instead, he'd walked in on a living nightmare. Buck was crouching down, kneeling and reaching toward Standish as Larabee opened the door. His undercover agent was a quivering mess, sobbing hysterically on the floor of the hospital room, his simple hospital gown askew, blood dripping from where he'd evidently ripped free from IV lines and more. And he was trying to crawl away from Wilmington's outstretched arms.

Chris landed on his own knees, skidding to a halt beside his retreating agent, bracing himself with arms out on either side of the southerner. "Whoa, now, Ezra! Slow down. You're safe here. It's just Buck over there."

Ezra's head swung around like a cornered beast's and he let out a low moan, almost a bleat. Red-rimmed eyes and ravaged face told their own stories. Chris sat back on his heels and waited, trying to look calm and non-threatening. Not the easiest task. He smiled a bit tentatively, ignoring Buck who was calling out to Ezra fruitlessly but wisely not trying to touch any more. "Ezra? It's Chris."

The moaning sound stopped and Standish cocked his head to the side. If Larabee was here then he was safe. It was alright. Chris would protect him. "Chris!" He tried to rise to his feet but only tumbled painfully onto his injured side. With an inarticulate cry of pain, he sagged down, green eyes seeking Larabee's with a now silent plea.

Larabee responded immediately, leaning forward to carefully grasp Ezra under his arms, but away from the bruised ribs and gunshot wound. He dragged the man across the short distance of slick linoleum floor to him. With care, he pulled Ezra up against his knees and wrapped an arm around him, using his free hand to wipe at the tearstained face, brush back the damp strands of limp brown hair. "Easy now." Without looking up, he asked, "Want to tell me what happened, Buck?"

Ezra clung to the hand that was so gentle, touching him, giving him safety. Oh, god, can I ever be whole again? I'm nothing now, dirt beneath their feet. How can Chris stand to be near me? He grit his teeth and began to fight free from the comforting hold.

"Ezra! Stay still before you hurt yourself worse!" Chris didn't wait for the still wordless Wilmington to answer his earlier question. "Buck! Snap out of it! Ezra needs help, get the nurses in here now!"

Buck, sprawled back in shock at what he'd found on waking, nodded and pushed himself back up to his feet stiffly. Then trotted out of the room with a last sad, desperate look at Ezra lying in Chris' arms.

Vin was the first one out of the elevator, making a straight arrow for Ezra's room. He slid to a stop as he pushed open the door only to find the room empty. Empty. The mattress bare, the machines silent. No sign of anyone. Whirling, he smashed into JD who'd been right on his heels. Josiah and Nathan stood staring from the hall, easily taking in the scene. "What the hell?" Vin's words broke the momentary tableau.

Jackson swung away and stalked over to the nurses' station where two rather red-faced women were wiping perspiration from their brows with tissues. Both looked at Nathan with blank eyes, clearly still recovering from something. What else? Team 7, Nathan presumed. With a growl, he leaned over the counter top and stared at them. Both stepped back, hands rising slightly in a universal defensive posture. "Where did you put him?"

"Upstairs. Mr. Standish had an episode and needed to be restrained. The doctors decided to take him up to the ward for detox." The blonde who'd spoken looked a bit abashed at what she'd said.

"Your other friends are up there with him," offered the brunette. She gave a room number and simple directions.

By now, the rest of his team had heard enough to summon the elevator and were holding it for Nathan's arrival. He turned and left without another word.

Upstairs turned out to be the wing where drug addicts and overdose victims were placed, with rooms that had been fitted with extra security measures and more male nurses. The beds had restraints. Storming out of the elevator, the remains of Team 7 arrived in front of the new nurses' station looking scared and angry.

An older female nurse who was sitting there working on a flip chart of records looked up and took in the sight with immediate comprehension. "He's in there. Your team mates are with him." That nice Mr. Larabee had warned her, warned all of them, that the rest of the team would be arriving shortly and would no doubt be upset. Couldn't be any more so than that poor Mr. Wilmington though. Both men had been frantic when Mr. Standish had been wheeled upstairs. Poor Mr. Standish. Not that he'd any drugs to fight, but he'd demons enough from what she'd heard. He'd been weeping quietly, clinging to Mr. Larabee's hand, with Mr. Wilmington trudging behind them as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. "We put in extra chairs for you."

Four heads swiveled to face the indicated door, four men turned and now slowly made their way toward the faceless panel. Panic passed, all four were scared and wondering what they would find behind that door. Josiah stepped up to it and with a hand flat against the surface, pushed the door open soundlessly. Nathan led the way inside, Vin and JD trailing behind. Then Josiah nodded once to the nurse who was watching from her seat behind her counter. He lifted his shoulders as if taking on an added burden and turned back to the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind him.

Torres downed the bottle of beer in three long swigs. Wiping his mouth with the back of the hand that held the bottle, he shrugged. "They haven't found your trail yet. All the alerts are out but no one really expects to find you. Long as you find a way out of town that's not public transport, you're probably in the clear."

Jardain sat back in disgust. What had he bothered with this man for? This he could figure out for himself. "The ones who got us. The ATF agents. What about them?"

"All I know is that it was a Team 6 operation, Jenner is team leader." Jose dropped the bottle hard on its base on the table, thunking the surface, his hand still wrapped around it. "Rumor says they weren't expecting to bust you last night, came as a surprise to them, too."

Herve Jardain squinted. "How's that?" He really needed better help.

"Not sure, only the one ATF agent that was hurt wasn't on Team 6, he was from another team. Figure there was a mixup."

So, Ezra was ATF but not part of the men that took mine down. Interesting. A loner? He leaned across the table, his anger barely leashed. "So who was he and what team was HE on?"

Torres sat back away from the brutish man in front of him. Glad to see him leave town, money was nice but he's such a piece of trash. "No one's saying." He looked away, not seeing the fists closing and opening on the tabletop as he finished, "Seems to be pretty hush-hush. Not even sure what happened to him, though the medics toted him away to the hospital."

"That's all you know?"

"Yeah." Torres turned back only to find a huge, meaty fist in his face.

He fell back onto the floor and the other man was looming over him, growling. "You worthless crap! Useless!" He kicked Torres in the side viciously. "Useless!" He repeated and kicked again.

"Hey!" Torres tried to roll away but the man kept coming. Kicking. Jose began to worry as he struggled to rise to his feet, twisting to get upright. A booted toe connected with his chin, just under the jaw, snapping his head back with a loud cracking sound. The crooked cop dropped to the floor, unmoving.

Rodney and Ginch, Jardain's two men, hung back, eyes wide. Jardain dusted his hands and looked down disdainfully at the body. "You two take care of this. Clean it up." He moved to the door of the private back room of the small bar, heading out to the main room and another drink.

Buck stood staring down at Ezra's quiet form. The medication had wiped his face clear of emotion, just as a nurse's attentive sponge had cleared it of tears and spots of blood. New IV lines ran down into new punctures of his arm. Velcro wrap, soft but strong fleece backed straps, held that arm and its twin to the inner railings of the bed. Duplicates held Ezra's legs in place. Another larger strap ran high across his chest, above the injured ribs and the healing wound. Buck swallowed, his mind blank.

Chris Larabee sat patiently beside the bed. He had one hand resting on Ezra's nearest forearm, just for the contact. He'd been the only one that Standish would let near him during those crazy moments of pandemonium downstairs, before they'd subdued him. He'd seen the fear and desperation in those lantern-green eyes. Trauma. Shock. The doctors had names for it all. After all, Mr. Larabee, the man was just raped last night. You can hardly expect instant recovery. And, he was shot, Mr. Larabee. Kicked while he was down, Mr. Larabee. Chris closed his eyes. Hell, Ezra had lived through this kind of thing before. Well, not the rape. He flinched at his own heartlessness. This was his friend as well as his agent. And, he'd not stood up to Travis when the man suggested that Ezra go in as bait. Why hadn't they thought it through? Seen the logical outcome of such a mission? Shit. Why didn't I just plain refuse, like Ezra wanted to? He bowed his head and waited. It's going to be alright, Ez, I promise. I'll make it so. Somehow.

The door opened and the rest of his team filed in without a word. Buck looked up and nodded silently to them. Chris stretched, never releasing his hold on Ezra. "Find out anything else?"

Vin answered. "Nope. Just decided you might need us here."

Chris studied his men. Josiah had gone to Buck, laying a long arm over the man's shoulders. Josiah's probably the only one who can do that right now. Nathan had gravitated to the med chart hung at the foot of Ezra's bed and was reading it, his shoulders slumping as he did so. This time, Chris didn't ask anything, he already knew from the doctors and a rape counselor who'd been in earlier. JD was hesitantly approaching the bed, clearly wanting to touch Ezra and equally clearly afraid to do so. Vin padded over to stand at Larabee's side and look down at Ezra. "He gonna be okay?"

Chris met the sharpshooter's eyes. "Yep. Just gonna take time," he added firmly.

There was a rustle as the other men in the room all stood a bit straighter, their leader's tone as much as his words reassuring them that it would be alright. Chris looked back down at Ezra's peaceful face. "Ezra's gonna hurt for a while. Inside and out." He looked back up to meet each set of eyes directed toward him. "And we're going to be here for him, every step of the way." A determination entered each set of eyes.

Buck cleared his throat. Chris blinked lazily at his friend. "Buck, he's going to need you more than anyone, he just doesn't know it yet, so don't go getting your panties in a knot."

JD changed directions and came to a stop beside his best friend. "Hey Buck, Ez is going to be fine. You'll have the rest of your lives together."

Watery dark blue eyes looked down at the computer expert. "Hope he believes that too, JD. I'm feeling pretty helpless here."

Josiah squeezed the man's shoulders with his still overlaid arm. "That's normal, Buck. None of us can ever live through another's pain, but we can be there to help pick up the pieces. Ezra will be alright. You heard Chris. And, he will need your love."

"He's got it." Came the choked reply and then Buck began to cry in earnest, bending over and putting his hands up over his face. JD anxiously moved closer sliding an arm around his friend's waist. Together with Josiah, the two steered Buck out of the room. Nathan, who'd dropped the chart in disgust, came to sit on the other side of Ezra from Chris. He watched Buck's breakdown in silent sympathy, knowing that JD and Josiah were probably the best bet just now on helping the grieving man. Yeah, grieving. He cast his eyes back down on Ezra Standish, the enigma. At least to him. No one should have to suffer as he did. He wished he could do something to make it better but knew that it wasn't actions that Ezra needed now, he needed time.

