Seminar

"... and so, by simple deduction, I solved what some might refer to as an impossible case."

Ezra yawned, bored. He hated seminars. He especially hated seminars if the speaker was long-winded and incredibly dull. He eyed his watch hopefully, and was disappointed to discover that the talk was scheduled to run for another hour. At least Chris always made his lectures interesting, he mused. With this thought, Ezra glanced sideways at his boss, wondering how he was coping. To his astonishment, Chris was watching the speaker thoughtfully, the very picture of intense concentration. Ezra frowned. Surely he couldn't be listening to this cretin? The man was an idiot, a paper-pushing desk jockey that had, it seemed, never actually left his office except to give tiresome speeches on how brilliant he was! Disturbed, Ezra allowed his gaze to travel past Chris, to the other members of his team, just to make sure he wasn't the only one ready to cry if this tedious torture didn't end soon. He was - it seemed that the others had all devised some sort of entertainment. Buck and JD were furtively elbowing one another, trying to muffle their laughter so as not to attract the attention of the team leader. Josiah was surreptitiously reading a book he had brought along, Nathan was quietly fiddling with his watch, which had stopped working just as they arrived, and Vin was asleep, chair tilted slightly backwards, feet propped on the seat in front of him, much to the distaste of the treasury agent occupying it.

Ezra reluctantly dragged his attention back to the podium, where the speaker was explaining how it was possible to deduce who had perpetrated a certain crime by intensive examination of any and all clues, without actually having to move from the office. Ezra rolled his eyes, shook his head. An FBI agent sitting next to him elbowed him sharply, and gave him a glare intended to intimidate him into sitting still, but it had nothing compared to what Chris could do with a simple look when he got mad. Ezra stuck out his tongue.

Standish twiddled his thumbs for a second before deciding that boredom could be held off in this way for only so long before he would be forced to draw his gun and blow his brains out, out of sheer desperation. Better yet, he could shoot the simpleton on stage... Next time he'd bring a book, like Josiah. He was a smart guy, was Josiah, people could learn a lot from him. Suddenly Ezra realized that he had a pack of cards in his pocket. He drew out the box carefully, glanced at Chris - who was still listening intently - and, pulling out the cards, began to see if he could produce any card he wanted to. Six of clubs... gotcha. Ace of spades, his calling card... yup. Four of diamonds... yes! Ezra smiled in satisfaction. The smile was quickly wiped off when he pulled out a two of hearts instead of a three.

"Damn," he muttered, earning himself another disgusted look from the FBI agent, which only made him smile again.

"...fortunately, the invention of the telephone and its subsequent worldwide usage effectively resolved this problem, and nowadays..."

The undercover man sighed heavily, and looked down at his cards again. Now, if he put half the deck in this hand like this, and half of the other half in this hand like this, and the rest between these fingers like that, then if he moved his fingers like this he should be able to - oops. Ezra watched, horrified, as his pack of cards went flying all over the place - or, more correctly, all over Chris. He cringed. Chris, however, hardly seemed to notice. His gaze didn't waver from the speaker as he carefully swept a hand across his shirt, sending all the cards to the ground, before holding something out to Ezra. Ezra took the proffered object and looked at it. Ace of spades. He stared at Chris in surprise for a moment, then hurriedly put the card in his pocket. He seemed to have escaped punishment, but now he had nothing to play with - er, that is to say, nothing to, uh, occupy his intellect. He twiddled his thumbs some more, then looked jealously at Josiah, trying to see which book he was reading. He craned his neck, tilted his head to the side, did all but stand on his head, but couldn't make out the title. He sat back again, resigned to living out the rest of his life waiting for this speech to end. Perhaps he had died, and this was hell... He pondered this for a while, and decided that if he were in hell, his teammates would be having a much better time than him, and this no longer seemed to be the case, except for Buck and JD. The kid had produced a Gameboy, and was silently fighting with Buck over who got to use it first. They were both extremely red from trying not to laugh. Nathan had either fixed his watch or given up on it - either way, it was back on his wrist - and he was silently hitting his head with his open palm. Ezra caught his eye, nodded his agreement with the sentiments conveyed by this action, and put his hands around his neck, pretending to strangle himself. Nate grinned, inclining his head toward Josiah, whose nose was buried quite happily in the book. The big man was no longer even making a pretence of listening.

