A/N: Funny, I got a request for a sequel just as I had already begun to write it, lol. I couldn't help it. After having opened up the possibility to play with an unarmed (literally! ha!) Ezra, I couldn't resist. This was supposed to be just another funny short, but it somehow evolved into so much more as I wrote it. Also, the entire thing is actually told from Chris's third person point of view. Why? I have no idea. That's just what my muse told me to do!

It had gotten quiet out there…too quiet. Wondering what sort of trouble his men could possibly be stirring up, Chris Larabee curiously peeked through the crack of his slightly-ajar door. There they were. Five men staring with amused expressions at –

"Dammit," he mumbled to himself.

Again. He was here again. And had actually found a way to work despite his current handicap.

"Why are you here?" Chris asked as he stepped through his door.

Ah, there it was. That innocent look. Somehow it was made even more endearing by the pencil that dangled from his lips. It was already bad enough with both the man's arms strapped to his body.

"I'm working, Mr. Larabee." Duh, the tone implied.

"Go home, Ezra." Again.

His agent dropped the pencil back into the cup on his desk, then turned pleading eyes up towards him.

Begging eyes, more like it.

"I admit this method of typing is rather slow, but as I've come to learn from having to utilize the practice in order to dial the phone, it is rather effective. I'm certain with a little more practice-"

"You're a distraction. Go home."

Dammit, he looked genuinely hurt. It didn't matter, though, not today. Chris didn't have time to argue with the stubborn Southerner. He had to prepare for the upcoming debriefing regarding the–

Oh… I get it.

They were getting ready to go after Jones, a gunrunner who had, through no fault of his own, slipped through Standish's fingers back in Atlanta. Of course, the man blamed himself for it, anyway. Why wouldn't he? Everyone else on his supposed "team" had. Larabee understood his man's desire to get a second chance at apprehending Jones, but it just wasn't possible. He had no arms to work with. No, in his current condition, he was unfortunately just a liability waiting to happen.

Is he still talking?

"…go in another room if I'm creating a disturbance. You won't even know that I'm here."

"I want to know that you're not here. I said go home. That's an order."

And there's that mischievous look. Larabeee knew it would come and waited patiently for the excuse.

"…I fear the only monetary wealth I carried on me today was squandered away on our fair city's lovely mode of public transportation."

Yep. The bitter sarcasm was there, but there was definitely a self-satisfied smile in those green eyes. That smile was all it took to stir up Chris's own deviousness.

"JD, take Ezra home."

What's the matter, Poker Face? You look like you've seen a ghost!

"Mr. Larabee, you can't be serious?"

Chris turned and chucked the keys for his truck to the eager young hacker. "Just make sure you're back in time for the meeting."

"Sure thing, Chris. Come on, Ez." The kid was all smiles and energy.

And the meeting wasn't scheduled for another three hours. Ezra protested all the way out the door.

"You're a cruel man," Buck grinned.

Chris hid his own smile as he strode back to his office. Yeah, the kid would keep Standish busy for hours. Of course, it would be the type of hyperactive busy that the undercover agent generally balked at, but he'd be too polite to put up much protest. Like the rest of them, the last thing he'd ever want to do was hurt JD's feelings. That kid just weaseled his way into your heart like that.

The sound of a ruckus filtered through his door. Good. It meant his men were back to work.

7777777

"Larabee," he growled irritably into the phone an hour later. There was something in the intel on Jones that wasn't adding up. Whatever the reason for that was, he had to get it sorted out before the debriefing. He wasn't about to send in his men with faulty information.

"…Um…Chris?"

Shit.

It was JD. That could only mean one thing.

"You lost him, didn't you?"

"I don't know how it happened! He was right behind me on the couch watching me play a video game, but when I turned around to ask him a question, he was just gone! He didn't make a sound! God, Chris, I was only a few inches in front of him. I wonder if he's had ninja training?"

Probably.