Terry Jenner sat down with a thump next to his second in command, Kevin Hennessey. The two men shared a discontented look. Ever since they'd gotten word that Jardain had escaped custody, the whole of Team 6 had been driving themselves to find the man.

Nothing, there'd been nothing. Now, Everett, their computer whiz, was backtracking the banking accounts of Loyola Riggs, the dead police sergeant. A whiff of corruption had come up off the streets, from one of Teddy Boeing's contacts. The result was a very complicated and disturbing picture. From what they'd been able to uncover so far, Jardain had kept his own set of informants within the law enforcement agencies. Riggs was only the tip of the iceberg.

Team 6 had found the name Jose Torres only to find the body shortly thereafter. Wasn't going to do much good if every lead they uncovered was a dead one. A dead end. They were meeting in their conference room now, to go over this latest find.

"You know, he's probably out of the state by now." Jim Teak, their sharpshooter, rubbed his fingertips together in an habitual motion.

Conklin, however, shook his head slowly. "No, I don't see it that way. The man is totally self-absorbed, a borderline nutcase to use the vernacular," Bob Conklin, the team's profiler spoke in a fine tenor, almost with a musical cadence. It made everything he said sound more palatable than it often actually was.

Hennessey hid a smile. Kevin liked their profiler but this wasn't the time to inject too much humor in the scene. He just had to think about their friend, Ezra, hurting, and the smile disappeared. He sat forward alertly and added, "Think you've got that right, Bob. From what I saw, the man is a monster."

Terry sat back as his team batted around their findings and options. So far, this was proving unsettlingly non-productive. It was his undercover, Teddy Boeing, a rail-thin man with a dark complexion and hook nose reflecting his Lebanese heritage, who turned the discussion on its head. "I think Standish might be the key, now."

All eyes swung to the dark man, unvoiced questions in the other men's faces as they waited. Teddy leaned forward, splaying his hands on the long table. "The little that I've been able to get points to Jardain searching for information right now. He's pumping HIS sources, too. I figure that's why Torres ended up in the morgue, was one of his insiders but didn't produce." Dragging his long fingers back in frustration, leaving sweat marks on the table's polished surface, Teddy continued. "He got fixated on Standish's persona. He's done this sort of thing before." At this remark, Boeing turned toward Conklin for confirmation.

Reluctantly, the profiler nodded. "Yes, he's done it several times. Never one of ours involved before, only innocents." Bob ran a hand around his collar with discomfort, adding, "The man likes to play with his victims. His personal fetish is young males. He picks them up in these clubs. Uses them until he tires, then basically destroys them. Not always killing them, just mutilating them or beating them until they are physically damaged beyond full recovery." He looked down the table to where their team leader, Terry Jenner sat with a frozen look of horror. "Sorry, Terry, I know that Standish is a friend of yours and Kevin's but unless he's very lucky, Jardain is not likely done with him."

"Even on the run?" Kevin asked harshly, suddenly seeing red.

Boeing answered. "He's not running. Not yet. Gone to ground, and sending out feelers from what I can tell. Nothing leads back to him, though. He cuts off anyone who could help."

Teak, who'd been silently absorbing all this, spoke up in his husky northern twang. "Might mean Team 7 needs to be briefed."

Jenner nodded at their sharpshooter. The northerner never said much, but when he spoke, he was as precise as his bullets. "Got that covered. I'm going in to see how Ezra's doing and speak to Chris Larabee at the same time. From what Travis has told me, the whole Team is still at the hospital with Ezra."

Hill scratched at his head. "How public is it that Standish was part of the bust?" He looked around at the younger men, his grizzled chin never quite free of a shadow, the computer tech and agent was one of the Denver ATF's most senior men. Never very ambitious, more interested in the fascinating world of technology, he had been on the team since its inception. He shoved forward a copy of the daily newspaper. "Mentions our team here, not Ezra Standish. Not even that any agent was hurt." He looked admiringly down the table at Jenner. "You really kept that in the dark."

"Good point, Everett," Terry said, thinking about the picture emerging. If his boys were right, if Jardain was hunting Ezra, then it made sense that he'd stay in the area. Would be why the manhunt and roadblocks, airport surveillances, and other checks had produced nothing. He was hiding under some rock, sending out tentacles, searching for the missing agent. He bit back a taste of bile at the thought of what Jardain had already done to his friend. "Okay," he stood, hooking his thumbs in belt loops as his eyes swept the room, taking in his team, good men, a powerful group. "I'll go talk with Larabee, warn him. The rest of you, see what you can dig up on this angle. And, Everett? See if the ATF security is intact or if anyone is nosing around internally to find Ezra." Shocked looks met this last.

Kevin spoke for the others. "You don't think one of our own? Another team?"

"Don't know what to think. Just want to make sure we don't miss on this one again." Terry stood back now and his men rose slowly to their feet and headed out of the room, toward their new searches.

Hennessey held back, pausing at the door to look at his lover. "Terry, should I come with you?"

Jenner looked back affectionately at the man who held his heart. "No, stay here and keep everyone focused. I'll see Ez. Tell him hi from you, too." He moved closer without touching. They never touched at work. "Thanks, Kev."

Kevin Hennessey smiled and turned away. Tonight would be for them, for now, work beckoned and they had a friend to protect. A fiend to hunt down.

Ezra came around again. He felt as if he was floating above his own body. The experience was unsettling. He tried to lift his hand to wipe at his face. It wouldn't move. He tried again, realizing he was being held back by a restraint. Damn it. He blinked his eyes open wide and twisted his head to see. The floating sensation ended abruptly and he felt the physical pain in his body slam into him. He smothered a yelp of surprise and it came out as a sharp moan.

"Ezra?" It sounded like Buck.

He didn't try to speak, just swallowed against dryness in his throat.

"Here, try this." A straw was pressed against his lips gently. He let it enter and sipped. Tasted like some sort of energy drink, not quite water. He stopped as soon as his throat felt eased by the fluid.

Pushing the straw out with his tongue he tried to speak. The healing scabs on his lips and mouth made movement there difficult. "Buck?"

"Yeah, Ezra, it's me." Wilmington's face, pale and worried, moved into sight over his head.

"Where's Chris?"

"Right here." Larabee sounded from his right side. That meant Buck was actually on his left.

"Why am I tied down?"

Larabee spared a glance at Buck who was drooping back into his seat at Ezra's far side. He wondered if Ezra was intentionally cutting off the other man. "You kind of freaked out on us, Ezra. The doctors decided to restrain you until you were less volatile."

Ezra could almost hear the doctors' voices in those words. Had his team given up on him? Was he in that bad a way? "How bad?"

"Your injuries are actually pretty minor, Ezra." Nathan's voice from the foot of the bed. "The gun shot wound is already closing, it wasn't too deep in your left side. No signs of infection there or around your mouth where you were bitten."

Ezra's world spun. Bitten? Oh, god. It all came crashing back down on him. "Oh, god!" He squirmed and twisted, crying out again and again. He'd been brutalized, ripped up and hurt. Raped by a fucking gun! By Jardain. He needed to get away. He tore at the bindings that held him loosely to the bed.

"Whoa, now, Ezra, steady on, Pard." Buck again, leaning down, holding his arms. In the background, Ezra could hear the voices of other members of the team, calling for help.

Then a new face appeared over him, a woman who spoke slowly, sternly. "Calm down now, Mr. Standish. You are going to be fine. Your friends are all here. We're just going to give you a bit more medication to relax you." She reached up and pressed something on the pole beside the bed. He realized that tubes led from clear bags of liquid down to his arms, his body.

He surged up, breaking the strap across his chest and one of the wrist restraints. "NO!" He whipped his head about, desperately. "Chris! No, not that!" He kicked out and found that his legs were likewise restrained. "Buck! Help me!" He began to cry. Flicking his head back and forth until two large strong hands captured it and held his still.

He looked up and met midnight blue eyes that carried only love and worry. "Ezra, sweetheart, calm down. You'll only hurt yourself. You have got to relax. Please, baby."

"Buck?" The whisper held pain and fear.

Buck Wilmington held back his own tears and gently rubbed his thumbs under Ezra's cheekbones down towards his jaw. "Yes. I'm here, Ez. Will be always here for you." His heart wanted to sing because Ezra was finally turning to him for help, for comfort. He'd been so jealous of Chris but held back when Ezra turned first to their team leader. It was only natural but it had wounded him badly. He understood, too, why Ezra would hesitate to trust him anymore. He'd have a lot to do to convince his lover that he was devoted to him.

"Buck. Don't leave. Please." Ezra's eyes were closing now, the awareness fading as the medication's soothing affects took over.

"Never, Ezra, never gonna leave you." Buck's voice broke, turning hoarse, as he promised to be there. He had dropped to his knees again beside the bed, smoothing back Ezra's hair as he stroked the southerner's face with a trembling hand.

Behind the lovers, JD looked at Nathan. "How long's he gonna be like this?"

Jackson shook his head. "Hard to tell. Ezra's a tough man, but this was more than anyone could face easily. He's going to get better but it will be a while."

Josiah stood up and walked over to peer down at their friends. "I think he's asleep again." He put a hand on one limp arm, pressing lightly. "We should go. Let him rest with Buck."

Larabee rose to his feet, feeling rocky. "Yeah. Only, with Jardain loose, until we know what's going on, we keep watch on the room."

"I'll take first watch," Vin volunteered. None of them had had any real rest since the night before, but he felt guilty still about losing Ezra and that limo. This would make him feel better.

Chris eyed his friend. "You sure?"

"Yep."

"Okay then. The rest of us will get changed, head into the office. See what we can do to find that slime."

Everyone rose to their feet, each man coming to the bedside briefly, to look down on their sleeping friend and to touch Buck's shoulder where he now sat beside the bed. He nodded to each friend but didn't speak.

Heading toward the door, the men stopped abruptly as the door opened to silhouette Terry Jenner of Team 6. "Not interrupting anything, am I?"

