"Where is he?"
"How is he, brother?"
"Where'd ya find him?"
"Is he okay, Chris?"
With a mental groan, Chris paused in his rhythmic pacing of the ER waiting room as the rest of his team trampled in through the glass doors. It had been his idea to call them - a matter of self-preservation, actually, since they all had reason to be mad enough to kill him if he hadn't - but sometimes they were a little hard to take when they were worried - especially when they were worried and pissed off. He looked over at his best friend, the only one who hadn't pelted him with a question, and raised a sandy brow.
"Got anything to add, pard?"
"Naw," Vin drawled, his normally warm blue eyes expressionless. His relief that Chris had found Ezra warred with his anger at Chris' harsh treatment of the Southerner. He knew that Chris probably had a reason, but at the moment, he really didn't give a damn what it was. All that mattered was Ezra. "Figger Ez must be all right 'r there'd be a couple holes in the walls by now."
Chris saw the anger lurking behind his friend's blank eyes, and looking at the others, saw their rage and disappointment disguised poorly or not at all. He winced and opened his mouth to explain his actions, but before he could, a new voice interrupted, "Mr. Standish will be all right, if he does as he is told for once, but it was a near thing."
The six men whirled as one on the speaker, bodies poised for action, faces intense. Dr. Park never flinched. The diminutive Asian doctor had served as a field medic for two
combat tours. Nothing fazed him - not even an anxious Team 7.
"What do you mean, Doctor?" Nathan demanded, shooting a dark look at the team leader. Although the forensics expert often was at odds with Ezra himself, Chris' earlier diatribe against the Southerner was totally out of line. Any damage Ezra had sustained after leaving the warehouse would be laid directly at the blond man's feet.
"I mean that Mr. Standish has worked himself into a dangerous state of exhaustion, though he refuses to tell me how," the doctor reported in a crisp, stern tone. "Together with the blood loss, his condition could have become quite serious. He also has two cracked ribs on his lower right side, which, while not serious, are quite painful."
Chris' eyes narrowed in surprise at the last listed injury. The only place that could have happened was during the scuffle with the gunman at the warehouse. The hyper-protective Max would have watched Ezra too closely to allow anything to happen to him at his place. Ezra hadn't said anything about his ribs hurting, and he hadn't favored his side at the gym that Chris could remember. Max hadn't noticed, either, or he certainly would have said or done something. Chris knew that all his men were good at hiding pain, and Ezra with all his experience as an undercover operative was even better than the rest of them combined, but this was ridiculous. The blond leader reminded himself to have a serious chat with his wayward agent the first chance he got.
The doctor's precise, accented English caught Chris' attention once more. "I wanted to keep him overnight for observation, but he insisted rather strenuously on going home. Since he will probably sleep better in his own bed, I am going to go ahead and release him. I have stitched his arm up, and as long as he takes his medicine and rests for the next couple of days, he should recover fully. But he must give himself time to heal, or he will be right back here."
"I - we'll make sure that he does, Doctor," Chris promised firmly, his jaw clenching with resolve.
The other members of his team traded puzzled looks. All of them had caught the "I." Chris rarely played nursemaid, except when Vin got hurt or sick enough to need the attention, and he certainly never had volunteered to care for the fractious Southerner before. Not that any of them had any intention of trusting the moody blond man with Ezra. The two of them clashed as badly as stripes and plaids on the best of days, and the undercover agent didn't need any of Chris' attitude right now if he was to heal properly.
"Very well, Mr. Larabee, I leave him in your hands," Park stated matter-of-factly, unaware of or ignoring the undercurrent of tension surrounding the six men. "He is in cubicle one and should be ready to leave soon. I left his prescriptions and care instructions at the nurses' station. He has refused any pain medication since he has been here, but as his friends, perhaps you will be more successful in getting him to take something. Now if you will pardon me, gentlemen, I have other patients to attend to."
Chris barely managed a nod of thanks to the doctor before he took off like a shot towards the curtained off area that hid Ezra. Nathan headed for the nurses' station first to pick up the doctor's orders, but the other four were right behind Chris. The Southerner looked up when they burst in on him, a slight smile on his face. All five men had to repress gasps.
Ezra had somehow managed to push himself up into a sitting position and stay there, but the effort it cost him was obvious in the pasty color of his face. His usually bright eyes were as dull as tromped on grass, and dark hollows ringed their undersides. He had struggled into his pants on his own, but his shirt hung limply off his right shoulder and his feet were bare. The stark white of a bandage swathed his exposed upper left arm, and two more covered the knuckles of his hands, both of which were shaking as he attempted to get the shirt on properly. Yet another bandage wound around his lower chest to provide some support for the cracked ribs.
"Greetings, gentlemen," he said in a weak imitation of his normal, vibrant tone, his futile efforts with the shirt ceasing momentarily. "Now that you are here, you can assist me in making myself presentable enough to vacate these loathsome premises."
"Damn, Ez, what happened to ya, pard?" Buck asked, dismay evident in his voice. The emotion clearly reflected on his teammates' faces as they crowded into the small space, and more than one pair of eyes turned accusingly on Chris.
Ezra shot a questioning glance of his own at Chris. The blond understood instantly what he was asking and shook his head slightly. The undercover agent allowed himself to relax fully then. His safe harbor was still a secret. Well, except from Larabee, but Ezra found that he didn't mind that as much as he thought he should. He frowned a bit, considering the whys of that, until Nathan's growl drew him out his pensive thoughts.
