1st story, "Finding the Rainbow" by Black Rook, part two
Title: Finding the Rainbow, part two
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Author: Black Rook grachonok
Artist: DJ Aida dj_aida
Disclaimer: Well, they still aren’t mine…
Character/Pairing: All Seven with focus on Chris, Orrin Travis, Nettie Wells, Rain Rating: PG-13
Warnings: n/a
Summary: The formation of the ATF Team Seven - from the very beginning.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
“Hey, baby! Did you miss me?” Buck smiled and blew a kiss to the country girl pictured on the ‘Welcome to Colorado’ sign as he passed the border between states. “She missed me,” he confidently told his shotgun passenger, but the latter, Buck’s court suit, didn’t answer. That didn’t embarrass Buck any, and, whistling loudly, he continued on his way.
It was a warm Friday evening and Buck Wilmington was coming back to Denver, only a week and a half after his conversation with Chris in that café. The speed with which all of the paperwork had been organized really amazed him; Larabee’s boss sure knew what buttons to push. Buck’s captain from Albuquerque PD had expressed regret at losing such a good detective, but hadn’t tossed any obstacles in the way of the transfer. So, those of Buck’s cases which couldn’t be finished in a few days had been reassigned, and a huge farewell bash had been thrown for him on Wednesday. Buck had used Thursday to sleep off the work party, as well as several other private festivities from later that day , and to pack up the few possessions he had that he hadn’t wanted to leave behind. He had been loaded and on the road before noon Friday, and come Monday, he would start working for Chris Larabee at the ATF.
Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to look for a place to live as the loft he’d bought ten years ago was still his; he hadn’t sold it when he’d transferred out. Maybe, because he had hoped to come back one day, or, maybe, because he’d known a couple willing to rent it and hadn’t wanted to bother with finding a buyer. In any case, he’d leased the loft to the couple, and they’d been renting ever since. Their contract was up next week, and, as Buck had realized the day after he’d accepted Chris’s offer, they hadn’t asked to prolong it. As it turned out, the couple was moving to another state; Buck couldn’t help but see that as a sign. A damn good one, too. So, he only needed a place to stay for a few days before they vacated the loft, that wouldn’t be a problem. At least, he hoped not.
He had several options, including old buddies from DPD who had couches. There was also his little black book, and he was sure that at least a dozen ladies from there would gladly welcome him. Of course, he could always stay in a hotel, but Buck hated those with a passion. And then there was Chris’s ranch. With that thought Buck stopped whistling and left the highway for the next rest area. He needed to think.
He did want to see Chris at the ranch as that was the only way to really appraise Chris’s current state of mind. On the other hand, him staying at the ranch, like in the good (and bad) old times, might be really pushing it, and not only for Chris but for Buck himself as well. A half an hour of such musings, and Buck still hadn’t decided if it was a good or bad idea; to hell with it, after all, if Chris didn’t want to see him at the ranch, he just wouldn’t offer. So Buck fished out his cell and, reminding himself to put Chris’s numbers back on speed dial, called the man.
“Larabee.”
“Hey, Old Dog. You haven’t managed to get out of the office yet?”
“Buck! Nah, I’m still here. And where are you?”
“Just entered the fair state of Colorado a few miles back.”
“That’s good. You’re heading straight to the loft?”
He could have said yes, but Buck had never learned to lie to Chris successfully, even about simple things. “Nah, the Rowans don’t leave until Wednesday.”
“Oh. Then where are you staying?”
“Don’t know yet, was thinking about -”
Chris cut him off. “If you’re not willing to drive into the city, you’re welcome to stay at the ranch.”
Well, the ranch was indeed in the right side of Denver for someone driving from New Mexico. “That’d be great,” Buck answered and then added in a softer voice: “If it’s okay with you.”
“It is,” Chris said firmly. “Call me when you’re close. I doubt I’ll get stuck at work today, but anything’s possible, you know?”
“Yeah, I do, pard. See you soon.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Chris’s house looked much better than the last time Buck had seen it. Of course, it wasn’t as lovely as when it had a lady, but at least it was definitely being looked after now. Chris had even redecorated some - the living room was completely different at least - which was probably for the best.
They managed to spend the Friday evening without any awkward moments, drinking beer and discussing the future team, and Buck went to bed with a light heart. His sleep was free of nightmares, and he hoped Chris’s was, too.
Saturday was spent driving around to reacquaint Buck with the differences in the pulse of Denver’s city life. He wanted to learn what had changed and explore the area around the Federal Building. On Sunday they went riding, and the situation was almost too good to be true.
They were thinking about turning back to the house when a loud whistle rang out. Looking in the direction of the sound Buck saw a rider waving at them from atop a brown horse.
“Must be Tanner,” Chris observed, heading his horse to meet the man. Buck followed, his curiosity piqued. He’d known, of course, that Chris had already hired two more people - a chemist and a sniper - who would also be starting work on Monday. He also knew that the sniper, Vin Tanner, was considered family by Nettie Wells. But Chris was suspiciously vague about other details, like how he’d come across the men, so Buck had been looking forward to meeting them and getting the full story out of Tanner or Jackson.
They caught up with the rider, who indeed was Tanner, and Chris made introductions. Tanner’s outfit showed his recent Texan roots, and he had his long dark blond curls tied in a loose ponytail. The look made him resemble a teenager, but when Buck met his eyes for a second, he realized that this kid had seen a lot, probably more than Buck himself.
“So, Vin,” he asked after they had ridden for a while. “Are you going to stay at Nettie’s place?”
“Nah, got myself apartment in town already.”
“Where?”
“Chamber’s street.”
Buck almost choked. “In Purgatorio?”
Tanner didn’t seem surprised by his reaction. “Yeah, I grew up on those streets. You have something against that?”
Touchy one. Or maybe just real direct. “Hell no, knew a few decent men from there myself. It’s just, they’re usually doing their best to get out of that place. I was sure no sane person would ever want to go back there.”
“Well, I never claimed I was sane,” Vin said, deadly serious. “But if that quality was a requirement for the new team, then the Cowboy here sure wouldn’t be commanding it.”
Buck nearly choked again; damn it, but the kid had a point! The most amazing thing though, was that Chris didn’t deck him from the horse for that comment, just laughed instead! And it was a real laugh, not bitter or sarcastic or threatening. So maybe to Chris this team wasn’t about catching a bullet for noble reasons , or doing the right thing, or just a means to survive, maybe this team truly was about living again? And if this lanky Texan was somehow responsible for that - then, hell, he’d better not get himself shot in that damn neighborhood of his!
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
After the first, extremely successful, round of recruiting Chris found himself stuck. He’d read lots of files and resumes, and interviewed more than a dozen people, but as of now, a month after he’d started, his team still only had three members besides himself. However, those three were more than merely proficient, they were talented, and they made up the core of his team.
They already felt at home within the ATF and had acted a couple of times as back-up for other units. They had also started researching the local big players; taking down any of them could become their first case. Chris really wanted to find at least one more man (or woman, he wasn’t biased in that regard) for the team before that. Alas, the candidate he’d just talked to wasn’t cut from the right cloth - too much of a careerist. Larabee got rid of him politely, and, disappointed, went to find some place for lunch. Chris was of the opinion that he should enjoy the opportunity for a normal lunch while he could, he had a feeling that once they started the real work it wouldn’t be possible very often anymore.
He ended up at the newest Chinese place in the area; not surprisingly, he saw Vin and Nathan at one of the tables, so he joined them. Buck must be charming a waitress or hostess somewhere else.
“So,” Vin asked once Chris had settled. “How was the interview?”
Chris made a face instead of answering, and Vin chuckled. “About the same as the previous ones, I reckon?”
“Yeah, so let’s talk about something else, boys.”
Vin shrugged, grinning, but Nathan must have had another subject already in mind. “I wanted to ask, Chris, if you’ve seen that memo about the open lectures that are held Fridays at the University?”
“Yeah, I read it, though I’m afraid I overlooked the actual schedule. You want to attend them?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘them’, but I’d like to go this Friday, if that’s okay with you.”
“Forensics or Medicine?” Vin asked, curious.
“Neither, actually, it’s on Profiling, but an old friend of mine is giving it.”
“Profiling?” Nathan nodded. Now that sounded interesting. Profiling was on Chris’s list of desired skills, though it wasn’t popular within the ATF - most believed profilers were needed only when it came to catching serial killers. But Chris had seen a couple of times what a real profiler could do for a case, any case, and they really could use one. “Who’s this friend?”
“His name’s Josiah Sanchez, we met at a college.”
“Josiah Sanchez?” Vin even stopped rocking in his highly-not-suitable-for-such chair. “The one who caught Bill Primes?”
“Yes, that was him.”
Vin whistled, and Chris was sure impressed, too. Bill Primes was one hell of a sick bastard, and it had taken the FBI five years to catch him. The man who’d finally managed to do it must be more than good…
“He still working for the FBI?” Chris heard himself asking.
“Nah, he retired a few years back.”
“Didn’t think he was that old,” Vin mused aloud.
“He isn’t. Just said he’d had enough and wanted to work on his doctorate.” Nathan finished replying, then watched Vin and Chris exchange a look… and suddenly realized what they were thinking about. “But you know what, guys? I bet he’s pretty bored by now.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Josiah Sanchez, a retired FBI agent and Vietnam veteran with a PhD in Psychology, who was currently working on his doctorate in sociology, was actually quite satisfied with his lecture. He was in fine form, the room was full, and the audience was even attentive and interested. Some of those present even stayed after the lecture to ask questions, good ones at that, and any other day he would be delighted. Today though, Josiah would have preferred there wasn’t anyone lingering because his old friend, Nathan Jackson, was here and waiting for him to be done.
