Ezra Standish absentmindedly rubbed his nearly stiff left leg as he hovered over the tests one of his classes had written the day before. He reached for his Frappuchino, took a sip and grimaced. Starbuck’s wasn’t what it used to be… but then, neither was he, or the rest of Team 7. His team. His friends, brothers… family.
Ezra smiled fondly. He could clearly remember the day when Larabee had more or less shanghaied him from the Atlanta FBI office, despite the checkered past and the less than stellar reputation Standish had had at the time. That was more than fifteen years ago. If anyone had told him back then that Denver would become his new, first real home, Ezra would have declared that person complete and utterly insane. His glance fell on the framed Erte card that sat on his desk. Vin Tanner’s thank you and the first step to the ex-undercover agent’s integration into the Magnificent Seven.
Standish sighed as he looked at the numerous photos that covered the walls of the office in the ATF Training Facility Denver he occupied for four years now. The picture of the first fishing trip they had done together was in the center of the compilation of the happier moments of his life. His colleagues had reeled him in smoothly that day. Ezra smirked as he recalled how long they had baited him until he had finally swallowed the hook, caving in to the overwhelming need of belonging.
More memories surfaced and the smile vanished as he thought of how the team had threatened to fall apart piece by piece in a little under a year. It began with the bust which had almost cost Chris Larabee’s life and had tied their team leader to a desk job six years ago. Vin Tanner had discovered shortly afterwards that his eyesight was slowly deteriorating, until he was no longer able to fill his position as sharpshooter and had to wear glasses or contacts to see properly.
The first bust with Vin’s replacement had left Ezra with a slug smashing his left knee, a distinctive limp when he walked and the end of his career in the field. Josiah Sanchez had failed his physical and was nearing retirement age. That had been when the first rumours over disbanding the team had started. And the team had did its best to prove the badmouthers wrong, Buck Wilmington showed once more how much he was not only J.D.’s but the entire team’s mother hen, cheering them up when depression and desperation threatened to settle in.
Good ol’ Bucklin. The Southerner had never understood from where Wilmington drew the strength and the optimism to go on even after what seemed to be a devastating blow, no matter how bad the news were. The man was remarkable, indeed, in every aspect of his personality.
Ezra chuckled briefly when he recalled the day Wilmington had discovered that he was balding and the rapidly receding hairline was no longer to deny. Of course his team mates had teased the womaniser merciless. Absentminded, he ran a hand through his own chestnut colored hair. It was still full, but Buck would laugh his ass off if he ever found out about Ezra’s little secret. Not even 45 years of age and he was already getting grey! Not just a bit grey but really grey. Fortunately, there was this thing called hair dye which saved him from the worst embarrassment. Appearances are everything. Besides, Ezra could still blackmail Buck to keep his mouth shut in case he ever found out. Limp noodle. A devious grin formed on Standish’s face as he remembered that particular incident in the Chinese herb shop he had witnessed by chance. The two of them had been buying stuff for the New Year’s party a few months ago and Buck had get carried away in the miracle world of oriental healing methods. Limp noodle. Ezra’s lips formed the words and he chuckled.
The picture of J.D.’s wedding. Casey had been a beautiful bride and Buck proud as a peacock as the kid’s best man. A year later, their first child was born – Samantha, a bright child and Ezra’s goddaughter. Next year, she’d start school.
Another wedding picture; Chris and Mary had decided to make the big step after he had recovered from his near-fatal injury, and since Nathan and Rain had intended to wed that year anyway, they made it a double event. Ezra grinned when he recalled the day Jackson’s twins, Trisha and Heather, were born. Trust Nathan to stand through the bloodiest gunfights, but he had fainted in the delivery room.
A photo of Ezra balancing a reindeer ornament – courtesy of Chris Larabee’s Christmas light and magic supplies – on a rooftop in the midst of winter. Only a couple of weeks before the slug had made such hazard actions impossible, he thought with a twinge. The rooftop belonged to the house that Buck and J.D. had bought. Good-bye Cesspit and farewell Center of Disease Control . Buck had his own, separate apartment on the second floor but he spent a lot of time with the young family. That was, if he didn’t use his ‘animal magnetism’ to chase the ladies. Some things would never change.