"... so if an agent is as well prepared as it possible to be, then any event, no matter how unexpected, cannot change the successful outcome of a bust. If a bust does go bad, therefore, it is the result of carelessness on the part of the agents involved..."

Ezra's head snapped round. He gaped at the podium, dumbfounded. Had that... that... that blithering idiot actually said that? He looked over at Nate, the only one of his friends, other than Chris, that had heard the speaker. He was staring at the podium too, his expression a perfect mirror of how Ezra felt. Finally, he tore his gaze away and met Ezra's eyes - and burst out laughing. He slid down in his seat, hands over his face, trying to muffle his helpless laughter. Ezra stuffed his fist in his mouth, desperately trying to stop laughing before Chris looked at him. The only person that did look at him, however, was the FBI agent on his other side, who gave him his disgusted expression again and whispered something about telling his superiors.

Just as Ezra finally managed to contain his mirth, a particularly loud snort escaped Nathan. Vin woke with a jerk, tried to sit up straight, and very effectively managed to make his chair fall over. This time the entire team noticed, and they collapsed in fits of laughter. Even Chris's mouth seemed to twitch, although he hadn't looked around. Vin, red-faced, hurriedly got up, righted his chair and sat down again, casting a dirty look at Nathan. His expression promised vengeance. Ezra noticed vaguely that they were attracting attention from all around them now, although still only in the immediate vicinity. After allowing them to fall about laughing for two minutes, Chris mutely held a finger to his lips. The team fell silent instantly, settled themselves in their chairs, and tried to pay attention. It didn't take long for Josiah to return to his book, however, and it took even less time for Buck and JD to start fighting again. Nathan slipped his watch off again and showed it to Vin, who began fiddling with it. Nathan paid careful attention.

Ah, though Ezra, not fixed, then. He sighed.

Ten minutes later, Ezra was ready to shoot someone just so he could enjoy the ensuing gunfight. Unfortunately, he was well aware that Chris would be upset with him if he did that, so he tried to take his mind off it by singing songs in his head.

I see a red door and I want it painted black, he sang in his head. Tum-ti-tum-ti-tum-ti-tum-ti-tum-ti black... Now what was that line again? Ya-da-da... maybe if he could get the tune...

"I see a line of cars and they are painted black," he sang softly. "No, that's the next verse... um... I see a red door... Hah! No colours anymore, I want them to turn black," he finished triumphantly, half-standing.

The agent next to him socked him on the arm and hissed, "Shut up!"

Ezra sat down again and folded his arms sulkily. "Not like he's worth listening to anyway," he muttered, then cast a guilty look at Chris, who, it would appear, disagreed.

Somehow, with a valiant effort, he managed not to do anything annoying for the next five minutes, until, finally, to his unfathomable delight, the speaker said, "Any questions?"

There was a brief pause, then Chris raised his hand. His team stared at him in astonishment. Chris never asked questions; he assimilated what he felt was worthwhile and ignored the rest, but never asked questions. It just wasn't done.

"Yes?" said the speaker, smiling. "That man in the black 'Armageddon has nothing on me' T-shirt?"

Chris gave the sort of smile that invariably sent his team running for cover. "Yes, I had a question about... I made a note here somewhere... ah. You were talking about telephoning experts for their opinion in certain matters?"

The speaker nodded, smiling back at Chris. "Quite. Much easier than going in person. And all."

"Right." Chris's smile broadened. "I was just wondering whether, in fact, you sometimes find it difficult to obtain the cooperation of these people, being, as you so obviously are, er..." he paused, then shrugged. "Well, being, as you are, the perfect example of a complete and utter pompous asshole?"

Ezra blinked. "It's the end of the world as we know it," he sang to himself, stunned.

The speaker's mouth had fallen open. "Oh, now, really, my dear chap, that was rather uncalled for."

Team 7 of the ATF very quietly moved farther away from their leader.

"My dear chap?" Chris repeated. "Oh, that is it. That's... that's... I should shoot you where you stand, you imbecilic, naïve moron!"

The speaker frowned. "I really can't think of the words to describe your rudeness!"

Chris stood up and started walking toward the stage. "Well, I can certainly think of plenty of words to describe you! Why don't we start with 'dimwitted twit' and move on from there? Ezra, bring your mouth."

Ezra looked around. "Pardon?"

"Get over here, Agent Standish."

Ezra nodded worriedly and followed his team leader up on stage.