Actually, Sanchez hadn’t really been sure if Nathan would show up, with his new job and all, but the medic had come, though he was accompanied by a grim-looking blond. Finally, the last of the curious students left the room, and Nathan and his companion came forward.
“Good lecture, Josiah,” Nathan said, outstretching his hand.
“Thank you, brother,” the profiler answered, shaking the hand and slapping Jackson on his shoulder. “Glad you could come.”
Nathan nodded. “Yeah, me too. Josiah, this is my new boss, Chris Larabee, a federal agent with the ATF. Chris, Josiah Sanchez.”
“This really was an interesting lecture,” Larabee said, after they shook and agreed to be on a first name basis. “Though not what I’d call a traditional approach.”
Josiah laughed. “Well, I was never very good at being conventional.”
The blond smiled. “Could we continue this discussion over lunch?”
“Wonderful idea.”
They went to a nice little Italian restaurant nearby, and had a pleasant lunch; by the time Chris Larabee took his leave, giving the two old friends an opportunity to catch up, Josiah Sanchez had a job offer. By the time he and Nathan parted their ways that evening, he’d decided to accept it. He truly had missed the adrenaline of field work, and he missed working with law enforcement. And if his gut wasn’t lying, and it rarely did, then the current and future members of Larabee’s team would be very unusual individuals; a dream come true for any student of human nature…
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
With five members Larabee’s team, now officially called Team Seven, was a functioning unit, so they received their first official case. They were assigned to investigate a white supremacist group that was based in Denver and led by someone known as The Colonel. The guys were relieved to finally be trusted with a real case; they began by digging up background information on those involved and building profiles.
Chris was going through preliminary reports on the group when he got interrupted by a phone call. It was from Travis’s office.
“Chris, I have an application that might interest you,” the AD said after their usual greetings. “Shelly will forward you the details, call me after you’ve read it.”
“I will, sir, thank you.”
Despite the fact that the team was already operational, Chris was still looking for at least two more men - an undercover agent and a computer specialist - to fill the rest of the skill areas he drew up at the launch of this crazy, ground-breaking squad.
The good old times of suitcases full of cash being brought to exchanges were ending; these days, money often changed hands in cyber space, thus Chris really needed someone at home there. Well, at home but not completely lost in the virtual reality, and so far Chris couldn’t find that man. Perhaps he was asking too much, after all, he’d already managed to find both a profiler and a forensic with field experience, and that alone was a damn miracle. But who knows, maybe there was another miracle waiting in his mail… first, however, he had to finish going over those files.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
“So, Chris, what do you think?” Travis asked when Chris called him later that day.
“Good credentials, but, sir, he’s only 24.”
“True, but do you know the age of the last hacker to be caught by the FBI? Fifteen. It’s the province of the young.”
“I know, but….”
“I know your concerns, Chris, but that boy isn’t just a geek. He’d been a street cop in a poor neighborhood in Boston for three years. People grow up fast there.”
That was a powerful argument in his favor, but John Dunne was still a rookie and Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to chance the possible trouble having one on the team could cause.
“I talked to him, Chris, and to his supervisors in Boston. Give the kid a chance. I’ll still have a position for him in our division even if he doesn’t fit on your team. Computer geniuses rarely choose to work for law enforcement, you know.”
It was the first time Travis had actually asked him to take somebody on board, before he’d just offered resumes. Chris had no real reasons to refuse a probationary period - especially when he needed a computer specialist.
“I need to see him first, sir.”
“Thanks, Chris. He’ll be here next week, I’ll send him straight to you.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
John ‘call-me-J.D.’ Dunne appeared in Team Seven’s office first thing on Tuesday morning: looking not a day older than 18, talking a mile a minute and unable to sit still if he wasn’t fully occupied with work, and carrying a serious case of hero worship when it came to Chris. But the kid did know his way around computers - and not only computers.
Buck had, at first, been sure that Chris had taken the kid on only to placate Travis and that nothing good, or permanent, would come of it. He changed his mind real quick once J.D. convinced the surveillance expert to let him in the new team’s surveillance van.
“Damn, Chris, that boy has promise!” Buck said afterwards. “Might even grow up to become a fine agent one day.”
Chris was skeptical, but the next day Dunne brought him a file. It contained a detailed analysis of the van’s equipment in comparison with the current state of the art stuff out on the market, complete with recommendations on which devices replacements should be bought for and which of the older models were more reliable, or convenient, and should be kept. It also had a detailed write up regarding which electronics were needed for which cases. And everything written was completely understandable to Chris, plus he bet it would look reasonable enough to pass budget restrictions too.
Hell, it looked like the kid had already earned his first paycheck, but Chris still needed to evaluate his fieldwork in order to make the final decision on whether or not he’d become a permanent member of Team Seven .
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
The new case was speeding up, and now Chris needed an agent to send undercover into The Colonel’s operation, and needed one badly. Of course, both Buck and himself had some experience undercover, and Vin also had some familiarity in that area, but Chris wanted someone with talent, proper training, and real experience, not just the couple of short stints the three of them had under their belts. The problem was that good undercover agents were a rare breed; and very difficult to re-recruit. So Chris was ready to just temporarily take a loan of someone worthy from one of their sister agencies; maybe later it would be possible to organize a permanent transfer, if everything worked out.
He’d had Travis send him another bunch of resumes, of undercovers who were available for loan this time, and the leader of Team Seven was going through them now, trying to decide which one to read first. A familiar name suddenly caught his attention: Ezra P. Standish from Atlanta’s FBI office. Now, where had he heard that name before? Chris leaned back in his chair, trying to remember…but of course - the Ludlow case.
It had been his second case with the ATF; he’d been after a guy who made his living by selling illegal cigarettes. Then the guy had decided that he wanted to be part of a bigger organization, and, as a result of his extraordinary timing, Chris had suddenly found himself part of big joint operation where not only the ATF but both the FBI and the DEA were involved. He’d spent a lot of time on surveillance then, watching the main players, and he’d known the FBI had a man on the inside, had even made some assumptions about who he might be, but he would never ever have pegged Joseph Carrboro as being a Fed.
Later, after the operation had been successfully completed, he’d met Standish during the debriefings; the man had nothing in common with Carrboro at all, save for height and build. And the amount of information he obtained…considering Standish’s age he wasn’t just good - he was one of the best. Yet now he was available for loan and even for transfer? Hell, if Chris had an agent like that he would never let him go, so something was definitely wrong. Chris opened the file hoping to learn what exactly was amiss.
Harvard directly followed by Quantico: impressive. List of commendations, each one paired with a reprimand or two, Chris chuckled at the deja-vu, though it seemed Standish had more problems with discipline than Tanner and Wilmington combined. Misconduct, lack of respect to proper authorities, and so on, but the guy got results that justified it all, so what changed? Oh, here it began - a case had fallen through. IA had investigated but nothing had been proven, and soon Standish had been sent under again - and had been shot on a bust under unclear circumstances. Damn. Loaning him out had begun after that: one case with Miami’s FBI, one in California, and the current one back in Atlanta with the DEA, which should be finished any day now.
“Okay, so what do we have here?” Chris mused out loud, closing the folder. The story was more or less obvious, and Chris didn’t like it a single bit. Alas, undercover agents did tend to cross the line a little too often, and though personally Chris was sure Standish was, at the very least, too damn proud to be one of those, he didn’t really know the man all that well. All of these facts needed checking and he needed more information regarding the whole situation . The team leader opened the folder again and looked through the list of recent cases; yeah, his clearance should be high enough to retrieve those files. Of course, the case files were only half of the picture, as for the second half…maybe it was time to test some of Agent Dunne’s computer abilities.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Two days later Chris Larabee knew two things: first, J.D. Dunne was damn good at fact finding; second, Agent Standish’s colleagues and, especially, his supervisors in Atlanta’s FBI were either considerable assholes or complete idiots, and he didn’t know which version pissed him off more.
Nevertheless, when it came to possibly recruiting Standish Chris had his doubts; not about whether Standish was dirty or not, or whether he was good enough for the team - on both accounts Chris was more than satisfied - but did Standish wish to continue working for the government after all the shit of the past year? Could he become a team player, especially for a rather unique team like Team Seven?
“You won’t get them answers sitting here, stud,” Buck said when Chris shared his concerns with his second. “Fly to Atlanta. Talk to him; listen to your gut. If he seems okay then take him on loan for this case, and if things work out we’ll try for a permanent transfer. If they don’t,” Buck shrugged. “Then they don’t; won’t know unless we try.”
Chris sighed. “Sounds rather obvious, doesn’t it?”
Buck chuckled. “Hey, Larabee, it’s in my job description to tell you obvious things you already know.”
Chris laughed at that and nodded. Well, it looked like a trip to Georgia was in his immediate future; he just hoped the team wouldn’t be needed as back-up or something while he was away. Of course, he trusted Buck and the others, but still…
“Keep an eye on the kid, will you? You may be right about him having promise, don’t want something stupid to happen.”
“You can count on me, boss.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Ezra Standish parked his Jaguar in the last spot in the area belonging to his department, retrieved his briefcase from the back seat, and stepped out of his vehicle, locking the car as he left. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he headed to the elevators; it was his first day back, and, frankly, he didn’t expect anything good from it.