"Where the hell's your nurse?!" the ex-medic demanded as he joined the others, moving past the crowd towards the bedridden man. "You shouldn't be moving around any on your own like this!"
Seemingly unperturbed, Ezra shrugged with his good shoulder. "Something I shall not be repeating in the near future, Mr. Wilmington, and I informed the nurse that the six of you would soon be arriving to aid me and sent her on her way, Mr. Jackson. Now are you going to stand there gawking or are you going to prove me correct?"
Nathan threw up his hands in frustration then reached out to help tug the shirt into place. JD quickly stepped up to the other side of the bed and gently eased the wounded limb into the torn white sleeve, wincing at the sight of the dried blood coating it. The young man nimbly buttoned up the shirt then moved back to allow Nathan to strap the arm into the sling Vin handed him, a stern look from both men silencing Ezra's protest before he could even voice it.
In the meantime, Chris had scooped the expensive shoes and socks off the floor and prepared to slip them on his agent's feet as he had at the gym. Before he got the chance, Buck snatched them from his hands then deliberately turned his back on his oldest friend. Josiah turned with Buck, the two broad backs providing an effective barrier between the injured man and the one who had hurt him.
Chris pulled up sharply at the rebuff. He knew he deserved every second of this, but right now, he found himself preferring Max's method of punishment over this silent treatment. Physical or verbal confrontation he could handle; he wasn't used to being ignored. Getting a firm grip on his temper before he did something else stupid, the blond stood back and let the others administer to their fallen comrade without him.
Ezra witnessed the whole proceedings and frowned. While part of him was touched that the others seemed hell-bent on shielding him from Chris' ire, another part was infuriated that they were too blinded by their own anger to realize that such protection was unnecessary. In effect, they weren't acting any better than Chris had earlier, and Ezra found himself in the unique position of defender rather than defendant. It was a singularly odd sensation, but nevertheless a role he enacted with his usual aplomb.
"Gentlemen, you will cease."
Every other man in the room looked up at the sound of his cool, even words. "What'd ya say, pard?" Buck asked for all of them from his position at Ezra's feet.
Eyes just as cool as his voice, Ezra shifted his gaze from one man to another until the only one whose eyes he hadn't met was Chris. "I said stop. While I appreciate your efforts on my behalf to "protect" me, they are no longer necessary or welcome. Mr. Larab -" The drawled words paused for a split second, then resumed with emphasis, "Chris and I have come to an understanding, and all has been forgiven. Since no injury was done to any of your persons, I must insist that you desist treating him like a pariah. I have far too much experience with that unwarranted feeling to allow it to happen to someone equally undeserving, especially if I am the cause."
Six pairs of eyes widened, and six mouths dropped. Five owners of said eyes and mouths stood immobile, shocked by the little speech and momentarily unable to process that what they had thought they were doing right was actually not helping at all. The sixth man stared at the Southerner with an astounding mixture of disbelief, gratitude, and pained understanding.
A deep sadness overtook Chris as the reality of Ezra's life crashed through him. How many times had each of them at one time or another done exactly that to the young agent? How often had they treated him as the outsider, simply because he did things just a little differently than they did? The blond recalled Max's harsh, accusatory words. Apparently, too often. He hung his head guiltily. No wonder Ezra didn't trust easily or often.
Chris frowned suddenly. Yet here Ezra was defending him after all the shit he'd heaped upon him tonight and all the times before. The man was truly an enigma, and the senior agent felt an irresistible urge to unravel the mystery that was Ezra Standish.
JD was the first to find his voice. "Ah, hell, Ez, we just thought . . ."
"I know what you thought, Mr. Dunne, and as I said, it is greatly appreciated, but it is no longer need," Ezra replied with every ounce of sincerity he could muster. He made sure he again caught the eye of every man in the room, pleasantly surprised to see looks of grudging understanding of each face. He had expected more of a fight. "What is needed is a wheelchair so I can leave with a minimum of fuss on the part of the hospital staff, though I assure you I am quite capable of walking out of here on my own two feet."
"Wheelchair," Nathan stated firmly, not buying for one second the undercover agent's assertions of good health. Vin and JD quickly left to go find one before the contrary man took it into his head to defy the rules and rule makers and get up on his own, anyway.
Ezra grimaced. He hated hospitals and especially disliked the policies that made one feel more like an invalid than one truly was. He sighed and turned his attention to his next problem. "Now that we have settled that, all that is left is transport home. Chris, since you were so kind as to convey me to this despicable place, would it be too much trouble to ask that you return me to my humble abode now? The lure of my nice, comfortable bed is growing stronger by the second."
Aware of the disbelieving looks on their friends' faces, Chris answered quietly, "If that's what you want, Ezra."
Ezra's head tilted to one side, and he gave Chris a considering look. "If it wasn't, you may be sure that I would not have asked."
As if these words were freed him from some sort of binding spell, the senior agent stepped forward from his place in the back corner and took up the spot Buck vacated at his approach. Reaching out to finish lacing the half-done shoes, Chris agreed, "Then I guess I'm taking you.
Ezra wriggled his toes to catch his helper's attention and grinned at him when he looked up. "Thank you, Chris. Now, hand me those discharge papers, if you will, Mr. Sanchez. I find hospital hospitality is sorely lacking and have no wish to further impose on the doctors' "good" graces."
Less than twenty minutes later, six of the seven men stepped through the front sliding doors of the hospital. Chris had gone ahead and pulled the Ram up the circular drive. He climbed of the driver's side in time to hear Vin ask, "Hey, Ez, where's the Jag? Need someone ta drive it home fer ya?"