Chris had very gently picked the speaker up by the collar and pinned him against the wall. "You know nothing about how a real agent does his work. You and all your 'office procedures' - you're not even a real cop! You're a private eye! Have you ever been present when someone that's supposed to be dead pulls a gun and starts shooting at your team? I have. A lot. A lot more than should technically be possible, but anyway. It's hard to 'factor in' that kind of thing." His voice was a low growl.

Finally, the agents in the audience were reacting. Unfortunately for the speaker, most of them seemed to agree with Chris.

"I must insist that you put me down," stammered the speaker, nervously.

"Ezra, what do you think of this man?" Chris asked, ignoring him.

"Um, well, uh... He's... a brainless deluded ignoramus with no idea what goes on in the real world?" Ezra replied, tentatively.

"And would you say that is an accurate reflection of the opinions of most of the people here?"

Ezra surveyed the room. Almost everyone was nodding vigorously. One of the exceptions, he noted, was the agent that had been sitting next to him. He shrugged.

"It would appear so, sir."

"Fine." Chris let go of the man's collar, dropping him to the floor, and picked up the microphone. "Dismissed," he said calmly, and, beckoning for his team to follow, walked out.

"I can't believe the Judge made us go and listen to that.. that... stupid... jerk!" Nathan fumed, as they headed for the car park.

"I can't believe Chris sat through the whole thing before... doing what he did," Vin sighed.

"I can't believe Ezra started singing a Rolling Stones song ten minutes away from the end," said Chris, grinning.

"It was either that or the Penis Song," Standish replied, adding in response to the inquiring looks he received, "Monty Python? It... never mind."

"I can't believe you assaulted that guy in front of all those witnesses!" JD said adoringly. "That was so cool!"

Chris waved a hand dismissively. "That wasn't assault, that was... getting a point across."

Buck was as livid as Nathan. "Couldn't you have gotten it across sooner? I had to cancel a date for that horse... manure. This was supposed to be my day off."

Josiah looked around. "What was that guy saying? I wasn't listening."

"No kidding," drawled Vin. "What were you reading, anyway?"

Josiah held up a book by H.G. Wells. Ezra was astonished.

"You're actually reading a book I recommended?"

Josiah smiled slightly, then smoothly changed the subject. "Well, while I'm sure you had a good reason for humiliating that man in front of all those law-enforcement agents, Chris, I'm damn glad I won't be in your shoes when the Judge hears about this."

Chris grimaced. When was he going to learn to think of consequences...

The Judge, it turned out, heard about it almost immediately. The dreaded phone call came ten minutes after the seven had arrived back at the office.

"Larabee. Talk to me. Oh, hi, Judge." Chris grimaced and held the phone slightly away from his ear as he kicked his office door shut. The rest of the team promptly rushed over and pressed their ears to various points of the door, almost falling over when Chris jerked it open.

"Sit!" he hissed, pointing at their desks. They sat, reluctantly. Chris slammed his door shut again, and, after waiting a few seconds, the team approached and stopped at a relatively safe distance. Unfortunately, they weren't quite close enough to hear everything, so they had to content themselves with snatches of the conversation that were said loud enough to float over to them.

"Nitwit..." "...lame-brain..." "Mindless..." And then, very clearly, "... father is in the government?!"

The team exchanged glances. So that was why the idiot had been allowed to give a lecture to every local law enforcement agency. Come one, come all, one day only kind of thing.

"No! No way!" Chris sounded slightly frantic. He lowered his voice abruptly, probably having been chastised by the Judge - "Don't you raise your voice to me, boy!" seemed possible - and consequently the rest of the conversation was too muffled to make out, so the would-be eavesdroppers were forced to sit down and pretend to work.

Eventually, Chris emerged from his office, looking distressed.

"What's up there, boss?" Buck gestured to a spare chair. "Was he really mad?"

Chris sat down heavily. "Yeah. Said if I ever pull a stunt like that again he'll have my hide hanging on his office wall." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for a second, then vanished. "Apparently, however, Mr. Maxwell -"

Josiah held up a hand. "Who's that?"

Chris narrowed his eyes at him. "The guy that gave the lecture. Were you already reading that book when he introduced himself?"

Josiah grinned sheepishly. "Oh, that Mr. Maxwell. Please continue."

"Well, he thinks I was right."

"He does?" JD's astonishment was reflected on the faces of everyone present.

"Yes. Which presents a problem."

"How so?"

"He's decided he wants to gain some... what were the exact words used... ah. 'On the spot experience.' And he wants to get it from working with us."