He’d finished his work for the DEA last week. He had gathered all of the information they had wanted and they had thanked him politely and sent him back to his home office, without bothering to tell him what they were going to do with said information. Ezra was half sure that when it came to actual arrests, his name wouldn’t even appear on the reports. ‘Okay, Ezra, quit feeling sorry for yourself!’ he chastised himself silently. In fact, he was probably being unfair to DEA SAC Reynolds; the man had organized adequate back-up and had pulled him out safely, something Ezra had stopped taking for granted long ago.
He rode alone in the elevator, but when left it the lobby was already full of his coworkers; most of them he knew, but they were hesitant in acknowledging him. So nothing had changed then, though he hadn’t really thought anything would. His common sense repeated to him once again that it was time to fold and leave the table, figuratively speaking, to quit before he ended up being killed due to incompetence, indifferent back-up, or friendly fire. Or before AD Williams finally found a good enough formal reason to just fire his ass.
In the middle of these thoughts, Ezra found himself facing the wall that was just behind the entrance. The Wall was adorned with pictures of agents who had been killed in the line of duty. There was a grey-haired man in the third photo in the most recent row that seemed to be watching him intently; with an internal sigh, the young agent put on his best cocky smile. Don’t worry, Phil. I won’t give up. And he wouldn’t make it easy for Williams to fire him either, Ezra thought, entering his office precisely at 8:50 a.m.
An urgent message from Williams’ office waited for him in his mailbox; he was expected there at noon today. Either the AD had finally found that damn reason, or he already had a new assignment for him, as far from Atlanta as was possible. Either way, he had three more hours at his disposal, better make use of them.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Exactly at noon Ezra made his way into a smaller conference room off of Williams’ office. Besides the AD, there was another person at the table - a lean blond in a black suit, his face familiar. In his business having a good memory for faces was often a question of life or death, so Ezra lingered a few seconds at the door, remembering where he’d seen the man before . The blond was definitely a law enforcement officer of some kind, but not an FBI agent; met not recently, but not too long ago either, and not in Atlanta…bingo. The Ludlow case a couple of years ago in Denver, he was one of the ATF agents. The name was…Larabee. Yes, Larabee, though Ezra didn’t know his first name and didn’t remember if he had formed an opinion about the man back then. Most likely, he had not. So it seemed that now the ATF had some dirty work for him. Well, why not?
Ezra put on his ‘polite’ smile, the one he knew irritated Williams to no end, and came forward.
“Good day, sir,” he greeted the AD and then turned to Larabee. “Agent Larabee, nice to see you again. Hope you’re enjoying your time in our fair city.” The blond agent nodded in return, not showing any surprise that Ezra recognized him, but for Williams it was news.
“You two know each other?” he asked, like he wasn’t pleased with that fact.
“Yes,” Larabee answered flatly. “We met briefly after the Ludlow case.”
“Ah, of course. There is no need for introductions then. Standish, Agent Larabee and his team are investigating a white supremacist group in Denver, and they asked for your assistance.”
‘And you readily agreed,’ Ezra continued mentally, but out loud he said nothing.
“Well, gentlemen,” Williams added, standing up, “I’ll leave you to discuss the details.”
As the AD was leaving the room Ezra suddenly got the impression that Larabee didn’t like Williams much and that the feeling was mutual; actually, it looked like Williams was slightly afraid of the ATF agent. Strange, and interesting.
As it turned out, Larabee was now the leader of a sort of experimental team, and investigating that supremacist group was their first real case; they needed someone to infiltrate the group. Well, it looked like he would be getting a chance to practice his native accent. The case itself sounded more or less ordinary, but Larabee sure was not. For starters, the man had bothered to fly all the way to Atlanta himself, and second, he was talking about the case as if Ezra could actually refuse it. Maybe the blond was naive, or maybe that really was how things worked in the world of Agent Larabee… definitely not how they worked in the world of Agent Standish though. Ezra knew he didn’t have a choice, but in this particular case he didn’t mind all that much. The case was interesting, it had been a long while since he’d been that far west, and, honestly, he was intrigued by Larabee. ‘Damn, need to learn the man’s first name.’ Not that he planned to use it.
“Mr. Larabee, it will be a pleasure to work with your unit. When should I arrive in Denver?”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
It was really late, but Chris still made a detour for the Federal Building while driving home from the airport. Despite the hour, there was a light on in the team’s bullpen; Chris wasn’t at all surprised, though, when he’d called the office from Atlanta, everyone had intended to go home early.
Entering the office, Chris, as he’d expected, found his second-in-command sitting with his legs propped up on his desk and totally engrossed in some magazine. A very Buck type of magazine, it seemed.
“Evening, Buck,” Chris said, coming close; startled, Buck had a problem with keeping his balance, but managed not to fall.
“Hell, Chris, you taking sneak lessons from Tanner now?”
Chris just blinked at him with an absolutely innocent expression, then he raised an eyebrow at the magazine; Buck didn’t blush, of course, but hastened to hide it among the papers on his desktop. “What are you doing here, anyway? Thought you’d drive straight home.”
“Could ask you the same thing,” Chris shrugged and headed to his office, to get rid of some of the paperwork from his briefcase. Buck, naturally, followed.
“So,” he asked, half-sitting on Chris’s desk. “What should we expect on Monday, is this new guy an interesting one?”
Chris gave a short laugh. “Oh, yeah, interesting is a good way to put it. You’ll see for yourself. Though you might want to buy a dictionary, certainly wouldn’t hurt.”
“That bad, huh?” Buck grinned.
“Yup. So, what happened here while I was gone?”
It was Buck’s turn to shrug. “Nothing outstanding. Josiah and Nate think they’re onto something, they’ll tell you tomorrow. Oh, and you can put a permanent address in the kid’s file now.”
That got Chris’s attention. “Really?” Dunne was currently staying in some sort of ‘dormitory for federal agents’, and was looking for a place to move into after his first paycheck. But that hadn’t happened yet, so…
“Really,” Buck gave a hand-written note with the address to Chris, and the senior agent immediately recognized the address as Buck’s own. Oh. Well, Chris knew Buck’s loft had two bedrooms, and the man would appreciate being able to split the bills and what was left of his mortgage, but that almost certainly wasn’t the real reason for the move. Buck had most likely decided to take the lad under his wing, and that was probably a good thing. JD needed a teacher, and Buck had always been good with rookies, much better than Chris anyway. And he was not just a good teacher, Buck was a natural caretaker who needed someone to look after; so maybe it was a good arrangement all the way round. Time would tell.
“You know, Buck, when I said to keep an eye on the kid, I didn’t mean 24/7.”
“Hell, Chris, I have a feeling he’ll need it!”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
It was raining outside again and the room was darkening fast. Sighing, Chris stood up and went to turn on the light. On his way back to his seat he realized that stretching a bit was probably a good idea. His back had its own opinion about sitting behind a desk all day and was now voicing it quite loudly. As he straightened out of a bend he took a long look at his desk, which was buried under a huge pile of papers; he gave a disgusted snort and instead of returning to the desk went to the window to watch the rain for a while.
After four and a half months of hard work they had finally finished their first case last week. The final bust had been so impressive that it was quickly becoming a legend among the force. Chris himself had already heard three versions about how exactly the bust had gone down, each more fantastic than the one before. The truth was hidden somewhere in the papers on his desk: six bound reports from his men and a number of printouts speckled with blue marks - the current draft of his own final report.
With effort, Chris turned his gaze away from said reports to the street outside his window. The sight was actually rather dull, but he liked the sound of the rain. It was the only sound in the Team Seven office at the moment; yesterday Chris had given his men three days off. They needed rest, and he…well, he needed peace and quiet to write his damn reports - one on the case and the other one on the team. Their probationary period was over, for individual members as well as for the team in general. All in all, Chris had been pleased with how the team had come together.
The guys possessed a wide array of skills and balanced each other perfectly - not just in said skills, but in character traits as well. Of course, there were still some edges that needed smoothing, some issues that needed working out, and it would take them some time to become a well oiled machine, but they had the potential for it. A couple more cases and they’d be even better than the last team Chris had led in the SEALs: capable of understanding him and each other in the field without words, no matter the situation. Hell, Buck and Vin could already do it, at least when it came to Chris. Buck due to the past he shared with his boss, and Vin due to… well, he just could. Anyway, they all had something really good starting with this team. Lately, Buck had even stopped looking at him every other day like he could fall apart at any minute; more importantly, Chris had stopped fearing he would fall apart the minute he let go.
Thinking of Buck reminded him how the big guy had been by earlier in the day, despite his busy schedule of ‘catching up with the ladies.’ He had tried to be subtle and act casually, but it was obvious he was fretting - the way Chris’s mother, Maggie Larabee, had fretted when her girls had been awaiting the results of their exams - Chris had enjoyed feigning ignorance for a while, but soon had laughed out loud and told Buck to stop worrying: JD Dunne had a permanent position on Team Seven. Chris smiled, remembering Buck’s whoop of joy; the smile faded when he thought about the other team member whose fate had yet to be decided. Standish. Running a hand through his hair tiredly, Chris went back to his desk.