He had to stop the kid from rambling. This could go on all night.

"It's fine, JD. I have a pretty good idea where he'll turn up. Just head back in."

"Okay."

And just like that, JD was gone. Chris shook his head, amazed at the kid's ability to talk your ear off one second, then jump directly to single, to-the-point responses the next. What was more amazing was that no one on the team seemed unable to keep up with the energetic speech pattern.

He shook away his thoughts. There was still the matter of this Jones issue to deal with.

7777777

"Agent Larabee," a rather annoyed-sounding Judge Travis sighed into the phone, "Are you missing something?"

Damn that man!

"Where is he?" he asked, pressing a hand to his forehead in an attempt to halt the oncoming headache.

"I found him downstairs on the floor of filing, surrounded by information regarding your current case."

"How'd he get through Gloria?" Chris asked as he made his way to the door. No one ever got through that stern old bat without the proper paperwork. She guarded those files like a pit bull.

"I'm not certain. All I know is that he had the poor woman so confused I'm surprised she still knew up from down."

Gotta admire his skill.

"Be down in a minute."

It took just over that to reach his rebellious agent. Smugly, Standish leaned against the wall outside the filing office. He didn't say a word as Chris latched gently onto one of his immobile arms and led him to the parking lot.

"I'm taking you home, Ezra, and this time you're gonna stay put. Got it?"

"Yes sir!"

He's not gonna stay put.

"I mean it, Ezra." He put a rather feral warning into his tone.

"I have no doubt that you do, Mr. Larabee."

Chris turned at the distant-sounding voice. Standish looked like he was somewhere far away, most likely contemplating all the information he had just absorbed from those files.

"Leave it alone," Chris said, more gently this time. He didn't think Standish even heard him.

7777777

"This can't be right," Buck said, pointing to something on the paper in front of him.

The others all nodded in agreement from their various positions around the table. Chris knew they'd catch it just as easily as he had, but he had checked and double-checked to confirm the accuracy of the reports.

"Sources all say that's how it went down," he assured his men.

Nathan leaned forward. "Is that even possible? Doesn't seem like enough time to get from the deal in New York to the one in Reno…"

"Airline said it could happen," Chris blandly stated with a shrug.

"Still a pretty close call," Vin speculated. "Had to 've moved pretty fast."

"They were both pretty large deals, too," Josiah added. "Would he have had the time, money, and resources to push both through so close together?"

Chris winced inwardly at the still-growing headache before he answered. "Look, I don't know he pulled it off, but all sources confirm that he did. What's more important is that he's here in Denver right now, and we're gonna make sure he doesn't get a chance to leave."

He could tell by their silence that they were still uncomfortable with the information. He didn't blame them, but there was nothing else he could do about it.

"What about Ezra's bust? I mean, how'd Jones get away from him?"

Leave it to JD to bring it up.

"He didn't 'get away' from me, Mr. Dunne. I distinctly recall ending his miserable life."

Oh, godDAMN that southern drawl!

"Ezra, I thought I told you-"

"Please, Mr. Larabee. I promise I will make haste back to my quiet abode as soon as I've had the chance to explain the unfortunate events in Atlanta. It may prove helpful in your case."

Six pairs of expectant eyes turned in Chris's direction. They had him.

"Fine, but you're going home as soon as the meeting's over."

"Acceptable conditions, Mr. Larabee."