"What?! Why?"

"He was impressed by the way I handled him," Chris replied sourly. "So he got hold of our records, and discovered that not only do we solve 98% of our cases, which is impossibly high, we also use unorthodox methods to solve them, which he found fascinating, and we also solve many cases that aren't even ours, hell, aren't even cases, usually while on vacation, and - this was the clincher as far as he was concerned - we have the highest injury rate. In fact, the Judge informed me that even if we had twice as many people in this team than we do, the injury rate would still be abnormally high, and it's a miracle we aren't all dead, and please will we keep this man alive as his father would be very upset if we don't. " Chris abruptly stopped talking and gasped for breath, having not inhaled for the duration of his reply.

"Who is his father?" Nathan did not look happy at the prospect of working with Maxwell. Then again, neither did anyone else.

Chris held up a hand until he'd finished gulping for air before answering. "He's a sort've semi-high ranking government official that pampers his son disgustingly. Judge wouldn't tell me exactly who."

"I hate nepotism," Ezra reflected.

"Yeah, well. We're stuck with this guy on the bust on Thursday."

The team was speechless. But not for long.

"But, Chris! We've worked on that for three months! We can't afford to have some no-brained idiot with an indulgent father screw that up!"

"I told the Judge that. He said it's my fault for losing my temper, and our fault for being so good at our jobs and being shot so much. And he agreed with us, but there's nothing he could do."

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair, kid." Buck ruffled the kid's hair and sighed. "I guess we'll just have to keep him out of the way as much as possible."

"What's his first name?"

"Keith."

"Keith Maxwell?" Nathan shook his head with a sigh. "My father always told me not to trust people with two first names."

"I always thought your father was a very smart man."

"Agent Larabee, this is Keith Maxwell."

The Judge had insisted on meeting them at a neutral location to hand Maxwell over to them.

"We've met." Chris ignored the hand that Maxwell was holding out, merely staring at it until the poor disliked chap pretended he'd only been trying to swat a fly.

"Indeed," the Judge agreed dryly. "But this time, I don't want any violence. Understood?"

"What, not even a little?"

"Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he's promised to obey every order given to him, without exception. Now introduce him to Team 7."

Chris turned to his team. "Everyone, Keith Maxwell. Keith, everyone."

"Chris!"

With a sigh and a put-upon look, Chris introduced everyone by name, except Ezra, who was getting ready to slip into his usual undercover role.

"Good. Now, I'm going to go, and you're going to be nice to Mr. Maxwell, or his father will hang your head above his fireplace."

Chris raised an eyebrow. Judge Travis sighed.

"Okay, but you're not to kill him, or injure him very much, and you have to include him. Show him your procedures. That sort of thing. And I'm holding you responsible if anyone on your team causes him harm."

The Judge eyed Chris critically for a moment, making sure he'd obey his orders, before leaving.

Chris glared at Maxwell in silence for a full five minutes, until Ezra arrived, looking spiffy, at which point he shifted his gaze to Standish.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Almost, anyway."

"Good. Get going."

Ezra nodded and left, followed by the rest of his team and Maxwell.

The team was scattered around the first floor of a warehouse, very effectively hiding behind all sorts of crates and things (except for Ezra, for obvious reasons, and Vin, who had managed to find an excellent sniper's position on the second level of the warehouse), and were listening to the conversation between Ezra and the arms seller by way of those tiny headphone things they use. They were all considerably stiff, as they had been holding their positions for three and a half hours, since they had arrived very early to check the lay of the land, and had been delighted to find absolutely no-one on guard. Their target was a very trusting - or naïve - person, it seemed. The other teams had arrived later and had had to content themselves with taking up positions outside.

"What do you think?" the seller, Ian Maugham, asked anxiously.

"It's quite delightful," Ezra replied reassuringly. "The décor is so original. Quite unique."

"Really? Only I've always thought warehouses were so... cliché."

"Not at all. I've seen my fair share of warehouses, and this one is singularly, er, remarkable. The crates are arranged so well."

Satisfied with the praise of his building, Ian got down to business. "100 assault rifles, 50 surface-to-air missile launchers, and 300 hand guns."

"Only the best, I assume."

"Of course. You saw the sample. You have the money?"

"Naturally."

Chris listened apprehensively. He didn't like Ezra going in alone, but Maugham had insisted that he only bring in his men to help transport the weapons, after they were paid for, so he'd had to content himself with being as close as possible.