The southern agent sure had an attitude, all right. His tongue was sharper than some of Nathan’s favorite knives, and his ideas on discipline were uncommon at best, but he’d never crossed the line. And he got the job done, so Chris was ready to overlook the small things - but what had happened at the bust hadn’t been small. The soon-to-be-legendary bust hadn’t gone as planned. Far from it. The only consolation was that what had started the disaster hadn’t been their mistake - either in the planning stage or at the scene - but something that couldn’t be foreseen. What had followed…
Chris rubbed his wrists unconsciously. Damn, being captured was an experience he didn’t care to repeat. The events that had led to him and most of his men being captured had began with Standish not being where he should have been. Then, dangerously close to the proverbial last minute, he’d appeared from out of nowhere and had provided enough distraction for Chris to free himself. Not ten minutes later the tables had been turned against the bad guys. Later, after Chris had studied all the reports, looked over the evidence from the scene, and taken statements from those who agreed to talk, he’d realized it must have been an error in judgment on Standish’s part, not an act of cowardice.
It was likely, that, if Standish hadn’t made that mistake they could have ended the operation faster and there would have been less casualties among the Colonel’s followers (and some of them had just been confused kids). But Chris had seen too much action to state that for sure, it easily could have gone either way. He was damn glad he hadn’t jumped to conclusions at the scene, and, though there had been some harsh words said in the heat of the moment, nothing had been said or done that needed to be taken back now. However, the main question was still unanswered - did Chris trust Ezra Standish enough to have him on board permanently?
Chris’s musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the bullpen. It seemed that someone from the team had decided to drop by. It could have been anyone, even Buck coming back, but somehow Chris knew it was Vin. So he said, loud enough to be heard through the closed door:
“You may as well come in.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Vin hadn’t planned on dropping by the office today, but he’d been checking a new bike shop in the area (he was seriously disappointed, by the way), and when he’d stopped to grab something to eat, he had realized that he was only a couple of blocks from the Federal Building. So he bought several huge sandwiches and a bag of donuts, and headed to the office to eat with Larabee. Knowing Chris, he’d probably gotten buried in reports and forgotten about lunch altogether.
Vin laughed at himself after that thought; hell, before this team he hadn’t been in the habit of worrying if a grown man had eaten. Nathan must be rubbing off on him; or, since it was about Chris, it might have been Buck. Yeah, definitely Buck’s fault.
After Vin had started to work with Chris and the others, it had taken him a couple of weeks to gather - from rumors in the Agency, his own observations, and Nettie’s stories - the full picture of Larabee’s past. He had gotten the feeling that the place he was taking in Chris’s life had actually belonged to someone else. And Vin had always despised stealing in any form. Buck must have sensed his growing unease because when Chris had gone to Atlanta he’d invited the sharpshooter to a bar. They had talked a lot and drunk even more, so of all that had been said, Vin remembered clearly only one phrase: ‘Watching Larabee’s back is a tough job, Junior, and I may be a little out of practice, so I sure do appreciate having a partner in that.’ And, once Vin had overcome his hangover, he’d stopped worrying on the subject.
Vin stopped his reminiscence once he’d arrived at their floor. Opening the door with his hands full of food and a bike helmet was a challenge, but he managed. He put the helmet on his desk and was trying to decide if he wanted coffee or soda to go with those sandwiches, when he heard Chris’s voice inviting him in.
“Soda, then.” Grabbing two cans from his ever-present stash in one of the desk drawers, he added them to the bag and went into Larabee’s office.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Vin came bearing food, and Chris suddenly realized that he was starving - forgetting about lunch probably hadn’t been a good idea. So, for the next twenty minutes they sat in comfortable silence on the couch using the coffee table to dine upon. Soon after they finished, Vin asked:
“Have you decided yet?”
Chris didn’t need to ask what Vin meant, and that was rather spooky considering he’d been thinking on the subject just before Tanner’s arrival.
“No, I haven’t. I need to be sure about what brought this on… and that it won’t happen again.”
Vin sighed and then raised his gaze from an empty soda can to Chris’s eyes .
“Old habits die hard, Chris. He’s used to being on his own and working alone - I could have done the same thing.”
“You didn’t.”
“I could have,” Vin repeated. “Contrary to popular belief, sometimes the good things take even more time to get used to than the bad.”
“You’re saying he’ll learn?”
“I’m saying he’s worth it.”
Silence followed that declaration, the quiet only interrupted by the beeping of Vin’s cell. Vin read the message on it and swore.
“Damn it, I got to go.” He extracted another bag from inside the big brown one and put it on the coffee table. The small bag bore the symbol of the nearest bakery. “I’ll leave the donuts to you, they say sugar is good for the brain.” And he disappeared from the office before Chris could come up with a suitable comeback.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
It was midday Thursday, the third and final day off that Larabee had given to his team, and Ezra sat on the sofa in the main room of his apartment thinking thoughts he didn’t want to think. He’d avoided thinking the previous two days by actually sleeping through them, so exhausted that even nightmares had stayed away. Now, however, he was wide awake, shifting his stare between his bookcase and a few empty moving boxes scattered around the floor. It was time to pack, but he couldn’t bring himself to begin.
He’d rented the apartment and had his books and CDs shipped over from Atlanta during his first week in Denver, when it had become clear that the case would take serious time. The few other possessions he’d accumulated through the years, barring clothing, were currently stowed away in some storage facility back in Georgia, waiting for a, most likely never coming, time when he’d own his own home. He always took books and CDs with him. They grounded him; helped him remember his own identity, his own tastes and likings, and helped sell the illusion of someone waiting for him in the evenings.
With a sigh, Ezra got up and went to the bookcase. He ran his hand over the spines stopping at the large, and expensive, biography of Joseph Turner, one of his favorite artists. He slid it out with both hands and carried it back to the sofa. Opening the tome randomly he saw a reproduction of ‘The Harbor of Dieppe’ printed on the page and stared at it, his mind wandering off.
Mr. Larabee had mentioned early on that there was a permanent position on the team for someone with his skills, and after they finished the case, it could be his - if he fit in. At first, Ezra had completely dismissed the idea - Ezra Standish, fit in? That was an oxymoron. But as time had passed, he’d found he liked Larabee and his men, liked them more than any other team he’d worked with, and he wanted to be a part of their group. All right, so being a part of something might not be in his agenda at all, but he wanted to work with them, and for a while it had even seemed possible. Larabee had been satisfied with the results he got, and the rest of the team, though not exactly thrilled with the idea, hadn’t seemed to mind him staying on after the case too much. And then he’d blown it.
The strangest thing about the whole mess at the bust was that it might have been the first time he’d actually been given the benefit of the doubt - despite the fact that he had been at fault. There had been some tense moments during the operation, but once the dust had cleared, Larabee had asked for Ezra’s side. And the questions really had been questions, not accusations. It had felt nice. Maybe it was because of that, that the last stubborn shred of hope refused to die inside Ezra’s heart. ‘Don’t ever run out on me again,’ Larabee had demanded in that compound, and the word ‘again’ implied that there might be a future. Ezra had readily given the leader his promise, silent as it had been, and was determined to keep it if… the southern agent shook his head. ‘Damn it, Standish, you are too old to believe in miracles.’
And yet, no matter what tomorrow would bring, Ezra knew he would be forever grateful for his time with Team Seven. The last four months were probably one of the best periods in his adult life; sure, the assignment itself had been hard and tiring, both physically and emotionally, but working with Larabee’s men… even the simple fact that such men existed in law enforcement made him warm inside. Maybe that knowledge would be enough to keep him going after tomorrow.
Ezra looked at the bookcase and boxes one more time before deciding that they could wait. Larabee had ordered them to rest and relax, and it was a good idea to obey that order, especially if it was the last one he’d ever receive from the man in black. With that thought, Ezra turned the book to the beginning and tried to lose himself in what he read.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
At precisely 9 a.m. on Friday, Chris heard a knock at his office door.
“Come in,” he said, and Standish entered, wearing exactly the same face he had during their first meeting in Atlanta all those months ago. It was clear the man wasn’t expecting anything good.
Without any more words, Chris nodded to the papers on the edge of his desk which were lying so Ezra wouldn’t need to turn them around to understand them. Standish came close, looked at the papers, flipped through them, and then raised his head, obviously confused:
“What are they?”
“Your permanent transfer to the ATF, Agent Standish.”
It took the southerner a few moments to comprehend the words, but when he did, his damn poker face finally slipped, and Chris saw the man beneath the mask - one who’d lost all hope long ago, and had a very hard time believing in miracles.
“Permanent?” he asked, blinking. It seemed he’d forgotten the meaning of that word.
“Yes,” Chris said softly, but seriously. “Permanent. You’ll be all ours, Ezra, if you want it.”
Ezra looked at the papers again, but not before Chris noticed the unusual brightness in his eyes, then looked up and gave that dimpled smile, the one which made him look like a teenager.
“Where do I sign?”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Assistant Director Orrin Travis stood before a large window in the Denver airport, waiting for his flight to start boarding, and not even the fact that he was going to Washington, DC, could spoil his good mood. It was the first sunny day after two weeks of constant rain and a huge rainbow was shining across the sky. ‘Maybe them old tales got it right,’ Orrin mused, admiring the view. ‘Seven truly was a lucky number.’