A slight widening of the eyes was the only indication that Ezra was taken by surprise by the question, and only because Chris was staring straight at him did he catch the tell. With the smoothness that had earned him his reputation as the best damn undercover agent in the region, Ezra replied, "That's quite all right, Mr. Tanner. I have already seen to safe return of my vehicle, but I thank you for the offer."
With a shrug and a nod, the sharpshooter acknowledged the thanks and stepped aside as Buck opened the passenger side door of the truck with a flourish. Shaking his head at the theatrics, Ezra allowed Josiah to help him into the truck and buckle him in while Chris and Nathan talked at the driver's side. He heard the ex-medic delivering stern instructions on how to care for his injuries and watched with some amusement as the blond meekly absorbed all that Nathan was telling him without any interruptions.
After Nathan was finally finished, Chris jumped back in behind the wheel and tossed the bag of medicines onto the seat beside him, catching the mischievous glint in his agent's eye as he did so. He smiled at him a bit ruefully and reached over to pat his stomach gently in acknowledgement of the humor of the situation. An answering smile blossomed on Ezra's face even as he wondered where Chris had picked up that cozy little gesture. He'd never seen him use it before, not even on Mr. Tanner, but Ezra found that he liked it applied to himself. A lot.
"Just be grateful I'm the one taking you home, Ez," Chris muttered as he turned the key in the ignition. The powerful engine roared to life, and they were soon on their way out the parking lot. "Damn, that man is worse than a dozen Mama hens."
"A trait that has kept us all alive on numerous occasions, Chris." At the et tu? expression on Chris' face, Ezra felt compelled to add, "Of course, that does not make the attention any less annoying when aimed at one's person."
Chuckling, the two men fell into a companionable silence. Unfortunately for Ezra, with nothing to occupy his mind, he found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open and fought valiantly to keep his head from bobbing forward most ignominiously. He jumped slightly when he felt something soft and warm pressed into his hand.
"Easy, Ez, it's just my sweater," Chris' raspy voice assured him. "Don't have anything else to offer as a pillow. Just wad it up and put it between you and the window and try to get a little sleep. I'll wake you when we get to your place."
It took Ezra's rest-deprived mind a few moments to figure out what Chris' words meant, but once he did, he obeyed the gently issued orders. Crushing the fabric into a rough ball, Ezra pushed the sweater against the chilled glass and leaned his head into it. As he turned his face into the soft material, his last thought before finally succumbing to his body's dictates was how pleasantly it smelled of Chris . . .
+ + + + + + +
Chris pulled into Ezra's driveway and shut off the engine with a sigh of relief. It had taken longer than he'd hoped to get back to the condo. He'd gotten caught in the beginning of the morning commuter rush. Fortunately, the trip had been three-quarters over before the traffic jam had begun in earnest, and Ezra had slept peacefully through all of it. Chris would have had to kill somebody if the Southerner's rest had been disturbed. Road rage, indeed.
Climbing out of the truck, he circled around the front and carefully opened the passenger door. He caught Ezra's sleep-pliant body against his chest before the younger man had the chance to fall more than a few inches. He gently tugged his sweater from between his chest and Ezra's head and tossed it over to the driver's seat. Securing a firm hold around the slightly stirring form, the blond then reached over his legs to unbuckle him from his seated position.
"Hey, Ez, we're home," Chris announced softly. His heart did an odd flip-flop as the words echoed in his ears, causing him to pause a moment while a foreign sense of peace washed over him. What the hell?!
Chris shook his head and told himself it was just because he was tired and his emotions were all in an uproar after last night's events that he was reacting this way. Any place would probably feel like home after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand, he rested a hand on the young agent's knee and shook it gently. He really didn't want to wake Ezra, but he didn't think the Southerner would appreciate being carried into his own home, either. The man was certainly a stubborn, independent cuss.
What was that about pots and kettles, Larabee?
Chris chuckled at himself and shook the lethargic man's knee once again. "C'mon, Ez, up and at 'em. Let's get you inside so you can rest on that bed you've been harping about, all right?"
Still not fully awake, Ezra pushed sulkily at him with his good arm and muttered, "Go 'way. 'M tired."
An amused grin curved the ends of Chris' mouth. Damn, where was his tough, independent agent now? Surveying the situation, Chris knew that he was going to have to get the ball rolling if he wanted to get his charge into the house at all. He carefully turned Ezra towards him, one arm under the groggy man's legs to help swing them out of the cab while the other kept his upper body steady. The minute he leaned Ezra far enough forward so that his feet touched the ground, the green eyes popped open and Chris found himself staring into his agent's face from a matter of inches.
"Wh-what? Chris?"
"Hey there, sunshine," the blond man murmured, tilting his head back a bit so he wouldn't go cross-eyed looking at his friend. "Feel like getting inside now?"
Ezra blinked owlishly up at him. "Huh?"
Chris couldn't contain a small snort of laughter at the unusually inarticulate speech. He couldn't help it. Ezra was just too adorable all mussed and confused like this. The irritated frown that crossed the younger man's face just added to his child-like appeal.
"We're home, Ezra," he repeated, a smile still evident in his voice. "You have your keys on you, right? I don't think I can manage to keep you standing and pick the lock at the same time."
"Of course Ah have mah keys," Ezra muttered in sleepy indignation, his drawl so thick that Chris could barely understand him. The young agent fumbled awkwardly to get his right hand into his left pocket. "And Ah can cuhtainly keep mah own puhson upright without your help, suh."
The blond man just shook his head and gently restrained the clumsily searching hand. "Sure you can, Ez, but how about you let me help you anyway? Let me work off a little of the guilt. What d'you say?"