Vin sat back on the hard plastic chair and drew one ankle over the other. He was getting used to the looks he was receiving. Not that he was comfortable with them, but he figured if Ezra could put up with it, so could he. Still dressed in his outfit from the night before, skintight pants and boat-necked shirt, that clung to his torso, leaving nothing to speculation, he knew he had a definite 'come hither' look. Only, it was the male nurses that were giving him the eye. The women were dismissing him as too blatantly of the 'other' persuasion. He smoothed back the dusty golden hair he'd pulled into a ponytail. It felt like being a traitor to take any of it off. A betrayal of his friendship with Ezra. There wasn't much he could do for Ezra right now, aside from guarding his door.

The grim whispered briefing that Jenner had given Team 7, at the foot of Standish's bed, had been depressing. The rest of the team was back at headquarters now, trying to find a way to Jardain, shake him out of his hole. They'd come back, one at a time to spell each other on guard duty. Buck would simply stay with Ezra, that was agreed. No one wanted to rely on a police detail to guard Ezra's door. Too many uncertainties in this case, they'd only trust their own.

No one was prepared, though, for how thoroughly Jardain could re-claim his empire, however short-lived it would be. One moment Vin was slumped in the uncomfortable seat, ignoring the interested looks of a rather muscular intern in white scrubs, the next moment the floor was flooded with hooded men in black outfits. Made him think of an old Ninja movie. Tanner had jumped to his feet, back to Ezra's door, pulling free his firearm from the back of his waistband. But, there were too many of them, like ants they came out of everywhere, the hallways, stairs, elevator, even examining rooms. No one spoke. Vin backed up against the door and kicked it hard with his heel. Before he could do that more than twice, he was overwhelmed, men piling on top of him in rigid silence. Vin Tanner was a fighter and he fought, but a pricking sensation in one arm as he wrestled against the throng of men, filled him with dread. The darkness that followed so swiftly, left him unconscious and limp on the floor.

Jardain stepped out of the elevator, smiling congenially at the frozen horror on the faces of the medical personnel on the floor. He nodded to one of the black clad men who seemed to be silently directing his colleagues. With a returned nod, two men dragged Tanner's body out of the way of the door. Jardain strolled over, staring down at the unconscious agent. "Now, I remember you, too," he said with a smile in his voice. "So, you're part of this too? My, my, how the mighty ATF has fallen." He gestured to Tanner's body. "I want him too. Bring him along."

Without waiting for an answer, he faced the door and nodded to his newly hired men. The team was already showing their worth. He smiled, connections with the Korean underground were proving very worthwhile.

Buck had started at the sharp thumps on the door to the room. He stood, moving protectively around the bed to stand between Ezra and the door, gun appearing in his hand. There was silence now. He waited. The door slowly opened and there stood Herve Jardain. Smiling at him pleasantly. He couldn't believe it. Where was Vin?

As he stared into the dark eyes of the monster filling the doorway, smaller men squirmed around Jardain and flowed into the room. Numbly, Buck felt his gun removed from his hand as Jardain stepped inside the room and Vin Tanner's body was dragged in by two more men behind him.

"You? My, my. An entire crew of delights for my palate!" Herve moved right up to stand facing the unmoving Wilmington. "I remember you and this one," his toe nudged Tanner's body where it had been dropped by his feet. "So you two were part of Ezra's little play, too? That one," he gestured to Tanner again, "has potential. A very sweet little package. You? You're too macho my friend."

And Buck knew no more as a hard object slammed down on his head.

Herves smile grew as he stepped over the newly recumbent body and approached the bed of his latest conquest. Ezra. He rolled the name on his tongue. He stopped by the side of the bed and his smile became a delighted grin. His target lay before him, helplessly trussed up with hospital restraints, large green eyes staring up in muddied terror.

"Hello, sweet Ezra." Jardain leaned down and kissed the small man's perfect lips, one hand snarling dark curls of hair to hold the head still. He licked the lips and prodded the teeth with his tongue. When Ezra refused to let him enter, he stood back up and gazed in open lechery at his victim. "You, my dear, are coming with me. I'm not finished with you yet."

George So wasn't sure what kind of sick fuck Herve Jardain was but he knew that he didn't want anymore to do with the turd. It had been bad enough when he and his team had invaded the hospital floor and captured three ATF agents, spiriting them away drugged and bound. Now he wanted to play tag with two ATF teams as well. Enough. So had been a mercenary since he attained his majority but he had no interest in this weird game that the crime boss was playing. He took his men and departed.

Jardain was lumbering around the second floor room in the old saw mill, part of an abandoned hill town outside of Denver, not quite old enough to qualify as an historic ghost town. He'd owned the land it sat on, the whole town, for nearly two years. He'd been smart enough to follow his lawyer's advice to buy it through several sham corporation fronts. The layers of red tape would protect him long enough to enjoy his playmate and the other little toys he'd acquired.

Now he just had to wait for them to wake up, it was no fun to play with them when they couldn't respond. He nodded to himself as he fingered Ezra's hair, letting his index finger dig into the scalp, drawing blood. He grinned as the young man shifted under the attack, still out with whatever the hell the hospital had given him. He remembered the look of sheer terror in Ezra's marvelous green eyes when he'd looked up from his bed and beheld Herve standing there over him. It had been too classic that the boy was already in restraints. Herve drew a ragged fingernail down one side of Ezra's face, leaving a deep red crease mark behind, not quite drawing more blood. "Such a pretty little face, sugar. I'll keep it pure for now. Want to watch it as you get the full Jardain treatment," he giggled. There was a creak of floorboard behind him and he spun around angry at being disturbed.

Ginch stood there quaking.

"What?"

The lackey seemed to shrink without moving. "They've gone. Disappeared."

"Who has? For fuck's sake, spit it out!"

"Your new men, the Koreans."

Jardain scowled and whirled away from his underling. Smashing a meaty fist into the rotten wood beside the dark mustachioed agent's lolling head, he growled, "Damn it, I need some men!" He turned back to face Ginch. "Call Ira Schwin. He owes me. He can send over three or four roustabouts."

Ginch nodded silently and backed out of the room, swallowing his relief to be away from his master. He and Rodney had lasted with Jardain longer than any other help by being wallpaper as much as possible. He licked at his dry lips. Didn't pay to have an imagination either. He didn't look forward to the sounds he knew would be coming from the upstairs room soon. Too bad about the little Koreans. Good fighters, dangerous men. But they couldn't stomach his boss. Not many could.

"It's bad." Chris didn't have to elaborate, Travis had already gotten prelims from Jenner and Sanchez when the two had returned to check up on Ezra and his teammates. Larabee squeezed the tiny cell phone unconsciously as he listened to the AD.

JD fidgeted and twisted his head to peer down the hallway to where blue suits of the Denver PD were swarming around, herding nurses and medics in one direction, laying out yellow and black tape in another. Plainclothesmen with notebooks and others with cameras were wandering around unhindered. Nathan Jackson had already gotten details on Ezra's medications and the visible conditions of Vin and Buck from an orderly and an intern who had been witnesses. Jenner leaned against a nearby wall, a cell phone against his ear as well, muttering softly. Josiah stood like a rock next to Chris, arms folded, legs nearly thrumming with tension.

"He's already here." Chris flicked a hazel-eyed squint toward the leader of Team 6, met the bright blue eyes that so reminded him of one of his missing teammate's. Shit, don't go there. "Talking to his team, I think. Yeah, on a cell phone." Chris lifted his head and nodded a 'come here' look at Terry. The other man spoke again into his own phone, and then flipped it shut. He moved over to join the leader of Team 7.

"Travis. Wants to speak with you." Chris handed over his phone.

While the team leaders conferred, what was left of Team 7 had a mini-conference of their own. "Where would he take them?" Nathan eyed the hallway as if seeking answers there.

Josiah Sanchez, the team profiler, pursed his lips in thought. He'd read so much about this villain the he felt uncomfortably certain he could predict what would happen to their boys if they didn't reach them in time. "Somewhere close by. To Denver," he clarified.

The youngest of the three nodded vigorously. "Way I figure it too." He gestured to one of the small doctor's examining rooms near them. "I can hook up in here." He had a notebook computer slung over his shoulder. He led the two bigger men inside and quickly set up on the chrome table, jacking into the phone socket in the wall and turning on his little computer.

"What're you going to find with that that you haven't found already?" Jackson asked patiently. No point in ranting now, tense as he was, he knew he'd get down right mean if he let himself.

"I was tracking properties when we got the call to come out." Dunne's shining head was bobbing in time with his finger pecking. "There!" He pointed at a short list that had magically appeared on the screen.

Sanchez bent down to see better, pulling out his spectacles and peering through them. "A fairly diverse set of real estates."

"Yeah." JD eagerly ran a finger down the screen. "There!" He settled on Rock Hollow.

"What's that?" Jackson was leaning on Sanchez now, trying to see some hidden meaning in the innocuous list of addresses.

"It's a town up in the foothills. Not too far from here, maybe an hour's drive." JD was shaking with excitement. "No one left there. Jardain bought the whole place! None of the other sites would work, they're too busy, stores, a racetrack, some apartment buildings."

"JD, he only needs one apartment to hide them in."

"But he's crazy! And he's got a troupe of Ninjas, for god's sake!" Dunne ran a hand through his hair, spearing the dark waves back from his face. "You get noticed when you walk around with a bunch of guys in black suits and hoods!"

"Boy's got a point," Josiah said, patting their teammate on one shoulder. "Go on."

"Well, this place wasn't much ever, just a few houses, a store, a mill, a church."

"A house of god?" Josiah sighed.

"Yeah, and none of it used anymore. They were trying to mine uranium. Permits were pulled and the little they found wasn't pure enough. Real case of boom and bust."

Jackson gripped JD's arm firmly, stopping the nearly manic rocking that the kid had begun as he responded to Josiah's prodding. "JD. These are our friends. If you're wrong --"

"Then it will be my responsibility." Larabee stood in the doorway. Jenner beside him. Clearly, both had been listening for a while. "JD, what's the best route?"

Buck came awake between one breath and the next. Unmoving, he continued to slouch against the hard wood wall, drawing in information with all senses. His Seal training was never more gratefully remembered. He touched the unfinished, splintery wood of the floor where his hands were tied behind his back. He sniffed, smelling mildewing sawdust. He listened to the rapid sound of water close by, a waterfall, or -- water wheel. Yep, sawmill. He opened his eyes bare cracks, looking out through his lashes without moving his head. No one stood near enough for him to see but he could hear some one pacing nearby, muttering obscenities. Some creative ones at that. What he could see matched with his identification of the building. Rough split planks shoddily laid to form a serviceable but unattractive floor. Bits of bark and sawdust, a few shredded, mangled bits of wood grain, and a shard or two of untrimmed timber.