It seemed unbelievable and impossible, but it had worked. The crazy idea about putting together a special team under Larabee’s command had worked, and though Travis had yet to report about it officially, unofficially he’d already received a few congratulations… and a big pack of antacids from an old friend at Denver’s DA Office. Orrin got a feeling he’d run out of them soon enough, but Team Seven was worth all the headaches they caused and would be causing; like that rainbow out there made up for the rainy days. The grey-haired man smiled, thinking of another gift that had mysteriously appeared on his desk earlier in the week: a collectors' edition of “The Magnificent Seven”. Well, the nickname was already spreading through the ATF, and, after re-watching the movie with Evie, Travis had to admit it was more than fitting. The legend rides again, indeed. The next few years would be fairly interesting…
[ part one] [the end]
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Author: Black Rook grachonok
Artist: DJ Aida dj_aida
Disclaimer: Well, they still aren’t mine…
Character/Pairing: All Seven with focus on Chris, Orrin Travis, Nettie Wells, Rain Rating: PG-13
Warnings: n/a
Summary: The formation of the ATF Team Seven - from the very beginning.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
“Hey, baby! Did you miss me?” Buck smiled and blew a kiss to the country girl pictured on the ‘Welcome to Colorado’ sign as he passed the border between states. “She missed me,” he confidently told his shotgun passenger, but the latter, Buck’s court suit, didn’t answer. That didn’t embarrass Buck any, and, whistling loudly, he continued on his way.
It was a warm Friday evening and Buck Wilmington was coming back to Denver, only a week and a half after his conversation with Chris in that café. The speed with which all of the paperwork had been organized really amazed him; Larabee’s boss sure knew what buttons to push. Buck’s captain from Albuquerque PD had expressed regret at losing such a good detective, but hadn’t tossed any obstacles in the way of the transfer. So, those of Buck’s cases which couldn’t be finished in a few days had been reassigned, and a huge farewell bash had been thrown for him on Wednesday. Buck had used Thursday to sleep off the work party, as well as several other private festivities from later that day , and to pack up the few possessions he had that he hadn’t wanted to leave behind. He had been loaded and on the road before noon Friday, and come Monday, he would start working for Chris Larabee at the ATF.
Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to look for a place to live as the loft he’d bought ten years ago was still his; he hadn’t sold it when he’d transferred out. Maybe, because he had hoped to come back one day, or, maybe, because he’d known a couple willing to rent it and hadn’t wanted to bother with finding a buyer. In any case, he’d leased the loft to the couple, and they’d been renting ever since. Their contract was up next week, and, as Buck had realized the day after he’d accepted Chris’s offer, they hadn’t asked to prolong it. As it turned out, the couple was moving to another state; Buck couldn’t help but see that as a sign. A damn good one, too. So, he only needed a place to stay for a few days before they vacated the loft, that wouldn’t be a problem. At least, he hoped not.
He had several options, including old buddies from DPD who had couches. There was also his little black book, and he was sure that at least a dozen ladies from there would gladly welcome him. Of course, he could always stay in a hotel, but Buck hated those with a passion. And then there was Chris’s ranch. With that thought Buck stopped whistling and left the highway for the next rest area. He needed to think.
He did want to see Chris at the ranch as that was the only way to really appraise Chris’s current state of mind. On the other hand, him staying at the ranch, like in the good (and bad) old times, might be really pushing it, and not only for Chris but for Buck himself as well. A half an hour of such musings, and Buck still hadn’t decided if it was a good or bad idea; to hell with it, after all, if Chris didn’t want to see him at the ranch, he just wouldn’t offer. So Buck fished out his cell and, reminding himself to put Chris’s numbers back on speed dial, called the man.
“Larabee.”
“Hey, Old Dog. You haven’t managed to get out of the office yet?”
“Buck! Nah, I’m still here. And where are you?”
“Just entered the fair state of Colorado a few miles back.”
“That’s good. You’re heading straight to the loft?”
He could have said yes, but Buck had never learned to lie to Chris successfully, even about simple things. “Nah, the Rowans don’t leave until Wednesday.”
“Oh. Then where are you staying?”
“Don’t know yet, was thinking about -”
Chris cut him off. “If you’re not willing to drive into the city, you’re welcome to stay at the ranch.”
Well, the ranch was indeed in the right side of Denver for someone driving from New Mexico. “That’d be great,” Buck answered and then added in a softer voice: “If it’s okay with you.”
“It is,” Chris said firmly. “Call me when you’re close. I doubt I’ll get stuck at work today, but anything’s possible, you know?”
“Yeah, I do, pard. See you soon.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Chris’s house looked much better than the last time Buck had seen it. Of course, it wasn’t as lovely as when it had a lady, but at least it was definitely being looked after now. Chris had even redecorated some - the living room was completely different at least - which was probably for the best.
They managed to spend the Friday evening without any awkward moments, drinking beer and discussing the future team, and Buck went to bed with a light heart. His sleep was free of nightmares, and he hoped Chris’s was, too.
Saturday was spent driving around to reacquaint Buck with the differences in the pulse of Denver’s city life. He wanted to learn what had changed and explore the area around the Federal Building. On Sunday they went riding, and the situation was almost too good to be true.
They were thinking about turning back to the house when a loud whistle rang out. Looking in the direction of the sound Buck saw a rider waving at them from atop a brown horse.
“Must be Tanner,” Chris observed, heading his horse to meet the man. Buck followed, his curiosity piqued. He’d known, of course, that Chris had already hired two more people - a chemist and a sniper - who would also be starting work on Monday. He also knew that the sniper, Vin Tanner, was considered family by Nettie Wells. But Chris was suspiciously vague about other details, like how he’d come across the men, so Buck had been looking forward to meeting them and getting the full story out of Tanner or Jackson.
They caught up with the rider, who indeed was Tanner, and Chris made introductions. Tanner’s outfit showed his recent Texan roots, and he had his long dark blond curls tied in a loose ponytail. The look made him resemble a teenager, but when Buck met his eyes for a second, he realized that this kid had seen a lot, probably more than Buck himself.
“So, Vin,” he asked after they had ridden for a while. “Are you going to stay at Nettie’s place?”
“Nah, got myself apartment in town already.”
“Where?”
“Chamber’s street.”
Buck almost choked. “In Purgatorio?”
Tanner didn’t seem surprised by his reaction. “Yeah, I grew up on those streets. You have something against that?”
Touchy one. Or maybe just real direct. “Hell no, knew a few decent men from there myself. It’s just, they’re usually doing their best to get out of that place. I was sure no sane person would ever want to go back there.”
“Well, I never claimed I was sane,” Vin said, deadly serious. “But if that quality was a requirement for the new team, then the Cowboy here sure wouldn’t be commanding it.”
Buck nearly choked again; damn it, but the kid had a point! The most amazing thing though, was that Chris didn’t deck him from the horse for that comment, just laughed instead! And it was a real laugh, not bitter or sarcastic or threatening. So maybe to Chris this team wasn’t about catching a bullet for noble reasons , or doing the right thing, or just a means to survive, maybe this team truly was about living again? And if this lanky Texan was somehow responsible for that - then, hell, he’d better not get himself shot in that damn neighborhood of his!
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
After the first, extremely successful, round of recruiting Chris found himself stuck. He’d read lots of files and resumes, and interviewed more than a dozen people, but as of now, a month after he’d started, his team still only had three members besides himself. However, those three were more than merely proficient, they were talented, and they made up the core of his team.
They already felt at home within the ATF and had acted a couple of times as back-up for other units. They had also started researching the local big players; taking down any of them could become their first case. Chris really wanted to find at least one more man (or woman, he wasn’t biased in that regard) for the team before that. Alas, the candidate he’d just talked to wasn’t cut from the right cloth - too much of a careerist. Larabee got rid of him politely, and, disappointed, went to find some place for lunch. Chris was of the opinion that he should enjoy the opportunity for a normal lunch while he could, he had a feeling that once they started the real work it wouldn’t be possible very often anymore.
He ended up at the newest Chinese place in the area; not surprisingly, he saw Vin and Nathan at one of the tables, so he joined them. Buck must be charming a waitress or hostess somewhere else.
“So,” Vin asked once Chris had settled. “How was the interview?”
Chris made a face instead of answering, and Vin chuckled. “About the same as the previous ones, I reckon?”
“Yeah, so let’s talk about something else, boys.”
Vin shrugged, grinning, but Nathan must have had another subject already in mind. “I wanted to ask, Chris, if you’ve seen that memo about the open lectures that are held Fridays at the University?”
“Yeah, I read it, though I’m afraid I overlooked the actual schedule. You want to attend them?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘them’, but I’d like to go this Friday, if that’s okay with you.”
“Forensics or Medicine?” Vin asked, curious.
“Neither, actually, it’s on Profiling, but an old friend of mine is giving it.”
“Profiling?” Nathan nodded. Now that sounded interesting. Profiling was on Chris’s list of desired skills, though it wasn’t popular within the ATF - most believed profilers were needed only when it came to catching serial killers. But Chris had seen a couple of times what a real profiler could do for a case, any case, and they really could use one. “Who’s this friend?”
“His name’s Josiah Sanchez, we met at a college.”
“Josiah Sanchez?” Vin even stopped rocking in his highly-not-suitable-for-such chair. “The one who caught Bill Primes?”
“Yes, that was him.”
Vin whistled, and Chris was sure impressed, too. Bill Primes was one hell of a sick bastard, and it had taken the FBI five years to catch him. The man who’d finally managed to do it must be more than good…
“He still working for the FBI?” Chris heard himself asking.
“Nah, he retired a few years back.”
“Didn’t think he was that old,” Vin mused aloud.
“He isn’t. Just said he’d had enough and wanted to work on his doctorate.” Nathan finished replying, then watched Vin and Chris exchange a look… and suddenly realized what they were thinking about. “But you know what, guys? I bet he’s pretty bored by now.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Josiah Sanchez, a retired FBI agent and Vietnam veteran with a PhD in Psychology, who was currently working on his doctorate in sociology, was actually quite satisfied with his lecture. He was in fine form, the room was full, and the audience was even attentive and interested. Some of those present even stayed after the lecture to ask questions, good ones at that, and any other day he would be delighted. Today though, Josiah would have preferred there wasn’t anyone lingering because his old friend, Nathan Jackson, was here and waiting for him to be done.