Green eyes regarded him with exaggerated care for a moment then Ezra nodded once. "Very well, Chris." He frowned. "But Ah seem to have misplaced mah keys."
Barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes, Chris replied, "I think I know where they are. Hang on a second."
Never once considering the possible consequences, Chris slid one hand down the befuddled agent's side and slipped it into the pocket Ezra had been reaching for a moment before. Both men jolted at the intimate touch of hand against hip, the thin, silk lining proving to be a most ineffective barrier between the two men's warm skin. Chris quickly closed his fingers around the metal key ring and immediately withdrew his hand. Neither man looked the other in the eye.
"Um, got 'em, Ez," Chris said unnecessarily. "You ready?"
"Indeed, yes," Ezra responded with a little more alertness. He was now as fully awake as his condition would allow. "Shall we proceed?"
Together, the two agents made their way into the condo, and Ezra directed his human crutch down one hallway to his bedroom. Chris gently deposited him on the end of his bed and then stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. The ornate chest of drawers was easy to spot in the moderately sized room, but he didn't know if he was ready to help his friend get undressed and re-dressed after that little episode in the driveway. Taking a deep breath, knowing that he had accepted this task and had to see it through, Chris slanted a look at Ezra's bowed head.
"So which drawer do you keep your sleepwear in, Ez?" he asked as casually as he could. And please tell me he wears honest-to-God pajamas to bed!
The auburn head popped up. "Excuse me?"
Chris scowled faintly. "Don't give me that. We both know that you need help with the clothes, and since I'm the only other one here, I'm elected. You can't wear what you've got on, so what do you want to wear to bed and where do you keep them?"
Eyes narrowing, Ezra opened his mouth to argue the point but a sudden surge of weariness caught him off-guard, and he sagged, nearly slipping from his position on the bed to the carpet below. He choked back a gasp as the unexpected movement put pressure on his ribs, and his good arm curled protectively around his side. Sweat beading on his brow from the effort to contain his discomfort, he just barely managed to keep from rocking with the pain. He did flinch, though, when a strong pair of arms encircled his waist and gingerly pulled him to a safer location farther back on the bed.
"Just relax, Ezra, I've got you," Chris' voice murmured into his ear, one warm hand stroking gently over the arm wrapped around his ribs in a soothing manner, a solid form beside him providing the support he sorely needed. "Take as long as you need, I've got all the time in the world."
Left with no choice but to obey the soft command, Ezra allowed Chris to bear his weight until he finally regained some control over his treacherous body. God, he hated appearing weak, especially in front of the blond team leader, but Ezra had to admit that it felt . . . nice to have someone help him through the pain. There were too many times in his past where he had suffered alone, and he had long ago accepted that that was how it would always be. Until now, Max had been the single exception to that hard-learned rule. Although it was still something of a shock that Chris of all people was the one here with him, a less stubborn and prideful part of Ezra's soul was grateful for his time and attention. Another part of him, though, the part that had kept him alive and sane all his years, wondered cynically what price he was going to have to pay for this kindness.
Straightening up a bit to show he was temporarily all right, the undercover agent said hoarsely, "Thank you, Chris, I'm fine now. To answer your previous question, you will find a pair of royal blue pajama bottoms in the top drawer of the bureau."
After waiting a few seconds more to make sure Ezra really could stay vertical on his own, Chris hastily made his way across the room and quickly located the requested item. Setting the garment down on the bed beside the hurting man, Chris knelt in front of his friend and removed the footwear he was becoming alarmingly familiar with. The shoes and socks dealt with, he turned his attention to the shirt and pants.
Carefully easing Ezra's left arm out of the sling, Chris slowly moved it to his side before attacking the buttons of the ruined shirt. With deft fingers, he soon had it all the way undone and off his charge. Chris stared at the bared torso a moment, cataloging the damage done to the muscled body and frowning in sympathy at the pain he knew the Southerner had to be in. One hand rose of its own accord, feather-light fingers skimming over the bandage that circled the abused ribcage.
"Why didn't you tell me about this, Ez?" Chris questioned in a low tone, his eyes unable to meet the tired gaze he could feel beating down on the top of his head. "Or at least Max? I could have hurt you worse at the gym, moving you around like I did."
The older agent felt tentative fingers brush his shoulder then withdraw almost as quickly. "I would have told one of you, Chris," Ezra answered in the same quiet tone, "but I honestly didn't feel it until we were almost at the hospital, and what would have been the point then? It doesn't matter, anyway. It has been taken care of satisfactorily."
Chris frowned and lowered his hand. Didn't matter? Of course it mattered. Ezra mattered. But how did he convince someone whose whole life experience had taught him the opposite? Chris shook his head in frustration, once again without the words necessary to talk to this man. He decided to let his actions speak for him.
Picking up the sling, he ignored Ezra's half-hearted protests as he gently slid the arm back into it. He took a second to unbutton and unzip the tailored slacks then the blond rose to his feet and tossed the blue p.j.'s over his shoulder "Okay, we're down to the home stretch here, Ez. Just got to get you out of those pants and into these. Can you stand for a few minutes?"
Nodding, Ezra got to his feet with Chris' assistance, one hand resting on the older man's shoulder for balance. Careful not to dislodge that hand, Chris once again knelt and efficiently stripped his friend of the pants. He held perfectly still as Ezra stepped out of them, not wanting to do anything to upset the Southerner's shaky balance, then helped to guide his feet into the pajama bottoms. His strategy almost worked.