He risked a gentle rocking back of his head when the footsteps were furthest from him. Oh, shit. Herve Jardain, with a face like thunder, was spinning on his heel at the far side of the room, punching a fist into a cupping palm as he paced. Sliding his eyes to the sides, first left, then right, he saw Vin, a crumpled heap beside him. Damn, looks like he's out for a while still. Just as he was beginning to slide his eyes away he caught a glint of blue. Nope, wrong, he's awake too, just playing possum. Tied up like me. Ez? He looked the other way. Lying on a roughly sawed piece of timber, really just a squared off log, up on two saw horses, Ezra looked like a trussed up piece of meat waiting for the rotisserie. Hell and damnation. His lover was naked except for the simple hospital gown that wasn't doing much at the moment. Shit.

Jardain came to an abrupt stop beside the undercover agent. "Ezra? It's time to wake up." He fingered the hem of the short gown, sliding his hand up beneath. "It's Herve, Ezra. I've come back for you, sugar."

For a moment, there was no response, then Standish seemed to nearly jump out of his skin, the surface seemed to actually crawl in reaction to Jardain's touch. "Nevah!" The hoarse cry was painfully torn from a bruised and re-torn mouth.

Buck flinched and grit his teeth. "LEAVE HIM BE!" He shouted. Jardain didn't even turn his head to look. Buck wanted to leap to his feet and charge the man, rescue Ezra and Vin and get out of this place. He flexed his arms in frustration and felt the strap that bound him go taut. Could be worse, just feels like a leather belt. He began to frantically work at it while staring at his lover and the insane killer who loomed over him. I'm gonna remember everything you do and you will get payback, he promised silently. "Hold on, Ezra!"

Jardain just laughed and pressed down on the healing bullet wound. Ezra cried out again, unable to suppress the reaction. Oh, mother of god, that hurts. Please, someone, help us!

Tanner had shifted with Ezra's cry, hunkering up against Wilmington, working at his own bonds.

"Pretty little pussy," Herve crooned, smiling pleasantly as he tickled Ezra's heaving chest. The bandages from the hospital were gone, the puckering wound in his side was red but not bleeding. "I have some of your friends here, Ezra." He grasped the man's head and wrenched it over so that Ezra could see Buck and Vin across the room.

"Oh, god, no." This time it came out in a pained whisper.

"Yes, dearie. Now, I really, really liked you as a singer, Ezra. You were a lovely creature." Jardain was stroking Ezra's arm now, leaning close to murmur in his ear. "I bought you a new outfit, lovely boy, to put on just for me. I want to hear you sing for me again."

"That's all?" Standish looked up in confusion, meeting the dark eyes devoid of any human spark. This can't be real. This can't be happening, it's too macabre. He shuddered and tried again to struggle free, useless.

"For now, honeypie. For now." Herve smiled slowly, turning to look at Buck and Vin. "I will sample the sweet little piece that came with us, and who knows? Maybe even the macho man." He dug his finger into Ezra's stomach, just above the belly button, laughing at the gasp this produced. He twisted it, scraping and digging deeper. "I won't see this when you're all dolled up." He pulled free and called to an unseen assistant. "Rodney! Bring me that suitcase!"

Both Buck and Vin froze as Jardain turned to face them and started over, while another man appeared at the door. The new man was average size, but seemed smaller since he was cringing. A strange action for someone holding a forty-five in one hand. The other bore a leather bag.

"Good, good." Jardain stopped his progress toward the other two agents and snatched the bag away from them. Dropping it to the floor near Standish, he pulled out a silky spring green negligee' decorated with lace and satin ribbons, black garters, thigh-high dark silk stockings, and two black patent leather high heels. The stilettos were the right size, he'd made sure of that. "Put them on." He dropped them on Ezra's stomach, together with the clothing, and produced a switchblade, snapping free the bindings from Standish's body.

Ezra sat up on the rough-cut log beam, swaying dangerously before catching himself. He cast a longing look over at Buck and Vin, despair writ on his face, his green eyes glistening. Jardain had left him, pocketing the knife and was striding over to the other two agents. Ezra looked to the side. Rodney was aiming the handgun directly at him. Even as he stared at the man, another appeared also holding a gun.

"Ginch, you pay special attention to Mr. Mustache here while I play with Goldilocks." The second man was so pale that he looked white, but he nodded slowly. "Oh, what's the word on those men?"

The second man, Ginch, spoke quietly. "They'll be here in about thirty minutes. Schwin says now you owe him."

Herve laughed. "Maybe. We'll see." He squatted down next to Tanner and chucked up the man's chin, grinning like a Cheshire cat at the discomfort clearly showing in the other man's face. "Not your usual, Mr. Agent Man?" He poked his thumb hard against Vin's cheekbone and dragged it down until he'd hit the hinge of the jawbone, forcing Tanner's mouth open. He stuck his other hand inside Vin's mouth and wiggled the fingers around, exploring with amusement as Tanner turned red and gagged helplessly.

"You bastard! Let him go!" Buck's shout was ignored.

Then Jardain smiled and withdrew his hand, both coming to the sides of Tanner's neck, lifting the man chokingly to his feet. "Are you dressed yet, pussy?" he asked with out looking back at Ezra.

Hastily, numbly, Ezra dragged the hospital gown off, ignoring the pain in his side as he stretched and twisted. He dropped the silk night gown over his head, forcing the tightly fitted bodice into place. The netting and lace of the short, provocative split skirt caught at his skin where his leg hairs furred lightly over his thighs. He yanked the garters on, one then the other, stealing murderous glances over at Jardain who was dangling Tanner just above the ground. "Kind of reminds me of those pretty white horses that dance up in the air, Ezra. You think I should keep him as a pet?" He laughed again and Vin's eyes opened in horror as he was pulled tightly against the big man's body. "You are pretty too, blue eyes." Herve smiled down into the sky blue orbs, one large arm encircling the lean man's waist. He twirled them around so that he could face Ezra and watch as the man tried to pull on the long silk stockings.

Ezra's hands were shaking so badly it was as if he had the ague. He pointed his toes and tried a second time to pull the silk sheath up his leg. This time he succeeded. He clipped it to the garter and concentrated on the second one, blocking out the low whimpers of Vin Tanner in the background. Vin was an innocent! Ezra was sure the man had never even considered looking at another man and now he was being used, abused, and the end would likely be the same as for Ezra. He stole a short glance at Buck. Wilmington's face was absolutely blank, smoothed out, his shoulders making minute moves. That's my Buck, Ezra thought with relief. He recognized the signs of the dangerous man that resided inside his lover, seldom seen by any of the team. Chris may be the only other person who knows just how deadly Buck can be. Be quick, Buck, god help you.

Jardain dropped Tanner as no longer interesting, abandoning the man's crumpled body as he saw that Ezra was dressed now, except for the shoes. "Oh, you are just beautiful, Ezra!" He voice had lowered and husked with the words. Stepping over Tanner, he moved to Standish's side. "Allow me to fasten your shoes, m'lady." The falsely gallant tone added just the right touch of unreal to the scene. Ezra let the huge man pick up one of his feet and slip on the tall shoe, buckling the strap and stroking up the silk-clad leg with possessive fingers. "Oh, pussy, you are breathtaking," Herve murmured adoringly now, leaning in to take a kiss. Ezra braced himself on stiff arms, hands clenched in the splintery wood, a sound of muffled disgust uncontrollably emerging from the forced kiss.

Jardain laughed lightly and laid a wide palm on Ezra's face, rubbing it and then dragging it down his neck, across the lace covered chest and waist, to end in a cup around his lax and shrunken genitalia. "Pretty pussy, will you sing for me now?"

Vin raggedly drew in a deep breath and strained at his wrist restraints, feeling them begin to give finally. He was flush with shame and fear, trembling like he'd never done before in his life. He knew he'd be next but for now, he focused on the sounds coming from his friend Ezra.

Buck wrenched his shoulders, and grunted, his concentration complete. The band stretched and ripped suddenly, his hands striking out and held back with rigid control behind his back out of sight of the man nominally covering him with a gun. Only the man, Rodney, was watching with sick fascination as his boss mauled the trapped agent on the log beam. The other one, Ginch, was supposed to be watching Vin but his eyes, too, had strayed to the unfolding scene of depravity across the room. Buck steadied his breathing. Hold on, Ezra. I'm coming. He inhaled deeply, pulled his legs back and rocked on to his heels slowly, carefully. No one looked his way, not even Vin. No one except Ezra whose huge eyes were fastened on his face with blossoming hope. Buck sent a silent message of love and strength to his lover and surged to his feet.

Ezra switched his attention to Herve who still stood over him, caressing his now shod foot, holding the second strappy high heeled shoe in one hand. Forcing a smile, though a bit shaky it quickly became his normally smooth undercover persona, he blinked his lashes and looked up through them at Jardain. "Give me the other one, I'll put it on," he whispered, letting a hint of promise in the tone.

Jardain responded like a flower to water, straightening and smiling, he presented the second shoe, releasing Ezra's other foot. "Now that's more like it, my pretty."

Behind him, Buck rose up to his feet like a volcano, hands swinging free with straggly stretched and torn pieces of leather strap hanging from them. Neither of the two watching gunmen even noticed, but Vin did. Tanner gave a final hard yank and was free as well, rising like smoke behind the bigger man, eyes wild with rage and vengeance.

Ezra saw his friends movements and knew he had to keep attention on himself for just a few more seconds. With a sizzle of fury that he'd never before allowed to escape while on the job, he swung his legs down to the floor from the log beam perch he'd been set on. Jardain stepped back to watch, appreciatively, still unsuspecting of the danger ready to erupt at his rear. He hummed as he leered at his small prize, watching avidly as Ezra swiftly raised the second stiletto-heeled shoe and then screamed in shock as the man launched himself at Herve, a long armed swing of the patent leathered shoe ending in a vicious entry to the bigger man's neck at the vulnerable front of his throat.

The scream changed to a burbling, excruciating noise as Jardain gagged and clutched at the straps of gleaming black leather, the unscratched brown sole shining obscenely as it dangled from his neck. Blood was gushing out of the ragged rupture as he sank to his knees, eyes bulging in the new effort to breath.