Actually, Sanchez hadn’t really been sure if Nathan would show up, with his new job and all, but the medic had come, though he was accompanied by a grim-looking blond. Finally, the last of the curious students left the room, and Nathan and his companion came forward.
“Good lecture, Josiah,” Nathan said, outstretching his hand.
“Thank you, brother,” the profiler answered, shaking the hand and slapping Jackson on his shoulder. “Glad you could come.”
Nathan nodded. “Yeah, me too. Josiah, this is my new boss, Chris Larabee, a federal agent with the ATF. Chris, Josiah Sanchez.”
“This really was an interesting lecture,” Larabee said, after they shook and agreed to be on a first name basis. “Though not what I’d call a traditional approach.”
Josiah laughed. “Well, I was never very good at being conventional.”
The blond smiled. “Could we continue this discussion over lunch?”
“Wonderful idea.”
They went to a nice little Italian restaurant nearby, and had a pleasant lunch; by the time Chris Larabee took his leave, giving the two old friends an opportunity to catch up, Josiah Sanchez had a job offer. By the time he and Nathan parted their ways that evening, he’d decided to accept it. He truly had missed the adrenaline of field work, and he missed working with law enforcement. And if his gut wasn’t lying, and it rarely did, then the current and future members of Larabee’s team would be very unusual individuals; a dream come true for any student of human nature…
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
With five members Larabee’s team, now officially called Team Seven, was a functioning unit, so they received their first official case. They were assigned to investigate a white supremacist group that was based in Denver and led by someone known as The Colonel. The guys were relieved to finally be trusted with a real case; they began by digging up background information on those involved and building profiles.
Chris was going through preliminary reports on the group when he got interrupted by a phone call. It was from Travis’s office.
“Chris, I have an application that might interest you,” the AD said after their usual greetings. “Shelly will forward you the details, call me after you’ve read it.”
“I will, sir, thank you.”
Despite the fact that the team was already operational, Chris was still looking for at least two more men - an undercover agent and a computer specialist - to fill the rest of the skill areas he drew up at the launch of this crazy, ground-breaking squad.
The good old times of suitcases full of cash being brought to exchanges were ending; these days, money often changed hands in cyber space, thus Chris really needed someone at home there. Well, at home but not completely lost in the virtual reality, and so far Chris couldn’t find that man. Perhaps he was asking too much, after all, he’d already managed to find both a profiler and a forensic with field experience, and that alone was a damn miracle. But who knows, maybe there was another miracle waiting in his mail… first, however, he had to finish going over those files.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
“So, Chris, what do you think?” Travis asked when Chris called him later that day.
“Good credentials, but, sir, he’s only 24.”
“True, but do you know the age of the last hacker to be caught by the FBI? Fifteen. It’s the province of the young.”
“I know, but….”
“I know your concerns, Chris, but that boy isn’t just a geek. He’d been a street cop in a poor neighborhood in Boston for three years. People grow up fast there.”
That was a powerful argument in his favor, but John Dunne was still a rookie and Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to chance the possible trouble having one on the team could cause.
“I talked to him, Chris, and to his supervisors in Boston. Give the kid a chance. I’ll still have a position for him in our division even if he doesn’t fit on your team. Computer geniuses rarely choose to work for law enforcement, you know.”
It was the first time Travis had actually asked him to take somebody on board, before he’d just offered resumes. Chris had no real reasons to refuse a probationary period - especially when he needed a computer specialist.
“I need to see him first, sir.”
“Thanks, Chris. He’ll be here next week, I’ll send him straight to you.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
John ‘call-me-J.D.’ Dunne appeared in Team Seven’s office first thing on Tuesday morning: looking not a day older than 18, talking a mile a minute and unable to sit still if he wasn’t fully occupied with work, and carrying a serious case of hero worship when it came to Chris. But the kid did know his way around computers - and not only computers.
Buck had, at first, been sure that Chris had taken the kid on only to placate Travis and that nothing good, or permanent, would come of it. He changed his mind real quick once J.D. convinced the surveillance expert to let him in the new team’s surveillance van.
“Damn, Chris, that boy has promise!” Buck said afterwards. “Might even grow up to become a fine agent one day.”
Chris was skeptical, but the next day Dunne brought him a file. It contained a detailed analysis of the van’s equipment in comparison with the current state of the art stuff out on the market, complete with recommendations on which devices replacements should be bought for and which of the older models were more reliable, or convenient, and should be kept. It also had a detailed write up regarding which electronics were needed for which cases. And everything written was completely understandable to Chris, plus he bet it would look reasonable enough to pass budget restrictions too.
Hell, it looked like the kid had already earned his first paycheck, but Chris still needed to evaluate his fieldwork in order to make the final decision on whether or not he’d become a permanent member of Team Seven .
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
The new case was speeding up, and now Chris needed an agent to send undercover into The Colonel’s operation, and needed one badly. Of course, both Buck and himself had some experience undercover, and Vin also had some familiarity in that area, but Chris wanted someone with talent, proper training, and real experience, not just the couple of short stints the three of them had under their belts. The problem was that good undercover agents were a rare breed; and very difficult to re-recruit. So Chris was ready to just temporarily take a loan of someone worthy from one of their sister agencies; maybe later it would be possible to organize a permanent transfer, if everything worked out.
He’d had Travis send him another bunch of resumes, of undercovers who were available for loan this time, and the leader of Team Seven was going through them now, trying to decide which one to read first. A familiar name suddenly caught his attention: Ezra P. Standish from Atlanta’s FBI office. Now, where had he heard that name before? Chris leaned back in his chair, trying to remember…but of course - the Ludlow case.
It had been his second case with the ATF; he’d been after a guy who made his living by selling illegal cigarettes. Then the guy had decided that he wanted to be part of a bigger organization, and, as a result of his extraordinary timing, Chris had suddenly found himself part of big joint operation where not only the ATF but both the FBI and the DEA were involved. He’d spent a lot of time on surveillance then, watching the main players, and he’d known the FBI had a man on the inside, had even made some assumptions about who he might be, but he would never ever have pegged Joseph Carrboro as being a Fed.
Later, after the operation had been successfully completed, he’d met Standish during the debriefings; the man had nothing in common with Carrboro at all, save for height and build. And the amount of information he obtained…considering Standish’s age he wasn’t just good - he was one of the best. Yet now he was available for loan and even for transfer? Hell, if Chris had an agent like that he would never let him go, so something was definitely wrong. Chris opened the file hoping to learn what exactly was amiss.
Harvard directly followed by Quantico: impressive. List of commendations, each one paired with a reprimand or two, Chris chuckled at the deja-vu, though it seemed Standish had more problems with discipline than Tanner and Wilmington combined. Misconduct, lack of respect to proper authorities, and so on, but the guy got results that justified it all, so what changed? Oh, here it began - a case had fallen through. IA had investigated but nothing had been proven, and soon Standish had been sent under again - and had been shot on a bust under unclear circumstances. Damn. Loaning him out had begun after that: one case with Miami’s FBI, one in California, and the current one back in Atlanta with the DEA, which should be finished any day now.
“Okay, so what do we have here?” Chris mused out loud, closing the folder. The story was more or less obvious, and Chris didn’t like it a single bit. Alas, undercover agents did tend to cross the line a little too often, and though personally Chris was sure Standish was, at the very least, too damn proud to be one of those, he didn’t really know the man all that well. All of these facts needed checking and he needed more information regarding the whole situation . The team leader opened the folder again and looked through the list of recent cases; yeah, his clearance should be high enough to retrieve those files. Of course, the case files were only half of the picture, as for the second half…maybe it was time to test some of Agent Dunne’s computer abilities.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Two days later Chris Larabee knew two things: first, J.D. Dunne was damn good at fact finding; second, Agent Standish’s colleagues and, especially, his supervisors in Atlanta’s FBI were either considerable assholes or complete idiots, and he didn’t know which version pissed him off more.
Nevertheless, when it came to possibly recruiting Standish Chris had his doubts; not about whether Standish was dirty or not, or whether he was good enough for the team - on both accounts Chris was more than satisfied - but did Standish wish to continue working for the government after all the shit of the past year? Could he become a team player, especially for a rather unique team like Team Seven?
“You won’t get them answers sitting here, stud,” Buck said when Chris shared his concerns with his second. “Fly to Atlanta. Talk to him; listen to your gut. If he seems okay then take him on loan for this case, and if things work out we’ll try for a permanent transfer. If they don’t,” Buck shrugged. “Then they don’t; won’t know unless we try.”
Chris sighed. “Sounds rather obvious, doesn’t it?”
Buck chuckled. “Hey, Larabee, it’s in my job description to tell you obvious things you already know.”
Chris laughed at that and nodded. Well, it looked like a trip to Georgia was in his immediate future; he just hoped the team wouldn’t be needed as back-up or something while he was away. Of course, he trusted Buck and the others, but still…
“Keep an eye on the kid, will you? You may be right about him having promise, don’t want something stupid to happen.”
“You can count on me, boss.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Ezra Standish parked his Jaguar in the last spot in the area belonging to his department, retrieved his briefcase from the back seat, and stepped out of his vehicle, locking the car as he left. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he headed to the elevators; it was his first day back, and, frankly, he didn’t expect anything good from it.
