My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'd all be grey,
Sighing, Ezra Standish closed the door to his condominium and leaned against the wood for a moment, trying to gather his bearings. Shutting his eyes, he let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.
[God, what an immensely hellish day,] he thought tiredly. It had been one of those days where whatever could have possibly gone wrong, did, and he was paying the price.
Resignedly pushing himself off of the door, Ezra uncharacteristically dropped his briefcase and jacket onto the nearest armchair, uncaring to the haphazardness of it all. He simultaneously slipped out of his shoes and disconnected the phone, not in the mood to be badgered by telemarketers, because he would be tempted to test the theory of whether shooting someone over the phone actually worked.
Ezra moved to his small liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of fine brandy. Stepping to the large window, he pulled back the curtains and stared out at the city. The sun was just beginning to set over Denver, the bands of yellow and crimson streaking across the sky in a breathtaking display, but all Ezra could see as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass, were the fiery hazel of Chris Larabee's eyes.
* * *
I drank too much last night, got bills to pay
My head just feels in pain
I missed the bus and there'll be hell today
I'm late for work again and even if I'm there
They'll all imply that I might not last the day
"Damn it Standish, don't you even know the meaning of authority, you sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch?"
For once, Ezra was not sure what he had done to garner Team Seven's team leader's irate temper. He had not been later than usual, besides he always made up the time anyway. The team was not on a case, so there was no way he had 'screwed' that up. Whatever the reason though, Ezra had let Chris rant and rave, never once dropping his cool façade, even if some of the remarks about his integrity and honour had stung him terribly.
Finally, Chris turned his back, dismissing the other agent and Ezra exited his office quickly, but smoothly. When he entered the work area of his other five co-workers, he noticed they were working unusually diligently. No one asked about his welfare, or his hearing for that matter, and if any of them knew the reason for Chris' anger, none were revealing it, not even JD and Vin, whom he thought to be his only allies.
Ezra offered a sarcastic two-finger salute to their bowed heads and gathered his things. He left the office, unwilling to stay and be subjected to what he felt was unwarranted animosity directed at him.
On his way out of the federal building, Ezra noticed a familiar figure in a suit coming towards him. Inwardly groaning, he recognized the man as a former FBI associate from Atlanta. Ezra racked his brain and pulled out the name of Thomas, just as the taller man stepped into his path, effectively blocking it. Thomas looked at the clock on the far wall, and raised an auburn eyebrow at the time.
"Well, well, I guess some things never change, eh Standish?"
Ezra had a sudden urge to wipe that condescending smirk off of the aged face. Thomas, not realizing the other's murderous thoughts, continued his badgering,
"So what happened Standish? Skipping out on the job...again? Or maybe your new team finally figured out how worthless you really are?" If Thomas had hoped to gain a rise out of the younger southerner, he was sorely disappointed.
Ezra merely smiled politely, though if one looked harder, they would have noticed the grin did not quite meet his eyes. Despite his wanting to ignore Thomas entirely, the FBI agent's last statement echoed in Standish's head. Pushing the disturbing thought aside for the moment, Ezra redirected his gaze towards the annoying man in front of him.
"Why Thomas, I'd say it was good to see you, but even my undercover skills cannot generate that much undignified bullshit." With that parting shot, Ezra side-stepped the fuming agent and proceeded through the glass doors, thankfully not encountering any more 'well-wishers.'
He had pulled out of the parking lot, maneuvering his Jaguar carefully, but his thoughts continually reverberated back to Thomas' words:
[Or maybe your new team figured out how worthless you really are?]
Had that been it? Was that why Chris had gone ballistic at him? Did that explain his teammates lack of support? Was he considered no longer useful? Had he ever been?
These questions and dozens more like them swam through Ezra's muddled head, and before he realized what was happening, the sound of horns blaring got his attention, and he swerved, narrowly missing being sideswiped by a pickup. Ezra quickly pulled over, ignoring the one-fingered gestures he was getting from passer-byers and laid his head against the steering wheel.
After all this time, was his team finally casting him out? For some reason, that thought alone sent a shudder through the lithe body. Ezra raised fingertips to his head and softly massaged his temples. There was no way to be certain, but for the moment he had to cling to the hope that Thomas had been wrong. Larabee was just having an *extremely* bad day, and for some reason unknown to him, Ezra had felt the brunt of the attack. The others probably just did not want to interfere, Chris' ire could be physically damaging to anyone. That thought in mind, Standish carefully pulled back into traffic and headed for home, suddenly feeling the need for some alcohol...very *strong* alcohol.
* * *
So here he was now, a glass of untouched brandy in his hand, despite his wanting to drown the liquid. Something was holding him back from diving into a drunken oblivion, but for the life of him he could not fathom what. He had hoped that the solitude his apartment offered would have alleviated some of the confusion, but the silence seemed to mock him, as his questions remained unanswered.