Ezra didn't wait, scrambling to a ready stance to face the two gunmen who were staring in surprise, their guns automatically swinging around from his compatriots to face him. He bent one knee to better balance against a bare foot and one wearing a four inch heel, his side pounding with the punishment it had received, now stretched and hurting more.

Buck bellowed behind Jardain somewhere, still a good fifteen feet away though he was leaping forward in enormous strides. "Ezra, look out!" The gunman nearest him had raised his gun with a shaking hand and was clearly preparing to fire at his lover. With determination to protect, Buck pushed himself off on both feet and threw his body across the angle of the man's gun and Ezra's exposed body. The sound of the gun was loud, Buck's grunt of pain like a surprised aspiration of air.

Vin Tanner was a whirlwind of motion, his body a blur as he kicked out at the second gunman's hand, the gun pin-wheeling free. Ignoring the cry of pain from his target as the man clutched at a broken wrist, he continued his turn, coming down hard on his front foot as he flipped over once in an eye-opening, hands-free full body cartwheel. He landed with great precision on top of the other threatening man, hands already reaching for the scrawny neck. By the time the two men hit the floor, that neck was twisted and snapped with a small popping sound.

Outside, unheard by the men at war within, a sleek minivan, all black, had pulled up to the steps of the old mill and four very tough looking bruisers were climbing out. Down the single street, a dust cloud and the sound of a roaring motor had the men turning to look as a black Ram king-size pickup slid to a stop just short of ramming their smaller truck. All four dove for cover, yanking out handguns, one pulling free a semi-automatic from a strap around his neck and back, letting it swing out into his hands and throwing a stream of bullets toward the intruders.

Chris, teeth still gritting on his small cigar, slammed the truck into park and jumped clear, not even bothering to turn off the motor. He had his Sig out and cupped in two hands as he stood behind the tall hood of his thrumming vehicle, picking a target and firing even as his men scrambled out of the other doors, all prickling with their own weapons. His aim was steady and the suspect melted to the ground with a final burp of his weapon, bullets stitching a row in the gravel.

It was JD who yelled out their identification, protecting the silent rage of his teammates. "ATF! ATF! Drop your weapons!" The young agent knew their opposition had no intention of doing that but it would be a necessary element of the team's testimony at some time in the future. Despite what his teammates sometimes teased, he was a smart, tough young man and kept on thinking despite the confusion and violence that might spring up around him during a bust, or like now, when a firefight came out of nowhere. He picked his shot, crouched down by the rear wheel well of the big truck, satisfied to see the man running toward him falter and then collapse.

Josiah could move very fast when he needed to and his team was in danger, the missing ones even more than his fellows here. With anger blooming in his chest, he rose up on the side fender of the sleek truck, his toes finding purchase more by sheer velocity than any physical support, and stood on the truck bed, arms coming together with his long muzzled gun held clasped in two large bony fists as he slowly arced it, searching his target, ignoring the burn along one arm of a close miss. There! Meet your maker, brother. He squeezed the trigger and smiled beatifically as his target dropped soundlessly in a heap.

Nathan Jackson was swearing under his breath as he lay on his belly in the churned up gravel and dirt of the mill yard, spitting out sawdust and pebbles from his precipitous dive out the back passenger door. He raised one arm to pull free a throwing knife from his back harness, his loose jacket still on the back bench seat of the truck where he'd shrugged out of it during their careening drive out to the abandoned town. One hand holding a gun unwaveringly, his other instinctively filled and emptied of a flying blade, the glitter of the blued steel like a metal bird as it flew in a shallow arc. With a silent swiftness, it was buried in the heart of one of the four men who'd dared attack Team 7.

The four agents slowly stood up and away from their cover, cautiously turning over the bodies, all corpses, of their opponents, flicking sharp glances around to spot any other potential threats. "Josiah, JD, check out the yard, the buildings. Nate, you're with me." Larabee leaned in the window of his truck and turned off the motor. He started for the mill entrance since that had been the apparent destination of the now dead gangsters.

The utter silence of the yard was only broken now by the harsh panting of his men as they recovered from the short, violent action. It must have lasted all of twenty or thirty seconds at the outside, Larabee thought, pointing his Sig ahead as he stalked wordlessly toward the building hulking in front of him. Jackson had caught up, brushing at clinging bits of grit on his shirtfront, other hand holding steady with a forty-five aimed unerringly toward the empty open doorway they were approaching.

JD and Josiah both spun on the balls of their feet, Chris and Nathan stopping for an instant, at the sound of Ezra's voice crying out "BUCK!" It had come from somewhere inside, up high. Chris cricked his neck back, upstairs! And he was off and running, the other three on his heels, their original assignments forgotten.

Upstairs, the outside firefight was noted by Vin Tanner who was hastily checking the two gunmen now deceased. He'd shot the second one amid the sounds of gunfire outside, when the man foolishly went for his gun again, despite a now broken wrist. Tanner had scooped up the weapon near the limp hand of the already dead gunman beside him and drilled a hole in the dumbass across the room. He sent a worried glance toward Buck who had dropped to the floor at the sound of the single, earlier shot here in the room. Shit, team must have arrived, he thought as the bursts of gunfire outside subsided. The shots had erupted even as he covered the distance between his first target and his second. The shot that hit Buck only one sharp sound among the peppering fire outside. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ezra stagger, bend and rip free the shoe still buckled on one foot. Jardain had fallen over on his side, still breathing noisily, crying out in pain with a muffled sound.

Vin came to his feet gracefully, tense, armed with the two revolvers the henchmen had been using. He crouched and ran for the window the noise had come from, peering out cautiously. Behind him, he heard Ezra cry out, "BUCK!"

Outside, Chris, Nathan, JD and Josiah were moving through the bodies in the large, open mill yard. All four heads snapped up at the sound of Ezra's cry. Vin knew they didn't see him as they all took off at a dead run for the downstairs entry to the mill. Sinking down to sit with his back to the wall beneath the windowsill, Tanner sighed, resting his guns on his cross-legged lap, both barrels finding an unerring home in the middle of Jardain's heaving back. He hazarded a single quick look toward his friends. Ezra was kneeling over Wilmington now, turning him over with erratic movements, fear evident in his shaking hands, though his face was blank, still.

The thundering of men's feet on the wooden staircase alerted Tanner to their team's imminent arrival. Leastways, better be them. He pointed one gun at the doorway, the other still affixed to Jardain's back, though the man had stopped moving. Vin hadn't yet noticed the blood dripping from his wrist where he'd torn skin as he broke free of his bindings.

"Buck! Answer me, you bastard!" Ezra's harsh almost gutteral demand made Vin squint. You better not be hurt too bad, Bucklin, or old Ez is gonna kick your ass but good.

Looking up, Vin relaxed as his eyes met hard hazel ones. Chris stood braced in the doorway, taking in the scene. Behind him, Nathan, JD, and Josiah crowded close.

Ezra fumbled with Buck's shirt and jacket. Dragging them back off of his friend's shoulders, ripping them free. The bullet had punched Wilmington in the back, high up, at an angle near the shoulder. It was bleeding badly from the back, there was no exit wound. He shoved the shirt into a ball and pressed it against the wound, the man's torso draped over his knees as he knelt there on the floor, oblivious to his own gawdy appearance. With panicked motions, he used his free hand to lift and turn Buck's face toward his. The face was smoothly expressionless, eyes closed. "Buck! Answer me, you bastard!" Two dark blue eyes slowly opened, their expression glazed.

Ezra breathed a sigh of relief. The wound was too high to be life-threatening. His heart pounding, he smiled down at the man who'd undoubtedly not only saved his own worthless life, but done it at incredible cost. He was giving his life for me. Ezra bent closer over his friend, his lover. "Ah, Mr. Wilmington, you are a piece of work." He gently kissed the now furrowed brow of his listening love. A smile appeared under the mustache. It was quickly followed by a grimace as pain from the gunshot finally registered.

"Oh, ouch!" Buck's shoulders heaved up once, then he was turning in Ezra's grasp so that he could lay there, supported by Ezra and look up into those beautiful green eyes.

Ezra hastily adjusted his hold, managing to keep pressure on the wound. He met the dark promising look and smiled back. "You are a rascal, you know that?"

"Who, me?" Buck managed a lop-sided grin despite the now throbbing pain in his shoulder. "You're the one in a dress."

"Not by choice, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra gently chastised, ignoring the sudden arrival of more men. Vin would handle them, he had their backs.

"Hate to say it, Ez, but you do look good in drag." It came out in a whisper. "My own private drag qu--"

"Don't even think it, Buck!" Ezra warned with assumed outrage. "I am not, nor have I ever been a drag queen!"

"Queen of my heart," Buck murmured, letting his eyes drift shut.

"BUCK!" Ezra lurched closer in renewed panic. Then Nathan was there beside him, easing the bigger man from his grip.

"Let go a bit here, Ezra. Let me see how bad he's hit." Jackson was gentle, seeing the fear in the wide green eyes that met his for a second before returning to stare at their wounded teammate. Nathan eased Buck down flat on the floor, then lifted him over onto his belly and began to probe beneath the shirt wadding that Ezra had been pressing into the bleeding wound. "You'll live, Buck." He sighed and sat down, pulling free some antiseptic powder from his med kit shoulder bag, and sprinkling it on the open flesh. A bloody, trembling hand grabbed hold of one of his arms. Looking up again, Nathan smiled reassuringly. "He'll be fine, Ezra, just shock setting in. We'll get him to help right away."

Ezra swallowed hard and closed his eyes in grateful relief. He'd thought that to be the case, but Nathan's words still were enough to slow his heartbeat and calm him. He barely felt the heavy tweed suit jacket that dropped onto his shoulders but did hear Josiah's voice.

"Let's get you covered up a bit, Ezra. No sense getting a chill, Buck's going to need you."

In the background, Ezra heard Chris sharp voice. "JD, go down to the truck. My sports bag is in the big tackle box on the truck bed. Bring it up."

Josiah straightened up as Dunne flashed out of the room. They could all hear his dash down the stairs. Yes, Ezra needed to be dressed when reinforcements arrived. Team 6 would be here soon, they'd called them with their conclusions and Jenner had said he'd have his men on their tail, be back up as soon as he could get there. Said he'd contact Travis, too. The beat of a helicopter overhead meant that likely he had.