He’d finished his work for the DEA last week. He had gathered all of the information they had wanted and they had thanked him politely and sent him back to his home office, without bothering to tell him what they were going to do with said information. Ezra was half sure that when it came to actual arrests, his name wouldn’t even appear on the reports. ‘Okay, Ezra, quit feeling sorry for yourself!’ he chastised himself silently. In fact, he was probably being unfair to DEA SAC Reynolds; the man had organized adequate back-up and had pulled him out safely, something Ezra had stopped taking for granted long ago.
He rode alone in the elevator, but when left it the lobby was already full of his coworkers; most of them he knew, but they were hesitant in acknowledging him. So nothing had changed then, though he hadn’t really thought anything would. His common sense repeated to him once again that it was time to fold and leave the table, figuratively speaking, to quit before he ended up being killed due to incompetence, indifferent back-up, or friendly fire. Or before AD Williams finally found a good enough formal reason to just fire his ass.
In the middle of these thoughts, Ezra found himself facing the wall that was just behind the entrance. The Wall was adorned with pictures of agents who had been killed in the line of duty. There was a grey-haired man in the third photo in the most recent row that seemed to be watching him intently; with an internal sigh, the young agent put on his best cocky smile. Don’t worry, Phil. I won’t give up. And he wouldn’t make it easy for Williams to fire him either, Ezra thought, entering his office precisely at 8:50 a.m.
An urgent message from Williams’ office waited for him in his mailbox; he was expected there at noon today. Either the AD had finally found that damn reason, or he already had a new assignment for him, as far from Atlanta as was possible. Either way, he had three more hours at his disposal, better make use of them.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Exactly at noon Ezra made his way into a smaller conference room off of Williams’ office. Besides the AD, there was another person at the table - a lean blond in a black suit, his face familiar. In his business having a good memory for faces was often a question of life or death, so Ezra lingered a few seconds at the door, remembering where he’d seen the man before . The blond was definitely a law enforcement officer of some kind, but not an FBI agent; met not recently, but not too long ago either, and not in Atlanta…bingo. The Ludlow case a couple of years ago in Denver, he was one of the ATF agents. The name was…Larabee. Yes, Larabee, though Ezra didn’t know his first name and didn’t remember if he had formed an opinion about the man back then. Most likely, he had not. So it seemed that now the ATF had some dirty work for him. Well, why not?
Ezra put on his ‘polite’ smile, the one he knew irritated Williams to no end, and came forward.
“Good day, sir,” he greeted the AD and then turned to Larabee. “Agent Larabee, nice to see you again. Hope you’re enjoying your time in our fair city.” The blond agent nodded in return, not showing any surprise that Ezra recognized him, but for Williams it was news.
“You two know each other?” he asked, like he wasn’t pleased with that fact.
“Yes,” Larabee answered flatly. “We met briefly after the Ludlow case.”
“Ah, of course. There is no need for introductions then. Standish, Agent Larabee and his team are investigating a white supremacist group in Denver, and they asked for your assistance.”
‘And you readily agreed,’ Ezra continued mentally, but out loud he said nothing.
“Well, gentlemen,” Williams added, standing up, “I’ll leave you to discuss the details.”
As the AD was leaving the room Ezra suddenly got the impression that Larabee didn’t like Williams much and that the feeling was mutual; actually, it looked like Williams was slightly afraid of the ATF agent. Strange, and interesting.
As it turned out, Larabee was now the leader of a sort of experimental team, and investigating that supremacist group was their first real case; they needed someone to infiltrate the group. Well, it looked like he would be getting a chance to practice his native accent. The case itself sounded more or less ordinary, but Larabee sure was not. For starters, the man had bothered to fly all the way to Atlanta himself, and second, he was talking about the case as if Ezra could actually refuse it. Maybe the blond was naive, or maybe that really was how things worked in the world of Agent Larabee… definitely not how they worked in the world of Agent Standish though. Ezra knew he didn’t have a choice, but in this particular case he didn’t mind all that much. The case was interesting, it had been a long while since he’d been that far west, and, honestly, he was intrigued by Larabee. ‘Damn, need to learn the man’s first name.’ Not that he planned to use it.
“Mr. Larabee, it will be a pleasure to work with your unit. When should I arrive in Denver?”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
It was really late, but Chris still made a detour for the Federal Building while driving home from the airport. Despite the hour, there was a light on in the team’s bullpen; Chris wasn’t at all surprised, though, when he’d called the office from Atlanta, everyone had intended to go home early.
Entering the office, Chris, as he’d expected, found his second-in-command sitting with his legs propped up on his desk and totally engrossed in some magazine. A very Buck type of magazine, it seemed.
“Evening, Buck,” Chris said, coming close; startled, Buck had a problem with keeping his balance, but managed not to fall.
“Hell, Chris, you taking sneak lessons from Tanner now?”
Chris just blinked at him with an absolutely innocent expression, then he raised an eyebrow at the magazine; Buck didn’t blush, of course, but hastened to hide it among the papers on his desktop. “What are you doing here, anyway? Thought you’d drive straight home.”
“Could ask you the same thing,” Chris shrugged and headed to his office, to get rid of some of the paperwork from his briefcase. Buck, naturally, followed.
“So,” he asked, half-sitting on Chris’s desk. “What should we expect on Monday, is this new guy an interesting one?”
Chris gave a short laugh. “Oh, yeah, interesting is a good way to put it. You’ll see for yourself. Though you might want to buy a dictionary, certainly wouldn’t hurt.”
“That bad, huh?” Buck grinned.
“Yup. So, what happened here while I was gone?”
It was Buck’s turn to shrug. “Nothing outstanding. Josiah and Nate think they’re onto something, they’ll tell you tomorrow. Oh, and you can put a permanent address in the kid’s file now.”
That got Chris’s attention. “Really?” Dunne was currently staying in some sort of ‘dormitory for federal agents’, and was looking for a place to move into after his first paycheck. But that hadn’t happened yet, so…
“Really,” Buck gave a hand-written note with the address to Chris, and the senior agent immediately recognized the address as Buck’s own. Oh. Well, Chris knew Buck’s loft had two bedrooms, and the man would appreciate being able to split the bills and what was left of his mortgage, but that almost certainly wasn’t the real reason for the move. Buck had most likely decided to take the lad under his wing, and that was probably a good thing. JD needed a teacher, and Buck had always been good with rookies, much better than Chris anyway. And he was not just a good teacher, Buck was a natural caretaker who needed someone to look after; so maybe it was a good arrangement all the way round. Time would tell.
“You know, Buck, when I said to keep an eye on the kid, I didn’t mean 24/7.”
“Hell, Chris, I have a feeling he’ll need it!”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
It was raining outside again and the room was darkening fast. Sighing, Chris stood up and went to turn on the light. On his way back to his seat he realized that stretching a bit was probably a good idea. His back had its own opinion about sitting behind a desk all day and was now voicing it quite loudly. As he straightened out of a bend he took a long look at his desk, which was buried under a huge pile of papers; he gave a disgusted snort and instead of returning to the desk went to the window to watch the rain for a while.
After four and a half months of hard work they had finally finished their first case last week. The final bust had been so impressive that it was quickly becoming a legend among the force. Chris himself had already heard three versions about how exactly the bust had gone down, each more fantastic than the one before. The truth was hidden somewhere in the papers on his desk: six bound reports from his men and a number of printouts speckled with blue marks - the current draft of his own final report.
With effort, Chris turned his gaze away from said reports to the street outside his window. The sight was actually rather dull, but he liked the sound of the rain. It was the only sound in the Team Seven office at the moment; yesterday Chris had given his men three days off. They needed rest, and he…well, he needed peace and quiet to write his damn reports - one on the case and the other one on the team. Their probationary period was over, for individual members as well as for the team in general. All in all, Chris had been pleased with how the team had come together.
The guys possessed a wide array of skills and balanced each other perfectly - not just in said skills, but in character traits as well. Of course, there were still some edges that needed smoothing, some issues that needed working out, and it would take them some time to become a well oiled machine, but they had the potential for it. A couple more cases and they’d be even better than the last team Chris had led in the SEALs: capable of understanding him and each other in the field without words, no matter the situation. Hell, Buck and Vin could already do it, at least when it came to Chris. Buck due to the past he shared with his boss, and Vin due to… well, he just could. Anyway, they all had something really good starting with this team. Lately, Buck had even stopped looking at him every other day like he could fall apart at any minute; more importantly, Chris had stopped fearing he would fall apart the minute he let go.
Thinking of Buck reminded him how the big guy had been by earlier in the day, despite his busy schedule of ‘catching up with the ladies.’ He had tried to be subtle and act casually, but it was obvious he was fretting - the way Chris’s mother, Maggie Larabee, had fretted when her girls had been awaiting the results of their exams - Chris had enjoyed feigning ignorance for a while, but soon had laughed out loud and told Buck to stop worrying: JD Dunne had a permanent position on Team Seven. Chris smiled, remembering Buck’s whoop of joy; the smile faded when he thought about the other team member whose fate had yet to be decided. Standish. Running a hand through his hair tiredly, Chris went back to his desk.
The southern agent sure had an attitude, all right. His tongue was sharper than some of Nathan’s favorite knives, and his ideas on discipline were uncommon at best, but he’d never crossed the line. And he got the job done, so Chris was ready to overlook the small things - but what had happened at the bust hadn’t been small. The soon-to-be-legendary bust hadn’t gone as planned. Far from it. The only consolation was that what had started the disaster hadn’t been their mistake - either in the planning stage or at the scene - but something that couldn’t be foreseen. What had followed…
Chris rubbed his wrists unconsciously. Damn, being captured was an experience he didn’t care to repeat. The events that had led to him and most of his men being captured had began with Standish not being where he should have been. Then, dangerously close to the proverbial last minute, he’d appeared from out of nowhere and had provided enough distraction for Chris to free himself. Not ten minutes later the tables had been turned against the bad guys. Later, after Chris had studied all the reports, looked over the evidence from the scene, and taken statements from those who agreed to talk, he’d realized it must have been an error in judgment on Standish’s part, not an act of cowardice.