Maxwell had strict instructions to stay put, on pain of death, which is why Chris was astonished and horrified when he heard Keith's voice in his ear (via the earphone-thingy) saying, "I want to get a closer look."

"Maxwell, stay put," Chris hissed furiously.

"I'll be quiet! I can't see from here!"

Chris mentally cursed himself for not cuffing the man to the nearest large, heavy object instead of sticking him near the back of the upper level of the warehouse. And what had possessed him to not put Josiah next to him to knock him out at the first sign of trouble?

"Damn you, Maxwell, you'll screw everything up! Get back to your position!"

But it was too late. Maxwell had stealthily crept out from behind his crate, tiptoed behind another, tripped over a crowbar lying carelessly on the floor, and fallen noisily down some stairs.

Chris licked his lips, wondering whether to move in, or let Ezra handle it. He glanced up and across to where Vin was hidden, and the sharpshooter's voice spoke into his ear.

"Don't worry, I've got him covered for now."

"Okay." Chris crouched alertly and waited.

One of Ian's henchman dragged Maxwell over and dropped him in front of his boss.

"Caught him spying."

Ezra noticed with well-concealed relief that Maxwell's headphones had fallen off in his fall.

"Keith, Keith, Keith." Ezra stepped in smoothly, voice gently chiding, with no hint of surprise. "I told you to stop following me."

Maxwell made like a guppie, opening and shutting his mouth a few times.

"I did inform you that Mr. Maugham wished to meet in private." He shook his head sadly, turning to Ian. "My chief of security. He takes his job too seriously."

Ian frowned. "Would it inconvenience you terribly if I killed him?"

Ezra furrowed his brow, allowing a concerned expression to settle on his face.

"Yes, rather," he said mildly. "He's not all that bright, if you get my meaning, but he can be somewhat useful on occasion."

Maxwell finally caught on, but not enough. "Sorry, Ezra."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "Ezra? I thought your name was Eddie?"

Ezra gave Ian a convincingly embarrassed laugh, and Keith a death glare. "Yes, well. Eddie is the name I use when dealing with less than perfectly honest people."

Ian nodded, but his henchman looking thoughtful. "Eddie Sanders... not Ezra Standish?"

"Er..." For once Ezra had no snappy comeback.

The henchman scowled. "Standish! I've heard of you!" He turned to his boss.

"He's a member of that really famous ATF team that's in the papers all the time!"

Ezra gave a sickly smile. "It's so hard to find incompetent help these days... Perhaps I could lend you Keith."

Chris hurriedly gave the order to move in.

"ATF! Everybody freeze!" Nobody did, of course, and for the millionth time, as he looked around for a handy crate to duck behind to shelter himself from the bullets that were suddenly flying around the warehouse, Chris wondered why he even bothered to say it.

Ian was looking terribly hurt. "You're ATF? But I trusted you! I befriended you! We played video games together! I... I let you use my sauna!"

Ezra shrugged, whipped out his gun. "All's fair in love and law," he said.

"That's not how it -"

"I'm going to have to place you under arrest."

The irritatingly competent henchman aimed his weapon at Ezra, and was promptly shot by Vin.

"Okay, that's... four..." murmured Vin, taking a moment to pull out a knife and make a notch on his gun, before taking down a goon that had Chris cornered. "Five," he corrected himself in a satisfied tone, and made another notch. This, he reflected, was really an excellent sniper's position. And no-one had even found him yet-

"Sniper!" yelled one of the goons, pointing in Vin's direction before dying painfully.

"Thank you, Chris," Vin said into his headphones.

"Seven," said Chris smugly.

"Six, actually, the one on your left is still breathing."

"Oh... damn..."

Buck cheerfully clobbered a crook on the noggin with his empty gun. "Extra clip, please, JD?"

JD threw his friend a clip. "Buck, I told you to pack spares! When are you going to learn to listen to me?"

"I did! I've used them all! Anyway, I don't need to carry spares - I have you!" Buck fired over his shoulder, taking down another bad guy and narrowly missing an agent from one of the other teams.

"Brother Nate," said Josiah, thoughtfully, bear-hugging the last standing criminal into unconsciousness, "Have you noticed that lately we seem to be awfully... cavalier about all this sort of thing?"

"I suppose it's because we have better things to worry about - You got that guy, Ez? Okay - like what the Judge will say when he finds out we killed 70% of the felons that we were supposed to arrest. Everyone okay?"