Chris walked slowly over to where Herve Jardain lay on his side, curled up protectively, both hands still wrapped around his throat. With a casual movement, Larabee kicked the man's legs. "Jardain?" Nothing. He stalked around the motionless man to face him, then started back in shock. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him, bulging from their sockets in soundless agony. Between clutching clawed fingers, blood flowed still, slowly oozing out, half concealing what appeared to be a women's high-heeled dress shoe. At least, he figured that was what it was, though the heel was out of sight. Chris smiled, no humor in it, his teeth exposed around the forgotten cigar in his mouth. He looked down to the side and saw a second shoe sitting there abandoned, straps loose, the four-inch stiletto heel's black patent leather gleaming dully in the diffused lighting. Stretching and rolling his shoulders in grim amusement, Chris met the insanity in those dark eyes with his own brand of brutality. "Now, that's what I call poetic justice."

He moved away as Josiah came over and bent down on one knee to examine the injured suspect. Hell, he was guilty as sin, no need to 'suspect' anything. Larabee turned away, knowing that Sanchez had more ability to deal with the piece of crap than he had. He'd just shoot the bastard and be done with it, and that wouldn't read too well in the team report. Josiah would take care of Jardain. Facing the room again, Larabee took in the dead bodies of two men, Ezra sagging in relief next to Buck as Nathan worked busily on Buck's wound. Must be alright or Ez would be screamin' for more help. Assured that his other men were okay, he looked over at Tanner, still sitting on the floor by the far window, a gun in each hand.

Chris smiled more naturally and strode over. "You okay?"

Vin squinted up at his boss. "Yep."

"Then?"

"Just resting."

"Come on." Larabee held out a hand.

Vin started to reach for the helping hand, then seemed to realize both of his own were occupied. He placed the henchmen's guns down on the floor carefully, then reached up and grasped the offered hand of his team leader and good friend.

Yanking Tanner to his feet, Chris looked searchingly into the bright blue eyes. He nodded his question. No bullshit, Tanner, you really okay? The shocky look left the blue eyes meeting his, a small smile answering his silent query. Yep.

"Go help Josiah."

Vin looked distastefully over at where Josiah was kneeling over Jardain. But he squared his shoulders with a nod to Larabee and walked over.

Chris stood by the window, looking around the room. JD fired back inside, clutching his sports bag. "Get out some clothes for Ezra," Chris instructed quietly.

Dunne nodded and crouched next to Standish, looking over at Jackson. "Buck okay?"

"Yeah, he's going to be fine, JD, just a minor gunshot to the shoulder." Nathan was finishing up a temporary pressure bandage as he spoke, not bothering to look up.

JD's tension eased and he got busy with the bag, pulling out sweat pants and shirt. He looked up to offer them to Ezra, eyes widening as he took in the undercover agent's current apparel for the first time. "Hot damn, Ezra! Where'd you get that outfit?"

Ezra, who'd been watching Nathan's actions with attentive possessiveness, jerked at JD's piping question. He looked down at himself in awaking shock. Aw, hell.

"Here." Dunne had almost immediately recognized his own mistake. Apologetically, he added, "Don't worry about it, Ez. Here's some of Chris' clothes, just slip into them."

Standish nodded, shrugging off Josiah's heavy jacket where it rested on his shoulders and taking the gray pants first and pulling them up, tugging the drawstring tight. With a sudden violent action, he ripped the provocative negligee' off, tearing the lacy bodice free and thrusting it away. JD quietly passed him a large sweatshirt and he gratefully dragged it down over his head. The sleeves hung over his hands and he impatiently shoved them up, exposing his bruised forearms, the puncture wounds from now twice torn out IV lines looked red and angry.

"Nate, you best check Ezra too." JD eyed the marks on Ezra's arms with alarm.

Jackson nodded. "I'll get to him soon's I can." He patted Buck's back, knowing the man was semi-conscious and likely beginning to feel a lot of pain. "We'll have you out of here shortly, Buck. Just lie still."

Wilmington shifted slightly, turning his head to look for Ezra. He sighed in relief to see the southerner sitting beside him, nearly swallowed in what were obviously Larabee's sweats. With a quirk of his lips, Buck spoke. "Hey, Ez, roll up those pant legs. Don't want you tripping now."

Irritated green sparks flew at him, the southerner's love still evident nonetheless. Then Ezra ducked and began to do as he was told. "Oh, shit!"

With a wry grimace, Ezra reached down inside his waistband to release the thigh-high garters, then stretched down to drag stockings and garters free of his legs through the pant cuff openings. He flung the offending garments away, heedless of direction. JD ducked now and grinned as one stocking landed on Josiah's shoulder, the big man unaware of his new decoration as he sat back to stare at Jardain, Tanner hovering over them, the sharpshooter's face a closed mask, his eyes hard and unforgiving.

Other engines roared into the yard behind Chris as he held his cell phone. He spoke in a clipped, low voice, his words indistinguishable but the tone satisfied. He watched from the window as Team 6 climbed out of their vehicles, Jenner holding a cell phone to his ear. Terry looked up, spotted Larabee and waved. Chris nodded back. They spoke to one another for another few moments and then both closed their phones.

Team 6 would handle cleanup in the yard. Team 7 would stay here, wait for the air medics that were landing out in the street now, the loud whopping sound of the helicopter blades whumping to silence. Everything would be okay. Ezra was safe. Buck wasn't hurt bad. He let his eyes skim around the room. His boys all looked a bit rough, he saw some blood on Josiah's arm. Not much. Likely a graze. Have Nate look at that when he can. He saw their team medic was crouched in front of Jardain's body, studying the situation. Not much to be done for the man until he was in the hospital. That shoe couldn't be removed or the fuck would likely bleed to death instantly. Not such a bad outcome, he thought with a sigh. As it was, he'll probably live. They damn well better do a good job securing the bastard this time. In his peripheral vision, he saw the white clad paramedics dashing through the yard, bags slung over shoulders, carrying a couple of evac sleds.

With deliberation, Chris Larabee holstered his weapon back in his shoulder harness and pulled at his cigar, taking a puff and blowing the smoke out into the room. It almost felt normal right now, like any regular bust. He eyed his undercover agent, now edged up against his old friend Buck, looking diminutive in the too large sweats, sleeves and pant legs rolled up. Better that than the outfit he was in when we got here. He doesn't need any more of that shit. Chris leaned against the open sill, bracing himself with one hand, the other returning the small cigar, nearly down to a butt, back between his teeth. This may even do Ezra some good, be too busy worrying about Buck to fall back into that funk from his other problems. Chris sighed. Not that those problems were going to go away anytime soon.

Nathan scratched the back of his head, more in frustration than puzzlement. There had to be a way to get his teammates to pay attention to their injuries, follow doctors' orders. Just wish I knew the secret word, he thought in sudden amusement, feeling like Groucho Marx. I could use that foolish, ugly duck dropping down out of the sky with an answer about now. He lifted his gaze from his stubborn friends to Josiah Sanchez who was chuckling in amusement from his seat across the room. Sanchez had appropriated the big recliner that Ezra had in his sparsely decorated living room. After a bit of a push from the team, he'd made sure that there were enough seats - of one sort or another - for all seven men to be seated when they came over.

And come over they did. After all, he had the biggest screen TV of any of them. Sunday afternoon football just wasn't the same anywhere else. It had only been two days since the rescue at Rock Hollow and both Buck and Ezra had been discharged from the hospital. Well, Buck had been discharged. Ezra refused to be re-admitted as a patient, accepting only minimal first aid treatment at the ER for his bloody little holes for IV 's and other alien equipment, as he referred to it, attached a few short times to his body.

It was the strangest thing, but Ezra, who'd been nearly ready to be committed, only two days ago, was now nearly back to normal. Nearly being the operative word. He was still showin' the whites all the way around his eyes if startled and he was nervy enough to be startled more than regular, except when he was fussin' at Buck or close up against him. Like now. Nathan slouched back in the low arty chair that he'd co-opted. It looked uncomfortable, but was really, he'd found through private experimentation, one of the most comfortable chairs he'd ever sat upon. It was his secret vice. Ezra probably knew it, but still. He sat there now, hands folded across his belly, studying his two recovering friends closely.

Ezra was mashed up tight against Buck's healthy side, his own injury a bit further along in the healing process. Nate decided he'd never seen two people look more comfortable together than those two. They fit each other's shapes as if all their angles and curves were two parts of one whole. Like old marrieds. He chuckled, giving up on his pestering advice for now. They were just so peaceful, both nearly asleep despite the cheers from the others at a touchdown on the big screen. The two occupied the plush love seat that sat kitty corner to the big squashy couch.

Vin was sprawled in inelegant abandon on the couch, with JD on the floor, propped up against the front edge of the 'beast' as the boys referred to the couch. It was a new design, kind of like the arty chair, but so soft. Ezra said it was leather filled with feathers, down. Like sittin' on a cloud. Chris strolled back out from the small kitchen area, having sought a refill for his beer. Bottle in hand, he moved slowly, meeting Nate's eyes for a moment with a small smile of his own. He was eyeing the twosome on the loveseat, nodding almost imperceptively. As if satisfied with something.

Chris returned to the big old rocking chair that formed one of the corners of the loose boxing of furniture arranged about the big TV. He suspected that it was an antique, but not a persnickety, delicate, King Luis the something or other, naw, it was a solid, clean-lined American product. Just oldish. And deep honey maple colored, with burls and gnarls showing in the grain of the wide rockers and arm rests, in the flat deep back rests, and in the spreading slats of the seat. Sitting down with that cat-like grace that often went unnoticed due to his overweening personality, Larabee toasted Nate with his bottle neck across the room. Nate raised his own bottle in response. Together, with the others, they would look after the new couple, protect them. Jackson turned his attention to the big screen in time to see the red flag hit the field and hear Vin's curse and JD's groan.

Ezra shifted slightly, instantly feeling Buck's arm tighten. "Ez? Am I crowdin' you too much?" Buck's anxious query was softly whispered in one nearby ear.

Ezra turned and smiled up at his lover. "Never." He reached up and let his fingers stroke down Buck's strong jawbone, then tap his chin once before dropping back in the southerner's lap. "Just trying to keep from hurting you, Buck."

Wilmington reached down with his free hand and captured the errant one of his dearest love. Drew it up to his lips to kiss and nibble gently. "Ezra."

"Umm?"

"How are you? Honest, please."