When Ezra set his second foot back down into the pajamas, he wobbled unexpectedly and nearly fell. With one arm strapped to his chest and the other locked onto Chris' shoulder, there was no way for the Southern agent to catch himself. So Chris did it for him. Reacting on instinct, the blond reached up and clamped his hands on the other man's hips. He was easily able to stabilize the younger man in such a fashion, but the position it left them in caused both men to freeze with embarrassment.
Buck or Vin would have had something funny to say to break the tension, and Nathan or Josiah would have just taken it all in stride as part of helping Ezra. God only knew how JD would have reacted, but Chris sure as hell knew that hilarity or calmness were not the two emotions he was feeling right now. From the tenseness in the body he held, Ezra didn't seem to find the situation funny or ordinary, either. Yet Chris maintained his grip on the younger man until he felt him regain his equilibrium. Embarrassed or not, he wasn't going to be the cause of further hurt to this man, and he was fairly certain that letting him bounce off the floor would fall under the "hurt" category.
Standing slowly, Chris got the sleepwear on his agent properly then stepped back a bit. Not enough to displace the hand still holding onto him, but enough to give them both a little breathing room. Ezra flashed him a look of gratitude, and Chris smiled slightly in acknowledgement. Inclining his head towards the bed, Chris guided his agent to one side of it and turned down the blankets for him before helping Ezra under them.
The lines of pain bracketing his friend's mouth and eyes reminded Chris that Ezra had refused painkillers at the hospital. Scooping up the bag he'd dropped on the bureau earlier, Chris ducked into the master bath and filled the cup he found on the sink. A quiet, creative bout of swearing ensued as he wrestled with the childproof tops of the pain meds and antibiotics, but eventually sheer stubborn determination won over the recalcitrant plastic lids.
Once he had all the pills Ezra was supposed to take, Chris took them and the water back out to the barely awake man. He gently pulled Ezra into a semi-sitting position to take the medication and frowned when the younger man swallowed it all without argument. Ezra had to be hurting bad if he wasn't complaining. Laying him back down flat, Chris tugged the blankets back up over Ezra's shoulders and watched over him the few minutes it took for him to fall into deep, exhausted sleep.
After making sure the drapes were drawn tight against the morning sun, Chris padded silently out of the room and pulled the door almost shut behind him. He wanted to be able to hear Ezra if he needed him.
+ + + + + + +
Half an hour later, Chris was staring at an empty patch of wall in Ezra's living room, a cold cup of coffee cradled absently in his hands.
He had called the office earlier to let the guys know that he and Ezra had arrived safely at the condo and that Ezra was now sleeping peacefully. He had been similarly assured that they had the office under control and that his presence was not needed there. Since he had left Vin in charge, the team leader in the blond agent had been mollified with their answers. He wasn't so sure that they had been as accepting of his own reassurances concerning Ezra. However, since Nathan had informed him that he would be coming over during lunch, Chris figured they could get their "honest" appraisal of Ezra's condition then.
After he'd hung up, he'd decided coffee - in mass quantities - was next on the agenda. He'd been awake over twenty-four hours, but he had no intention of falling asleep anytime soon. Not while Ezra was in his keeping. Chris had rummaged around in kitchen cupboards, hoping against hope that he'd find a blend whose name he'd actually be able to pronounce. He still wasn't sure exactly what he was drinking, but it was strong and black and in the end that was all that really mattered.
Prize in hand, Chris had wandered into the living room and settled himself onto the surprisingly comfortable sofa to wait until Ezra needed him next. As he sipped the bitter liquid, the events of the night ambushed him. The harder he tried to push the thoughts aside, the more persistent they became until he finally gave in and let the frustration and guilt have its way.
He had nearly gotten Ezra killed twice last night. As his team leader, he should have paid closer attention to what was going down at the bust. It didn't matter that even the hyper-vigilant Vin had reckoned the scene was secure and had climbed down from his perch in the rafters. He, Chris Larabee, should have known that a threat still existed to one of his men and neutralized it before that gunrunner had had a chance to raise a weapon at the Southern agent. Yet once again, Ezra had slipped past his notice and had paid the price with his blood.
As Ezra's friend, he had inflicted far more damage. Chris shuddered as he recalled the controlled frenzy of the younger man's movements at the gym. It had seemed to him like Ezra thought he could exorcise the demons tormenting him if he just moved fast enough, hit hard enough. To have watched the horrifying display and known that he was the demon Ezra was trying unsuccessfully to defeat had shredded something deep inside of Chris. Because of his second, far less forgivable carelessness, he had been the reason his friend and agent had collapsed from what could have been lethal exhaustion. At the warehouse, Ezra could have lost his life. At the gym, Ezra could have lost his soul.
But Ezra hadn't lost either, not because of anything Chris had done, but because of the actions of the Southerner's unlikely guardian angel. A powerful wave of jealousy crashed over Chris with enough force to physically rock him back against the couch cushions. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the half-empty cup, soaking his cuffs and distracting him momentarily from the unexpected emotion. Chris set the cup down on the table in front of him, and his brows drew together in consternation as he tried to figure out where the jealousy came from.
Yes, he reluctantly had to admit to himself, he was envious of the obvious ease between Max and Ezra. The two men had interacted only briefly in his presence, but it was enough to demonstrate to Chris that they trusted and cared for one another in much the same way he and Vin did or JD and Buck. The blond hadn't thought anyone could ever get the Southerner comfortable enough to let down some of those closely guarded walls, but Max had somehow accomplished the impossible. A burning need to know how Max had done it joined with the envy, and only the knowledge that Ezra needed Chris here now kept him from driving down to the gym and demanding that the black man share his secret.