Rubbing tiredly at his brow, Ezra turned his back to the window, unsure of what to do. His gaze roamed over the sparsely furnished home, before resting upon the wooden rocking chair that sat in the corner. He had moved it from the bedroom into the living room one night when he could not sleep. The rocking motion coupled with the wonderful view of the slumbering city that the window offered, had quickly brought him to Morpheus' doorstep. Ezra set the brandy glass onto the dining table and with a wistful smile made his way to the rocker. Running a hand over the smooth wood, he let the memories the chair held wash over him, warming him, and reminding him that he would never really be alone. It was a thought that he welcomed gratefully. Suddenly, Ezra gathered his keys and jacket, rushing out the door and hastily locking it behind him. Not wanting to wait for the elevator, he ran down the flights of stairs and into the parking lot, jumping expertly into the Jag. He made one quick stop into his regular florist's before climbing back into the car and speeding off. He owed a long overdue visit to a very special friend.
Stars littered the evening sky over the small cemetery just outside of Denver, casting the graves in an ethereal light. Ezra made his way carefully through the rows of markers, a specific destination in mind. He stopped beside a tall oak tree and knelt down before the modest headstone that stood there. Running a hand over the engraving, Ezra unashamedly felt tears come to his eyes, though he blinked them back quickly.
He whispered quietly as his fingers traced over the familiar name, "How are you Grace? They're treating you well, I'd wager, after all you were the sweetest being I've ever had the pleasure of knowing." Ezra laid a single white rose at the base of the marker, and shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged. He toyed with the gold band on his left hand for a moment, before raising his gaze and speaking softly, a heartbreaking sadness in his voice.
"I miss you Auntie Grace. God, how I miss you. What I wouldn't do for a tall glass of lemonade and one of your stories right now. I always felt safe with you Grace, like the world wasn't so harsh. I could handle anything that went wrong, because I knew you were in my corner." He left behind his five-dollars words; with Grace they were never necessary.
"I don't know what to do now." The frustration in his southern accent was evident and Ezra dropped his head into his hands "I love it here Auntie Grace, it's the first place that's felt like home, since...since you." Stumbling on that last word, Ezra wiped away a tear that had escaped his green eyes, and ran a hand through his short chestnut hair.
"It's getting harder to stay, though. I want to believe that they want me here." Ezra did not explain whom he was referring to; there were only six people in Denver whose opinion mattered to him, though he'd never actually tell them that. "But I can't help but feel I've yet to earn their trust, their friendship. I was never good at that sort of thing, you know that Grace, probably better than anyone," he chuckled slightly, remembering some of his more temperamental moments when he had lived with his aunt. "And what if Thomas was right, what if the others have finally realized that I'm not worth the effort? Heaven knows I push Larabee each and every single day, I'm certain that the rest of the team is wondering if I have suicidal tendencies, but I can't explain why I do it." Ezra stopped for a moment and touched his ring again,
"It's like...the only way I can show him how much I respect him, is to continually piss him off." He smiled self-depreciatingly, "Not making much sense am I?" A real smile came to him then as a realization hit, "I guess that's what this team does. Makes you question everything you've ever done, makes you examine it in such a different light, and lets you take the best from it for yourself, and share the worst. But how much more can I ask of them? There's so much they don't know about me, not sure if I want to tell them. How can I risk it Aunt Grace? I tried in Atlanta, and that got shot to hell, why bother here? God, Mother was right, this whole business of caring is nothing but trouble, especially when it looks like the others are ready to let me go, if their behaviour today was any indication."
Ezra looked up at the stars, frustration and anger evident on his features, though whether they were directed at the sky, his teammates, or himself, he wasn't quite sure. He started when he noticed that there was a single star directly above him, and as he strained his eyes, he could've sworn that its light fell only on him and Grace's marker. Understanding dawned upon him and Ezra lifted his lips into a ghost of a smile. Reaching forward, he placed a hand on the very centre of the headstone,
"Thank you Aunt Grace, you always did know best, didn't you? I'll keep trying, partly because I don't take to quitting kindly, but mostly for you. You were the first to see an iota of good in me, of worth; and I'll be damned if I let you down now."
You gave me wings and made me fly
You touched my hand I could touch the sky
I lost my faith you gave it back to me
You said no star was out of reach
You stood by me and I stood tall
I had your love I had it all
I'm grateful for each day you gave me
Maybe I don't know that much
But I know this much is true
I was blessed because I was loved by you
The promise was spoken with conviction and complete truth, and as Ezra got to his feet, he made another.
"I've been lax in my visits. It used to hurt too much to see you like this. But now...well, I'll see you very soon Aunt Grace, you've got my word. And I'll let you know when that infernal vein in Mister Larabee's forehead has popped."
Ezra bent down, placing a gentle kiss onto the cool stone. He stood up straight, his emerald eyes finally clear and bright,
"Rest well Auntie Grace, and know I'll always love you." He turned and walked back to his car, humming an old tune, his heart a thousand times lighter.
You were always there for me
The tender wind that carried me
A light in the dark shining your love into my life
You've been my inspiration
Through the lies you were the truth
My world is a better place because of you
The End