Green eyes flashed back up. "I should be asking you that question, my love."

"Still got some pain in the shoulder," Buck answered complacently, adding firmly, "But, I wasn't asking about me."

Standish's fingers began to curl tensely in Buck's larger hand.

"Ezra, please. Shall we go to the bedroom? Will you talk to me in private?" Buck's tone was serious and determined. The rest of the room was quiet now, someone had lowered the sound almost to 'mute' on the TV. No one was looking right at them, but everyone was listening.

Ezra began to redden. His fingers clenched into fists. "I don't want to talk about it. About him."

"Him?"

"Don't play with me, Buck. You know who."

Thank you, god, Josiah said silently. This needs to happen. Good for you Buck. We're here to back your play.

Larabee began to rock, the action smooth and soundless on the carpeting. Buck was certainly daring but, he agreed, it had to be done. Ezra had thrown up all his walls over the past two days, buried his trauma behind them, focused his energies on the hurt surveillance expert. Couldn't last. Better to force the issue when we're all here to help if needed. He took another sip of beer, grateful for the relaxed attitude of his 'family' toward their two bonded brothers. Could have turned out a damn sight worse if any of the boys had made objections.

JD began to play with the label on his bottle of beer, peeling at the scalloped edge, easing it up away from the cool, sweaty glass. Things change. He could deal with change, but Ezra had a tough hill to climb just now. Not sure I'd be in such good shape, if it had happened to me. He dropped his head back, feeling Vin's leg behind him.

Vin was listening and wondering. He'd spent some time alone with Josiah, after the sawmill. He'd not been real comfortable after the jazz club, but damn, that creep Jardain had really, really scared him at the mill. Terrified him, more like. And what he'd done to Ezra, wanted to do. If I had this much trouble dealing with things, and I just got mauled a little bit, then, damn, what about Ez?

Nathan leaned forward, as if to get up, but then collapsed back at a tiny headshake from Sanchez. He'd listen for now, but if Ezra got in any real trouble, pain, he'd intervene.

"I'm not playing, baby. Never do that, not about something like this." Buck's large hand gently stroked back Ezra's reddish brown hair, as if soothing him. Kissing the wide expanse of brow, he sat back slightly, not releasing the smaller man from his arm's encirclement nor his hand's entwining. "You need to talk about it. Get it out. Don't hold it in, Ezra, it will fester. Hurt worse."

Standish looked away from the too serious face of the man holding him. For two days, as Buck's pains lessened and his own eased as well, nothing had been said. Chris and the others had somehow fought off the doctors that wanted Ezra back in the hospital. They saw that he was coping. Or so he thought. Now he wasn't so sure. He snuck a quick peek up at his boss across the room. Chris was studying the opening of his beer bottle with great intensity. Ezra relaxed slightly, somehow reassured that he wasn't the target of too many eyes. With a bit more confidence, he looked elsewhere. Vin was playing with a twist of licorice, making knots out of the stretchy black length of candy, then undoing them. Only Vin would consider licorice and beer as a likely combination. JD was slowly and carefully removing, intact, the front label on the bottle of beer he'd been drinking. With trepidation, Ezra's eyes slid over to Nathan. The team worrywart was relaxed in the Arts and Crafts period art chair, eyes closed and hands folded on his stomach. Ezra blew out a little breath of air, feeling Buck's eyes on him, but only Buck's. What of Josiah? He flicked a look at the big profiler only to see him running large wooden worry beads, or prayer beads? through his hands, eyes affixed to the bits of rounded wood. They were all waiting, not threatening, not judging, just waiting quietly for him to speak. Ezra opened his mouth, not at all sure what he'd say.

"I'm really not worth it." His voice came out so small that it seemed to match how he felt now.

Buck studied the man sitting beside him, head bowed now. Ezra's brown hair gleamed with reddish highlights, his shoulders were tense, his hands - pulled free from Buck's - were rubbing on the tops of his pant legs. Buck decided that he better not let any silence build after that little jewel. "Bullshit."

Ezra jerked bodily in his grasp. He yanked the small man closer and put his lips back on Ezra's forehead, speaking now as he pressed his lips there, letting the words leak out. "Ezra, you are my everything. AND, you are a very special, very intelligent, very talented man. Even if I didn't love you, I'd like you and respect you. Want to call you my friend."

"We all would. I mean we do, too!" JD's voice was awkward in the quiet room, but very earnest.

Vin swung his legs over JD's head and sat up on the beast, his feet solidly planted on the floor as he edged forward out of the couch's maw. "'s the truth, Ezra. We all feel that way. You're a good man."

"You're one of us." Chris looked up and over at his undercover agent, finding and meeting sad green eyes with his own narrowed hazel ones. "We'd all step in front of a bullet for you, Ezra, and you damn well better know it. A man doesn't do that for a 'nothing.'"

Buck curved one large hand around Ezra's head and turned it until Ezra's face was buried in his shoulder. Then he hugged his friend close. "Ez, listen to them. Listen to me. Don't know where you got this idea from but it's all wrong."

"After what happened--" The southerner's thick accent was hard to understand now, as if he was hiding his words. He shoved his head against Buck's shoulder, then forced himself away enough to raise his head and study Buck. "I'm so dirty now. How can you stand to touch me?"

"Aw shit." Buck sat back against the thick arm of the loveseat and plunged his hands under Ezra's sweater to hook them beneath the smaller man's armpits. He lifted with no visible strain, literally lifting the other man up into the air and then forward, settling Ezra astraddle his legs. "You are the most thick-skulled, stubborn, rattle-brained --" He shook his head, defeated in trying to find another description of the man's blindness. "Ezra." He wrapped his long arms all the way around the compact form, tugging him into a tight embrace, "Am I touching you now?"

"Yes." The word, like Ezra's others, was small, tight.

"Do I feel like I'm disgusted, upset with touching you?"

Ezra didn't immediately answer, as if testing the question against the tactile sensations he was experiencing. Buck's heart was beating slowly, like a big drum against his cheek. There was no sense of withdrawal or repulsion. Just love. It surrounded him, Buck's love. Something he'd always wanted. But, when he'd try to give his own, it had never seemed to be enough before. Why now?

"Why now?"

"Why what now?" Buck sounded puzzled again.

"Why do you love me now?" The 'and not before' was heard clearly by all the men.

Buck tucked his chin and rested his head against Ezra's, sighing. "I realized something, when I thought I was going to lose you to another. When I saw you on that stage looking so fine, but looking at him, not me. Up 'til then, I just took you for granted. You just gave and gave and never asked for anything, Ez. Don't know when desire became need, but I need you now. Took this to make me realize what losing you would do to me." He released Ezra enough so that the man could sit back in his lap, so that their eyes could meet and Ezra would be able to read the honesty he was trying so hard to share. "Before, I just tried to keep on being the me that'd I'd become. Kept you at a distance using the girls." He felt Ezra flinch and saw the light dampen in those green eyes that were locked with his. "I should have known then what a treasure I'd been given but I didn't 'cause I was a stubborn, thick-skulled, rattle-brained so and so. And, I was afraid. I was afraid to become too serious, to let you into my heart. Afraid I'd lose you, like--"

"Like Sarah." Chris' voice was soft across the room. No condemnation there, just understanding.

Buck's eyes flew up and to the hazel ones that met them with quiet concern. Saw the warmth and care.

Ezra, though, was baffled and full of wonder. Buck had loved Sarah? And lost her to Chris? He twisted his neck around to look over at Larabee who hadn't stopped rocking, one hand supporting a half-empty beer bottle on one arm of the big old rocker. Chris returned his look without anger. "He loved Sarah?" Ezra's question came out before he could stop himself.

"Yeah," Chris nodded, eyes returning to his oldest friend's. "When she chose me, near broke his heart. I'd have given him anything, but I couldn't give him Sarah. She was part of me by then and I couldn't let her go." Chris looked back at Ezra. "He loved her, would have made her happy, too. But, Ezra, from what I can see, his heart didn't break 'cause he didn't love her like he loves you."

Ezra's eyes widened and he swiveled his head back to look up into deep blue eyes that seemed like limitless oceans just now. "Buck?"

"Chris is right. Took me years to figure that out, took you." Buck leaned forward and gently captured Ezra's lips for a delicate, soft kiss. "I love you, Ezra, and it's a love that has no boundaries. I think it crept up on me and then jumped my bones when you were hurt."

"Then you don't think that I--"

"Ezra, stop it. Please stop trying to take any blame in this. You did your job, hell you did it so well that the rest of us were running around trying to keep up with you." Buck sighed and looked back over at Chris. "Tell him, Chris."

Larabee nodded and waited until Ezra looked at him over his shoulder again. "You surprised everyone, Ezra. Even me, and I know how good you are. You got in in less than a day. No one was ready for that. And, you paid for it." Larabee stood up suddenly and in three large steps was standing in front of the couple on the loveseat. Ezra's head was tipped back now to try to maintain eye contact with his boss. "You are that good. You are the best, Standish, the best in the business. We are all proud of you."

The small man blushed lightly and looked down at the floor. Chris reached in and put a knuckle on his chin, raising his head slowly. "Ezra? You did nothing to be ashamed of. Bad things happened. They do. God knows, I've found that out the hard way." Chris' eyes took on a shadowed, pained expression, then cleared a bit as he smiled. "The only enemy you have to face, my friend, is yourself."

Josiah stood up and stretched, feeling the heaviness of the moment. A lot had been said, much more needed saying, but no one was going to be good for anything if they kept at this too long at one sitting. "Know your enemy, Ezra. Know yourself. We'll help you find a way passed the pain, son. There's enough love and friendship in this room to defeat your worst demons. Just give it time." He looked over at his own best friend. "Nathan, I think we all need a break and something healthful to eat."

Vin groaned theatrically and flopped back on the couch, one leg knocking JD under the chin hard. The younger man's head snapped back and he yelped, "Hey! Watch it, Vin!"

Nathan, though, had heard the underlying appeal in Josiah's voice and met it with his own brand of subtle humor. "I think you're right, Josiah, some food to balance the energies consumed in stress. That's medically sound advice." He nodded sagely, hiding his grin at the desperate look on Vin's face as the sharpshooter cricked his neck up to look over and see if Jackson was really serious. "Maybe I could call my health food store? Soycurds and some rucola salad should be good."