But even more puzzling was why Chris needed to know how to get past the younger man's defenses and get Ezra to trust him with the same simplicity. The desire to understand felt too personal to be work-related. Besides, it was an occupational hazard for an ATF agent to have to rely on his teammates to watch his back, and despite the fact that he'd had most of that kind of faith beaten out of him by his associates in the FBI, Ezra had gradually learned to trust Team 7 that far at least.
A family thing, maybe? Lord knew, JD and Josiah had both been trying their damndest to haul the Southern agent into the fold for some time now, and lately, it seemed to have been working. Ezra had been showing up at more and more of the off duty gatherings without having to be coerced or browbeaten into it. He'd even invited them all over to the condo for poker or to watch the game several times without any prompting from anyone or as the result of losing the rare bet. Chris now had to wonder how much of this new willingness to participate was the result of their youngest and oldest members' persistence and how much was Max's doing. Regardless of whose fault it was, Ezra had started to trust them all with some of the social aspects of his life, so that couldn't be it, either.
A self-deprecating smirk twisted Chris' mouth as he contemplated a third option. Guilt. He knew from past, painful experience how strong a motivator that emotion could be, and he had much to feel guilty about where Ezra was concerned. He wanted to make up all the times he'd yelled at or cold-shouldered or just been plain mean to the younger man, but he knew that unless Ezra let him in, there was no hope of that ever happening. At least, not on a level that would mean anything to the Southerner. But as strong as the desire was to make up for past sins, guilt wasn't his whole reason for wanting to earn Ezra's trust.
Chris shook his head in frustration. Dammit, then what was it?! Why did he want Ezra to look at him without that damnable poker face? Why did he want to hear him laugh with happiness and joy instead of bitterness or cynicism? Why did he suddenly want to intimately know the inner workings of the infuriating man's mind and heart . . . and why did he want Ezra to know him in the same bare-souled fashion? Why?
The answer hit the blond man like one of Ezra's spin kicks to the gut. He'd only felt this overwhelming need to understand another person as completely as he understood himself once before. Sarah . . .
Christ, he - he was in love with Ezra Standish! When the hell had that happened? How had it happened?!
Well, why not? a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sarah's sounded in his head in the tone she'd used whenever she thought he was being deliberately dense. He'd heard it more often in recent months, when the thought of her had begun to hurt less and less. Even when she was scolding him, it was so good to "hear" her voice.
And she was certainly scolding him now. Ezra is smart, beautiful, charming, gentle, and funny. He challenges you, brings out the best and worst in you, and he'd never let you hide. He isn't afraid of you, but he respects you like he does no one else and he'd follow you into hell if you asked - and even if you didn't, he'd still be right at your side. He's been by your side for three years now. He's everything you ever loved about me, Chris. Don't let the fact that he's a man blind you to that.
Chris let the words bounce around and around his skull until they finally settled into some semblance of coherence before asking meekly, I take it I have your blessing then?
His mental image of Sarah shook her head, her long dark curls hiding her face for a moment before she brushed them back in a gesture so familiar it made him ache. It's not my blessing you need, honey, but yes, you do. I want you to be happy, and I think he could do that. I think you can make him happy. All I ask is that you give yourself and him that chance.
It's not going to be easy, he thought, his stubborn nature unable to give in that easily.
Sarah again shook her head at him, but this time a gentle, knowing smile touched her lips. Most of the best things in life need to be fought for, Chris. That's what makes it so much sweeter when you win. He's worth it. I promise.
As he absorbed the truth of her words, Chris felt acceptance slowly seep into the desolate cracks and crevices in his soul his family's deaths had caused and begin to fill them up with this new chance. I love you, Sarah.
I love you, too, Chris, but it's time to stop living in the past and get on with your life. The dark-haired woman's image slowly faded before his mind's eye, but not before adding softly, Love him, Chris. You won't regret it.
+ + + + + + +
Ezra didn't know what had woke him, but he knew that as much as he wanted to just go back to sleep, his innate sense of survival wouldn't let him until he checked it out. An intense scan with eyes and ears determined that the disturbance wasn't within his bedroom, which meant he was going to have to get out of bed. With a low groan, the Southern agent carefully levered himself out of the warm blankets and made his slow, painful way to the slightly ajar door. Slipping through it as quietly as he could, Ezra crept softly down the hall, pausing briefly to peek into the spare room and the second bathroom though he found nothing there. Once he reached the archway that lead to the living room, he knew he'd found what he was looking for.
Chris was sitting opposite him on the couch, lost far enough in his thoughts that Ezra's presence had yet to register. Taking the opportunity his distraction presented, Ezra studied the other man openly without fear of being caught. Chris' thoughts didn't appear to be easy ones, for a frown creased the man's mouth, and deep lines furrowed his forehead. At least he wasn't angry; the vein at his temple wasn't throbbing. Still, Ezra wondered what could be disturbing the older man and if there was anything he could do to help.
When he first joined Team 7, the very notion of wanting to help his taciturn leader in any fashion would have had Ezra bursting out into sarcastic laughter. Like there was anything he, a rebellious, untrustworthy outsider could possibly have to offer a man like Chris Larabee. And even if he did have something of value to offer, it was blatantly obvious that Vin and Buck completed what the blond man lacked, so the point would have been moot.