The most recent addition to the collection was taken on Angie’s graduation. Ezra’s protégé would commence studying in Seattle soon where she lived with her foster parents. They were really nice people, his Angel Girl was very happy with them, and that made Ezra happy. Even if it had hurt that she had left Denver, but Ezra knew that she needed a stable home and a family more than anything else after the rough times the two of them had been through together. He visited her as often as his job allowed and had followed her life as good as he could.
Now the little girl had grown up to become independent and had voiced more than once that she wanted to go into law enforcement. Either that, or become an archaeologist or an actress. Oh, and then there was Anthony, a young man she had introduced as her boyfriend. Ezra had almost suffered a cardiac arrest when she had told him. Well, not really, but he had given the stubborn teenager his two cents about the issues of job choice and males. Angie had just laughed at him. “Ez, you old bone,” she had said with a malicious grin. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
He sighed. His sense of adventure had deserted him a long time ago, being replaced by a growing responsibility and the realization that one Ezra Standish was neither invincible nor immortal.
Another photo, another memory. The day when Judge Travis had opened the ATF Training Facility Denver, his last official act before his retirement and also his legacy. Well, the TFD as they just called it, was actually a brainchild of Team 7. Buck had brought up the topic of “What could we do?” one Friday evening at the Saloon not long after Ezra had lost his field qualification and it became clear that the brass would split them up.
Standish had been more than just a little bit depressed at the time, taking Chris, Vin and Josiah down with him on sorrow lane. Therefore, the general mood at Team 7’s regular table had started out as dark as could be, but by the end of the evening, Buck had somehow managed to fuel hopes and spark some ideas. Somehow, the Judge had learned about the heated discussion and the ideas the agents had formulated.
A few months later, Travis had approached them and offered the chance to build up the TFD from scratch and keep the team together. It hadn’t taken much persuasion, none of the seven were getting younger and half of the team was out of field duty anyway. And what better way was there to carry on the legend of the Magnificent Seven than have them pass their experience to the next generation and prepare young agents for the requirements of field work?
The Judge had given them a budget and free reign, so the team had organized and arranged everything that was needed, searched for a location to built the facility and supervised the construction of the place. It was a hard piece of work and every agent had invested a lot of time and energy into the venture. No, that wasn’t fully true, Ezra corrected himself with a smile. They had given the TFD project their heart and soul. Team 7 had become the facility’s first instructors in their respective fields, with active teams of the ATF Denver dropping by on a regularly base to keep things up-to-date. Nothing better than fresh information from the latest busts to spice up a lecture.
TFD was nothing like your usual training camp, no sir. Only the best were allowed to take part, but it was a healthy mixture of younger and older agents. TFD training units covered half a year and combined field work under the tutelage of one of the seven with theoretical background knowledge. Everything was covered, from standard bust situations in warehouses to undercover work. Team 7 evaluated the agents, recommended new teams and suggested possible team leaders. After something of a rough start and some rather unpleasant setbacks, things were on the go now and TFD trained teams had above the average success rates. Needless to say that Judge Travis was more than happy.
Yes, life had changed, but Ezra didn’t mind. He was still part of the Magnificent Seven and they still had offices next to each other on one floor, even though it was the third floor of the TFD building now. They still made pranks and acted like a bunch of kindergarten kids when they felt up to it. Some things didn’t change, fortunately.
Much to the dismay of Karen Winters, the head of administration, who had threatened round them up with a cattle prod, stuff them all into one big sack and use a baseball bat on the containment – saying she’d always hit a guilty party no matter who received the blow. Of course that had been after Vin had caused that flood-and-explosion disaster in the ladies room, and the upset working force assumed that the entire Team 7 was responsible for the mess. What gave the ladies such a preposterous idea, Ezra had no clue. Really. No clue at all. He grinned. ‘Facta, non verba’ was TFD’s motto, after all, wasn’t it?
And sometimes, on the very rare occasion, life caught up with them and Team Seven found itself involved in the midst of investigations, gun fights and other action that the majority of the team had been declared unfit for.
But that, the Southerner thought with a sigh as he returned his attention to the tests that were still waiting for correction on his desk, was a different story to tell.
The End