Chris had broken eye contact, backing up to prop himself against the far side of the overstuffed loveseat, still near Ezra and Buck, but not touching. He smiled as Vin and JD groaned in unison. "Food's a good idea," he agreed.

"Chris, that ain't food, that's--" Vin was speechless.

"An insult to the palate." Ezra finished, drawing one leg up over Buck's lap and twisting around to sit sideways on the big man. He settled against Buck more comfortably, feeling those wonderful arms continue to hold him close. "I'd suggest something a bit more pedestrian, like--"

"PIZZA!" JD called from the floor where he was rubbing his jaw.

"Or, pancakes." Josiah smiled benignly at the sudden interest thrown his way from around the room. "I happen to know that Ezra's kitchen is stocked with pancake flour AND real maple syrup."

Ezra smiled as well but didn't speak.

"Hm, pancakes and maple syrup." Chris actually smiled over at the profiler. "You offering to make them?"

Sanchez grinned. "My efforts in the community kitchen of St. Martin's should suffice for training for such a moment as this. I think I can make enough to even satisfy the empty legs of a couple of young studs we got here." He cocked an eyebrow at Vin and JD who were both looking very interested and not the least bit insulted.

Nathan, happy at the playful tone that had supplanted the high tension and emotional overload of the room, lay back in his chair, waving one arm airily. "Let us know when it's ready."

Josiah started to nod when Chris spoke again. "I'll help."

Dead silence as everyone stopped in mid-breath. Then Ezra raised his head from Buck's chest and drawled, "I knew it! A 'closet' kitchen chef. Mr. Larabee, you are scaring the young ones."

Chris only grinned and walked past Josiah, catching one suspender in passing and dragging the man after him, chuckles from both men trailing behind.

"This, I want to see." Vin was off the couch and following, JD on his heels.

Nathan suddenly realized that he was the only one left with the lovebirds. Time for a strategic exit, give them some time alone, however short. "Guess I better get in there or those boys will ruin your kitchen, Ezra." He regretfully rose from the wonderful chair and strolled out of the room.

Ezra heaved a big sigh and dropped his head back on to Buck's chest. "Hey there, buddy?" Buck nuzzled at one ear. "You alright now?"

"No." Ezra's voice was still sad, but it was no longer that hollow sounding, almost scary sound. Just pensive. "But I think maybe I will be."

Ezra stood consideringly in front of his wardrobe. His hand hesitated as it glided along just a breath above a row of neatly hung, stylishly tailored suit coat jackets. In the end, it settled on an old football jersey belonging to Buck that hung in lonely splendor at one end of the walk-in closet. Without another look back at the abandoned finery, he yanked the overlarge shirt off its hanger and pulled it down over his head, ignoring the muss that made of his neatly combed hair.

He walked back out into the bedroom, the big shirt hanging down to mid-thigh on him, humming a nearly silent tune. His one pair of jeans slid on in comfortable softness from much use. Rubbing at his jaw thoughtfully, he strolled by the bathroom and on into the living room where he remembered discarding his running shoes last night. Buck would be here soon to pick him up. No one wanted him behind the wheel of a vehicle just yet because he still startled very easily. He listened to the scratchy sound of his two-day beard and began to wonder if anyone was going to say anything to him yet. No one had. Not yet.

He sank into the mushroom sofa, letting the softness of the down filled leather surround him, hold him safe until Buck arrived. This had been their first night apart since -- well, since. Buck had to work late and it was easier to bunk down back at his old shared apartment with JD. He'd called. Several times, to make sure Ezra was all right. Of course, I'm all right. What else would I be? I'm a big boy now. Boy. Pussy. His pussy. Ezra shuddered and blanked his mind, a new technique he'd developed to survive the constantly resurfacing memories of Jardain's treatment of him.

He was still sitting there, staring straight ahead at nothing, when Buck let himself in with a key. Chris was right behind him. Together they moved cautiously into the apartment, down the entryway to the archway into the living room. Buck stopped and sagged back against the wall, his face settling into his recently new and seemingly permanent lines of despair. Larabee laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed firmly, then continued on past his friend and into the big room.

Chris padded over to the furniture, over to where Ezra sat like a statue. "Ezra?"

Nothing. Larabee sat down next to his undercover agent and waited a moment, then tried again. "Ezra?"

Still nothing. Chris carefully covered one of Ezra's hands with his own and squeezed. The smaller man blinked slowly, then swiveled his head to look at Larabee. He started back with a small cry of alarm, nearly falling off the couch. By this time, Buck had hurried in and was prepared, catching his lover whilst murmuring reassurances.

Larabee sat back and watched. Buck's right. He's gotten worse. He waited for the two men to notice him again.

Buck Wilmington had been in fear for several days. Ezra was withdrawing and refused to leave the bedroom, wanting only to hold on to Buck and sleep. Getting him to do anything was a chore, eating nearly an impossibility. It was as if Ezra had decided to withdraw from life itself and Buck no longer believed that his love was enough. He'd had several quiet talks with Josiah on the cell phone when Ezra was asleep. Finally it was decided to try to ease Ezra back into life by removing Buck. Buck had gone back to work. He'd kept in touch with Ezra all day. Phoning nearly every hour at first.

When he'd get back to Ezra's place in the evenings, Ezra would be wandering around in a robe, smoking. Smoking. Ezra didn't smoke. Or, at least, he hadn't used to. He refused to talk about it, actually denying doing it at one point, a burning butt in one hand as he adamantly insisted that he didn't smoke at home. The disjointedness of things was spooky. At the suggestion that he might need to see a psychologist, he'd wrapped himself around Buck's long form and cried, saying Buck was all he needed.

This was progress, sort of, Buck decided. At least he's dressed. He kissed the slender neck and petted the small body, soothing away panic with simple reassurances, waiting out this latest attack. Finally, Ezra calmed enough for Chris to see a spark of awareness. "Chris? When did you get here?"

"A while ago." Larabee sighed. Buck had made no headway, Ezra was refusing to go seek help voluntarily. "Ezra, I came to take you in to see Doctor Fienman. He's holding the afternoon open for you."

"Fienman? The shrink? No." Ezra rubbed frantically against Buck's large form, seeking something, he was no longer sure what.

Buck spoke up now. "Ez, baby, you're getting worse. You need help and I can't seem to do whatever it is you need."

"This isn't you, Standish." Chris leaned forward. "Ezra, you are going with us, one way or another."

"I don't understand." Green eyes were wide with pain and fear, rimmed with panic as they sought out first Buck's, then when his lover ducked away, Chris' eyes.

"Look at yourself." Chris let his disappointment show in his tone of voice. "You're a mess. That's not the Ezra Standish we know."

Ezra sat up straighter, reaching unconsciously for the open pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. Chris' hand snaked out and knocked them out of reach as he continued, "And that's not you either. You don't smoke. Ezra! We have to fix this."

Standish sank down, bending over and ducking his head until he'd curled into a small ball in front of Buck on the couch. Chris looked up into Buck's sad eyes. "Let's go." He stood.

Buck's eyes widened. "Go?"

"He doesn't want help. He wants to suffer. He's enjoying it." Larabee's eyes had dropped to Ezra's form and stayed there as he kept speaking. "He's gone soft. Pathetic. A real wuss."

"Puss. Pussy." The quiet word was hissed from the small man in front of them. Then, again, this time screamed: "PUSSY!"

Buck fell backwards, nearly toppling off the end of the couch himself in his surprise at the sudden violence. Chris stood his ground. "Yeah, pussy. That's a good word for how he's acting." Chris didn't address Ezra directly now, facing a bewildered Buck instead. "Pussy."

"NOOOO!" Ezra was suddenly surging up to his feet, hands out like claws as he launched himself at Larabee.

Chris caught the crooked hands easily and pulled them to the sides, dragging his friend close, then wrapping his arms easily around the writhing body. "No, you're right. Ezra, you're not a pussy." He let one hand come up to stroke the man's head. "Who told you that you were?"

"Jardain." Ezra whispered his reply his whole being rippling with disgust and anger.

"Did you like it?"

"NO!" Ezra tried to jerk free from Chris' arms but without any success. He'd become weak from lack of food and exercise, attitude. "no" he said again, his voice small.

"But you call yourself that now, don't you?"

"I -- I --" Ezra began to shake his head vehemently in the negative, nearly hurting himself against Chris' chest.

Buck came up behind them, understanding beginning to lighten his eyes. He gently but firmly grasped Ezra's head and held him still. "Easy, baby."

"You think you are one, don't you?" Chris continued, relentless.

"No. Yes." Ezra slumped between the two men. "He said I was his. Said he'd always be back for me."

"When did he say that?" Buck was puzzled, he didn't remember that.

"The other night."

Dark blue eyes and hard hazel ones met in confusion. "What night, Ezra?" Chris demanded.

"When he called."

Buck grabbed Ezra's shoulders and spun him out of Chris' arms and around to face him. "He what?"

Ezra hung his head. "He said he'd hurt you. If I told."

Chris edged over to stand beside Buck, better to see the desperate man in Wilmington's arms. "Ezra, let me get this right. Jardain called you on the telephone? Spoke to you?"

"Yes." Ezra could barely lift his head and face these men. He was so empty.

"Chris." Buck's voice had taken on new animation, determination.

Larabee looked up and nodded. "I'm on it right now." He paused to grip Ezra's shoulder. "Ezra, you aren't alone anymore. You should have told us what was happening. We will take care of this. I promise."

Ezra heard the confident words but doubted. Jardain's ugly, smooth voice rang in his head. The soft, sibilant words poisoned his brain. In the distance, he heard the door to the apartment open and close. Knew he was alone now with Buck. Hesitantly he looked up into compassionate eyes, understanding ones. God, he didn't deserve Buck. But he was grateful for him. Thank you god, he thought as he melted into Buck's arms again.

Larabee was on a mission. He was in a towering rage. Somehow, Jardain, who was still in a prison hospital, was getting to a phone and calling Ezra. Talking shit to him. Brainwashing him from a distance. This is going to stop. He slammed the Ram into his parking space at the federal building and then climbed the stairs, two and three at a time. In the truck, he'd had a short conversation with a quieter, stronger Buck. Buck had called once he'd put Ezra down in bed. Warned Chris not to do anything that would get him in trouble. Larabee grimaced. I just want to shoot that fuckin' bastard. He shook his head. He needed help to deal with this, he needed the rest of the team.

Continue to Part 3