But as time went on, and Chris had extended first a second chance and then a second family, Ezra gradually found himself working harder and harder to gain the respect and trust of the man who'd blessed him with so much. The effort proved to be double-edged sword. On the rare occasions when he succeeded, Ezra was certain he knew how Edmund Hillary must have felt when he reached the summit of Everest. On the much more frequent occasions when he failed, Napoleon at Waterloo had nothing on him. Not since he had been very young and still trying to live up to his mother's expectations had Ezra ever been that desperate for approval, and it bewildered him at times that he needed it so badly now.
To make matters worse, his feelings for Chris had changed and intensified over the last few months. He didn't know why his heart had suddenly decided to defy the rigorous constraints his brain had long since placed upon it, and with such an unattainable goal, at that. The feeling was so foreign and guarded against that he hadn't recognized it at first. He had never felt so strongly about any one person since the day he realized Maude didn't care enough about him to wonder exactly how he'd managed to break both hands after a short visit to his cousin's home. But as his reactions to Chris, both emotionally and then, embarrassingly enough, physically, became harder to ignore, Ezra had finally had to acknowledge that he had irrevocably fallen in love with the one man he knew would never and could never love him back.
Ezra had laughed bitterly at his foolish longings until tears just as acid fell from hopeless green eyes that night he'd been honest with himself. He had then proceeded to get thoroughly drunk on the cheapest, nastiest rotgut the local liquor store had to offer and woke the next morning with a hangover that rivaled the ten worst he'd ever suffered previously combined. Fortunately, it had been a Saturday night, and he had not made plans with anyone for the following day. Instead, he had alternated his time between his bed and the bathroom and allowed himself the luxury of wallowing in his self-pity for a full twenty-four hours. By Monday morning, the undercover agent had buried his feelings beneath the layers of his highly polished emotional armor, and no one had noticed that he was a bit more distant that usual for a while after that. Or if they noticed, they didn't say anything to him about it.
He had avoided Max for the next two months after his self-revelation. Ezra wasn't even a book where he was concerned; the black man could read him like a first grade primer. And while Max had certainly been accepting and open-minded about everything that Ezra had ever thrown at him so far, he wasn't willing to test their friendship with something like this. It was far too important - too necessary - to him to lose.
But here and now, with Chris Larabee sitting so close and his wits addled by drugs, there was nothing preventing Ezra from indulging in a fantasy. As fantasies went, it was a fairly harmless one and a personal favorite of his. In it, Chris's arms held him gently, his raspy voice whispered words of caring and affection, his warmth melted the icy chains that held Ezra's soul prisoner. In it, he was loved and wanted and needed like he never had been and probably never would be in real life.
Ezra basked in the innocent pleasure of the simple daydream before reluctantly relinquishing it a few moments later. With a silent sigh, he gathered his rapidly fading strength for the return trip to his bedroom. Taking one last, hopeless look at Chris, Ezra's eyes were caught by a sharp blue gaze, and he found himself helplessly pinned in place.
+ + + + + + +
Sensing someone's eyes upon him, Chris looked up from his inner musings and spotted the younger man in the shadowed hallway. His breath caught in his throat at the sight. Hair tousled, his pale, lithe body standing out in stark relief against the dimness behind him, Chris couldn't remember the last time he'd seen anything so beautiful. Yet the beauty of Ezra's body was nothing compared to the stunning expression on his face. Ezra's poker face had been stripped away, his true emotions laid bare for anyone who cared to see.
And, oh God, Chris cared. The look of longing and . . . love, pointed in his direction, left him no option but to care. Rising to his feet, his newfound understanding of his own feelings reverberating through his heart and soul, the blond man slowly crossed the room to where his friend stood propped against the wall. Ezra stared at him in confusion, but he didn't try to back away, which suited Chris' purposes just fine. The older man kept moving forward until he was right in Ezra's personal space and could look down into his wide, green eyes.
His heart thumping madly like a scared rabbit's, Chris hesitantly reached out one hand and traced his fingers lightly up Ezra's good arm. Goosebumps rose in their wake and Ezra gasped softly, but he still didn't flinch away. When Chris reached the top of the bare shoulder, he took the last half step forward and curved his arm around Ezra, pulling the small, compact body flush against his own. With his other hand, he cupped the back of Ezra's head and tenderly directed it to rest against his shoulder.
Ezra resisted at first, startled that the blond man's actions so closely mirrored his thoughts of a moment before. A small voice in the back of his head screamed warnings at him, but something else quieter and much more fragile urged him to accept the offered affection. Abandoning logic and self-preservation for the first time in far too long, Ezra melted into Chris' embrace with the same dreamlike slowness they seemed to be doing everything else. A few languid moments later, he brought his right arm up and circled it around the other man's waist, fingers spread wide against the small of the muscled back. When Chris' response was to pull him just a bit closer, Ezra let his eyes fall shut and nuzzled lightly into the warmth of the older man's neck. He sighed contentedly as the scent and heat of the man holding him seeped into his chilled body and farther into his soul.
An answering exhalation of contentment stirred the auburn hairs on the top of his head and lightened Ezra's heart. They stood there for an endless moment, swaying slightly together in time with an internal melody only they could hear. Everything else faded away as they willingly lost themselves in their world of two.
Eventually, however, the real world intruded. His body unable to withstand the onslaught of exhaustion and drugs any longer, Ezra sagged forward and would have collapsed if not for the strong embrace holding him upright. The arms around him shifted to provide greater support and carefully moved him away and to one side of the solid warmth he rested against. Ezra moaned at the loss of contact and was instantly comforted by a soft voice murmuring reassurances. The hand also returned to the back of his head, slender fingers carding through the thick hair in a soothing caress. Letting his head drop back slightly into Chris' palm, Ezra quieted under the gentle ministrations and waited with weary patience for the other man's next move.