It was likely, that, if Standish hadn’t made that mistake they could have ended the operation faster and there would have been less casualties among the Colonel’s followers (and some of them had just been confused kids). But Chris had seen too much action to state that for sure, it easily could have gone either way. He was damn glad he hadn’t jumped to conclusions at the scene, and, though there had been some harsh words said in the heat of the moment, nothing had been said or done that needed to be taken back now. However, the main question was still unanswered - did Chris trust Ezra Standish enough to have him on board permanently?
Chris’s musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the bullpen. It seemed that someone from the team had decided to drop by. It could have been anyone, even Buck coming back, but somehow Chris knew it was Vin. So he said, loud enough to be heard through the closed door:
“You may as well come in.”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Vin hadn’t planned on dropping by the office today, but he’d been checking a new bike shop in the area (he was seriously disappointed, by the way), and when he’d stopped to grab something to eat, he had realized that he was only a couple of blocks from the Federal Building. So he bought several huge sandwiches and a bag of donuts, and headed to the office to eat with Larabee. Knowing Chris, he’d probably gotten buried in reports and forgotten about lunch altogether.
Vin laughed at himself after that thought; hell, before this team he hadn’t been in the habit of worrying if a grown man had eaten. Nathan must be rubbing off on him; or, since it was about Chris, it might have been Buck. Yeah, definitely Buck’s fault.
After Vin had started to work with Chris and the others, it had taken him a couple of weeks to gather - from rumors in the Agency, his own observations, and Nettie’s stories - the full picture of Larabee’s past. He had gotten the feeling that the place he was taking in Chris’s life had actually belonged to someone else. And Vin had always despised stealing in any form. Buck must have sensed his growing unease because when Chris had gone to Atlanta he’d invited the sharpshooter to a bar. They had talked a lot and drunk even more, so of all that had been said, Vin remembered clearly only one phrase: ‘Watching Larabee’s back is a tough job, Junior, and I may be a little out of practice, so I sure do appreciate having a partner in that.’ And, once Vin had overcome his hangover, he’d stopped worrying on the subject.
Vin stopped his reminiscence once he’d arrived at their floor. Opening the door with his hands full of food and a bike helmet was a challenge, but he managed. He put the helmet on his desk and was trying to decide if he wanted coffee or soda to go with those sandwiches, when he heard Chris’s voice inviting him in.
“Soda, then.” Grabbing two cans from his ever-present stash in one of the desk drawers, he added them to the bag and went into Larabee’s office.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Vin came bearing food, and Chris suddenly realized that he was starving - forgetting about lunch probably hadn’t been a good idea. So, for the next twenty minutes they sat in comfortable silence on the couch using the coffee table to dine upon. Soon after they finished, Vin asked:
“Have you decided yet?”
Chris didn’t need to ask what Vin meant, and that was rather spooky considering he’d been thinking on the subject just before Tanner’s arrival.
“No, I haven’t. I need to be sure about what brought this on… and that it won’t happen again.”
Vin sighed and then raised his gaze from an empty soda can to Chris’s eyes .
“Old habits die hard, Chris. He’s used to being on his own and working alone - I could have done the same thing.”
“You didn’t.”
“I could have,” Vin repeated. “Contrary to popular belief, sometimes the good things take even more time to get used to than the bad.”
“You’re saying he’ll learn?”
“I’m saying he’s worth it.”
Silence followed that declaration, the quiet only interrupted by the beeping of Vin’s cell. Vin read the message on it and swore.
“Damn it, I got to go.” He extracted another bag from inside the big brown one and put it on the coffee table. The small bag bore the symbol of the nearest bakery. “I’ll leave the donuts to you, they say sugar is good for the brain.” And he disappeared from the office before Chris could come up with a suitable comeback.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
It was midday Thursday, the third and final day off that Larabee had given to his team, and Ezra sat on the sofa in the main room of his apartment thinking thoughts he didn’t want to think. He’d avoided thinking the previous two days by actually sleeping through them, so exhausted that even nightmares had stayed away. Now, however, he was wide awake, shifting his stare between his bookcase and a few empty moving boxes scattered around the floor. It was time to pack, but he couldn’t bring himself to begin.
He’d rented the apartment and had his books and CDs shipped over from Atlanta during his first week in Denver, when it had become clear that the case would take serious time. The few other possessions he’d accumulated through the years, barring clothing, were currently stowed away in some storage facility back in Georgia, waiting for a, most likely never coming, time when he’d own his own home. He always took books and CDs with him. They grounded him; helped him remember his own identity, his own tastes and likings, and helped sell the illusion of someone waiting for him in the evenings.
With a sigh, Ezra got up and went to the bookcase. He ran his hand over the spines stopping at the large, and expensive, biography of Joseph Turner, one of his favorite artists. He slid it out with both hands and carried it back to the sofa. Opening the tome randomly he saw a reproduction of ‘The Harbor of Dieppe’ printed on the page and stared at it, his mind wandering off.
Mr. Larabee had mentioned early on that there was a permanent position on the team for someone with his skills, and after they finished the case, it could be his - if he fit in. At first, Ezra had completely dismissed the idea - Ezra Standish, fit in? That was an oxymoron. But as time had passed, he’d found he liked Larabee and his men, liked them more than any other team he’d worked with, and he wanted to be a part of their group. All right, so being a part of something might not be in his agenda at all, but he wanted to work with them, and for a while it had even seemed possible. Larabee had been satisfied with the results he got, and the rest of the team, though not exactly thrilled with the idea, hadn’t seemed to mind him staying on after the case too much. And then he’d blown it.
The strangest thing about the whole mess at the bust was that it might have been the first time he’d actually been given the benefit of the doubt - despite the fact that he had been at fault. There had been some tense moments during the operation, but once the dust had cleared, Larabee had asked for Ezra’s side. And the questions really had been questions, not accusations. It had felt nice. Maybe it was because of that, that the last stubborn shred of hope refused to die inside Ezra’s heart. ‘Don’t ever run out on me again,’ Larabee had demanded in that compound, and the word ‘again’ implied that there might be a future. Ezra had readily given the leader his promise, silent as it had been, and was determined to keep it if… the southern agent shook his head. ‘Damn it, Standish, you are too old to believe in miracles.’
And yet, no matter what tomorrow would bring, Ezra knew he would be forever grateful for his time with Team Seven. The last four months were probably one of the best periods in his adult life; sure, the assignment itself had been hard and tiring, both physically and emotionally, but working with Larabee’s men… even the simple fact that such men existed in law enforcement made him warm inside. Maybe that knowledge would be enough to keep him going after tomorrow.
Ezra looked at the bookcase and boxes one more time before deciding that they could wait. Larabee had ordered them to rest and relax, and it was a good idea to obey that order, especially if it was the last one he’d ever receive from the man in black. With that thought, Ezra turned the book to the beginning and tried to lose himself in what he read.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
At precisely 9 a.m. on Friday, Chris heard a knock at his office door.
“Come in,” he said, and Standish entered, wearing exactly the same face he had during their first meeting in Atlanta all those months ago. It was clear the man wasn’t expecting anything good.
Without any more words, Chris nodded to the papers on the edge of his desk which were lying so Ezra wouldn’t need to turn them around to understand them. Standish came close, looked at the papers, flipped through them, and then raised his head, obviously confused:
“What are they?”
“Your permanent transfer to the ATF, Agent Standish.”
It took the southerner a few moments to comprehend the words, but when he did, his damn poker face finally slipped, and Chris saw the man beneath the mask - one who’d lost all hope long ago, and had a very hard time believing in miracles.
“Permanent?” he asked, blinking. It seemed he’d forgotten the meaning of that word.
“Yes,” Chris said softly, but seriously. “Permanent. You’ll be all ours, Ezra, if you want it.”
Ezra looked at the papers again, but not before Chris noticed the unusual brightness in his eyes, then looked up and gave that dimpled smile, the one which made him look like a teenager.
“Where do I sign?”
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Assistant Director Orrin Travis stood before a large window in the Denver airport, waiting for his flight to start boarding, and not even the fact that he was going to Washington, DC, could spoil his good mood. It was the first sunny day after two weeks of constant rain and a huge rainbow was shining across the sky. ‘Maybe them old tales got it right,’ Orrin mused, admiring the view. ‘Seven truly was a lucky number.’
It seemed unbelievable and impossible, but it had worked. The crazy idea about putting together a special team under Larabee’s command had worked, and though Travis had yet to report about it officially, unofficially he’d already received a few congratulations… and a big pack of antacids from an old friend at Denver’s DA Office. Orrin got a feeling he’d run out of them soon enough, but Team Seven was worth all the headaches they caused and would be causing; like that rainbow out there made up for the rainy days. The grey-haired man smiled, thinking of another gift that had mysteriously appeared on his desk earlier in the week: a collectors' edition of “The Magnificent Seven”. Well, the nickname was already spreading through the ATF, and, after re-watching the movie with Evie, Travis had to admit it was more than fitting. The legend rides again, indeed. The next few years would be fairly interesting…
[ part one] [the end]