"No!"

Nathan looked around. "Vin? What's wrong?"

Vin appeared in front of him, holding up his index finger. "I cut my finger... got a Band-Aid?"

Nathan sighed heavily, produced a plaster. "That's what you get for making notches on your weapon like that. It's sick, I tell you," he lectured, wrapping the dressing around Vin's finger.

Vin shrugged. "Thanks. You're right, I should keep a written record, like you."

Josiah shook his head. "I'm in the company of savages."

"I couldn't agree more, Mr. Sanchez." Ezra walked up, pushing a handcuffed Ian along in front of him.

Buck slapped a female agent from Team 5 on the shoulder, said, "See you Friday then," and joined his friends, JD tagging along.

"Hey all. These other teams have everything under control. We can go now."

"Shouldn't we stay?" JD felt a bit guilty leaving straight after the fun part.

Buck smirked. "Naw, it's our prerogative, being the best around and all."

Chris staggered up, looking flustered, shaking his hand. "Ouch... dammit..."

Nathan pounced. "Whassamatter?!"

Chris took a fearful step back. "I just bashed my hand on a crate! It's fine!"

"You should get it X-rayed. It could be broken, or fractured, or bruised, or-"

"It's fine."

Nathan subsided. He knew better than to argue with that tone.

"Now... where is our friend Mr. Maxwell...?" Chris scanned the room with narrowed eyes. "Ah-ha!"

"Now, Chris, you promised the Judge..." Team 7 anxiously followed their leader as he stalked across to where Maxwell was hiding behind one of those crate-like objects that so often crop up in stories like this.

"You... you... you little weed!" Chris leapt on the hapless human, punched him very hard, picked him up and started strangling him. "I'm gonna kill you! Right now! Say your prayers..."

All Maxwell said, however, was, "Graaaaargh," because that was all he could get out.

"Chris!" Vin and Buck joined forces to pull him off. "What will Mary say!"

Larabee struggled furiously against their restraining hands. "I'm gonna kill 'im - lemme go!! He deserves to die! I... am... so... mad!" Think Cartman, from South Park.

Josiah gave Keith an encouraging push. "Get out of here, man! Go, while you still can! I don't know how long we can hold him!"

Keith gave them a terrified look, then fled. The team immediately fell about laughing. Even Chris managed a smile - that frightened expression had made up for a great deal.

"Let's blow this joint," he sighed, making a mental note to get his hand X-rayed after all- hitting Maxwell had hurt quite a lot.

Chris emerged from the Judge's office with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Well?" demanded his team, chewing on doughnuts paid for by Travis.

"Maxwell has resigned from law enforcement and taken up a position as a baker. According to the Judge, that's what he always wanted to do anyway. The Judge had a grand old time saying "I told you so" to everyone that would listen, I had a grand old time saying the same thing to the Judge, and now everyone seems to be happy. Oh, and Maxwell wants a restraining order against all of us, just in case."

Buck shook his head. "And what makes him think we'd touch him with a ten foot pole?"

Josiah grinned broadly, draping his arms over the shoulders of JD and Vin. "Everything seems to have worked out for the best."

"How about a celebratory drink?" This suggestion from JD was met with enthusiastic agreement.

As the team wandered off to the saloon, Nathan suddenly remembered something. "Vin, have you changed that Band-Aid? That cut could get infected -"

He was cut off by a friendly bagel launched very accurately at his head.

"And then that idiot screwed everything up, and you cut your finger and I hurt my hand, and..." Chris sighed and took another sip of his whiskey. "That was a terrible bust."

JD arrived from the bar, carrying a beer, and flopped into the seat next to Chris. "That sure was a great bust!" The kid sighed contentedly.

His boss stared at him. "What? Why?"

"Well, hell! We caught all the bad guys - and only killed half of them! - confiscated a large shipment of guns, discovered the location of a huge weapons shipment, confiscated that, and none of us got hurt! Well, beyond a cut finger and a bruised hand. And we didn't even have to help clean up. And that Maxwell guy now has a nice safe job in which he can't hurt anyone."

Chris glared at the team's youngest member. "Damn it, JD, do you have any idea how hard it is to avoid being optimistic around you?" He shook his head in disgust - if he wasn't careful he'd start being happy all the time, and then where would his reputation be? He was then forced to get extremely drunk in an attempt to keep from smiling, only to fail miserably. But then, that's life.

The End