Chris looked down into the beautiful face, awed by the amount of trust the ever-suspicious Southerner displayed in that single gesture. He knew he'd been given a precious gift, but he also knew that Ezra never would have let his guard down enough to allow Chris to see this side of himself if he hadn't been so tired and so drugged. Eyes clenching shut, Chris vowed that he would never betray what Ezra was revealing tonight and promised himself that he would find a way to earn Ezra's freely given trust.
A tremor snaked its way through the body in his arms, bringing him to reality with a crash. Blue eyes opening, the blond berated himself for not acting sooner. Ezra needed to be sleeping, not standing here in the hallway with his dumbstruck boss mooning over him.
Brushing his lips against the younger man's temple, Chris murmured, "Looks like I need to tuck you in again, Ez. Think you can make it to the bedroom?" The red-brown head nodded slightly against the palm of his hand, and Ezra pulled himself up in preparation to move. "Easy, Ezra, let me help. Just lean on me, and we'll get there, okay?"
Cloudy green eyes blinked up at him, and Chris could almost see the energy seeping out of the other man as the demands of his body finally won the battle against Rebel stubbornness. Tightening his hold on the trembling form, Chris half-led, half-carried Ezra to the bedroom and eased him back down under the covers. As the blond straightened to leave, a hand emerged from the blankets and wrapped around his wrist loosely.
"Stay."
The one syllable request was slurred so badly that it was hardly understandable, but it bound the older man in place more effectively than the heaviest chains. When the hand on his wrist tugged him weakly towards the bed, Chris didn't hesitate to comply. Taking the barest of moments to yank of his boots, socks and belt, he pulled aside the blankets once more and climbed in next to the young man. He settled himself carefully along Ezra's left side, sheltering the injured arm from further harm with his own body. After covering them both back up, the blond curled himself as close as he could around the precious weight in his arms, one hand again stealing up into the soft, auburn hair. Ezra turned his head to face Chris and smiled in sleepy contentment. He smiled back and continued to stroke the silken strands until Ezra grew heavy against him, and Chris knew he finally slept.
His fingers never ceasing their rhythmic motion, the blond agent stared into the darkened room, his mind too much in turmoil to relax into sleep. Having Ezra in his arms felt so natural, like it had when he'd held Sarah and known that all was right in his world because she was in it. But despite Sarah's own blessing on the arrangement, the complications involved with starting a relationship with the Southerner were staggering.
The ATF's position on superior-subordinate relations and same-sex couples alone was enough to make his head throb. Not that it was Travis' or anyone else's business what the two of them did off duty, but if they found out and had a problem with it, they could take it up with Chris - and only Chris. Anyone who tried to harass Ezra about this would find themselves on the receiving end of his Navy SEAL's training.
Then there was his lack of experience in male only love. His feelings for Ezra, strong though they were, scared the hell out of him. He'd never been attracted to men before, and he didn't know what it said about him that he was now. He also didn't know how much, if any, experience Ezra had in the area. Nothing about the man's past actions had indicated that he would know any better than Chris did on how to handle this new twist to their friendship, but one just never knew with Ezra. The wily agent delighted in blowing people's perceptions of him out of the water every chance he got. Chris didn't know what scared him more - Ezra just as ignorant as himself or far more knowledgeable.
Add to the growing list of problems their disparate personalities. The two of them were so different on so many levels, that often, he didn't know how to relate to the prickly Southerner without getting angry at him. Ezra's own built-in defenses hadn't made their relationship any smoother. No, life with Ezra was never easy, even as his friend and boss, and he knew he was no picnic to be around most of the time, either.
Chris thought about that for a while, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the wall opposite him. Gradually, he accepted that many of their difficulties would probably follow them into a more intimate relationship as well. However, he had promised both Ezra and himself that things would be different, and he was a man of his word. No matter what obstacles they ran into, and there would be plenty, he and Ezra would be facing them together.
Yet even all that was surmountable and significantly less terrifying than the thought of facing the others on the team, or God help him, Max. A low, sardonic chuckle escaped him at the thought. Chris wasn't too worried about them accepting Ezra in a homosexual relationship. Their actions tonight on Ezra's behalf had proved how much they all cared for the Southerner, and he suspected that caring would expand to accept this, too. He was worried about them accepting Ezra in a same-sex relationship with him. Lord knew his track record where Ezra was concerned wasn't all that great, and all of them would have justifiable doubts about his ability to love the Southern agent the way he needed to be loved. God, he'd just gotten Ezra to accept him as a friend, how was he supposed to convince anyone, including the object of his affections, that what he felt was real and not some passing, insane fancy?
His arms tightened involuntarily at the thought, and Chris just barely managed to stop himself before the constriction jarred the younger man's injuries. The blond sighed heavily. This was how it had always been between him and Ezra - wanting to protect and love him yet always seeming to hurt him instead. It had almost gotten to be a habit, only there was no convenient 12-step program to kick this problem. How was he supposed to overcome three years worth of conditioned responses? Who could he ask for help?
With a low groan, Chris derailed his train of thought. There were no good answers to his questions this morning, and he was too wrung out to be worrying about them. Settling in closer to the younger man, Chris made himself relax. He might not know what the hell he was doing or where they were going to end up, but there was nothing he could do about it now except enjoy the warmth and closeness he'd so long denied himself and pretend that everything was going to be all right. The time would come soon enough to deal with everything else.
The End