He listened as Ezra explained his side of the story, and the more he heard, the more uneasy he became about the case. Apparently an overeager rookie to the FBI team jumped the gun, quite literally. He mistook one of Jones' men reaching for a pen as a threat of the man pulling a firearm. The agent fired the first shot, beginning a rather bloody shootout between the gunrunners and the FBI, all while on board a yacht not nearly large enough to withstand such a gun battle. Ezra had managed to tail Jones to the rear of the ship where, cornered and angry, the gunrunner opened fire on the undercover agent. Defending himself, Standish had no choice but to return fire. At such close range, bullets hit their marks in both men. For Ezra, that meant several broken ribs from the slugs absorbed by his vest, and a nearly unsuccessful resuscitation in the ER as he bled out from the arterial hole in his thigh. For Jones, it meant two clean shots to his unvested chest, one almost dead center in his abdomen, and one glancing off the side of the man's head, throwing him overboard. Ezra awoke in the hospital several days later surprised to see a few of his fellow agents by his bedside. He was pleased at first, but the feeling didn't last long. He found himself suddenly getting reprimanded for allowing Jones to escape. What should have been a body was never found, and Jones was spotted leaving the city a short time after the failed bust. Whispered rumors began to surface that Ezra had used blanks in his gun.

Bastards.

"Geezus, he's like a super villain," JD whispered, again being the one to break the heavy silence.

"Hardly, Mr. Dunne." Ezra smiled. "Though he does seem to take pleasure in portraying the persona."

Buck whistled. "Super-fast healing, teleporting across the country, and plenty of money and goons to boot. I think I'm with JD on this one."

Chris saw something unrecognizable flicker across Ezra's eyes. He ignored it.

"He's a cocky prick, just like the rest of 'em," Larabee firmly stated, focusing on each one of his men.

"Yes, but a well-prepared cocky prick," Standish warned. Chris could see the extra doubt playing on the faces of the other five agents.

Great. I needed them confident, idiot.

"You done, Ezra?"

"I believe so."

"Then go home."

Standish's left arm jerked reflexively in the sling before he stalled the habitual movement. Chris knew he had been trying to offer his usual salute. That meant he was leaving without further argument. The headache did not ease up with the agent's departure.

7777777

It was quiet again, but not the same quiet that had fallen on the office the day before. This quiet was brought on by the sheer focus of the six agents doing everything in their power to track down their target. The criminal was smart, knew how to cover his trail. It was really only by sheer luck that he was spotted in town to begin with. They worked hard, trying to increase the odds that luck would strike again. They were getting nowhere, and they were getting frustrated.

At least he stayed home today.

Somehow the thought didn't put Chris at ease. In fact, it strangely had the very opposite effect. He should have told Standish to go home at least three times by now….

The phone rang, and he grabbed it up faster than he intended to.

"Ezra?" he asked, not certain where his sudden need to have his injured agent check in came from.

He was answered by a few seconds of silence before a confused southern drawl (thank god) answered him. "….Yes…Is there a problem, Mr. Larabee?"

He sighed. "Where are you, Ezra?"

"I'm home, as you so repeatedly insisted upon yesterday." The tone was still confused, baffled. "Is there somewhere else I should be?"

Of course he was home. Where else would he have been able to call from? Not like he could maneuver his cell or a pay phone…

"No, no. You need anything?"

"A functioning arm would be nice."

Smartass.

"Actually, Mr. Larabee, I was merely calling to inform you that I am going to be out for a bit. I didn't want to alarm you should you have felt the need to call or send someone by just to find me absent."

Courteous…..odd.

"Where'll you be?"

"Really, I find it insulting that you gentlemen consider it prudent to know my every whereabouts; but if you must, I plan on spending a few hours with the children at the Home. Frankly, I'm bored, and they never fail to entertain."

"The Home" was what Vin and Ezra called the center for orphaned children in Vin's own Purgatorio. While it was common for the undercover agent to spend his free time putting smiles on the faces of those in the children's wing of the local hospitals, he rarely ever visited the Home without the sharpshooter's reassuring presence. While none of the children there suffered from depressing physical ailments or injuries, they carried with them something far more painful for the Southerner to normally deal with on his own – loneliness. What was worse was that he knew there was nothing he could say to them to make them feel better, no way to assure them that the loneliness would eventually go away, that some day they'd find somebody who wanted them. Some of them would, he knew, but he also knew that each time one of the other children found a loving home, it tore at the others that much more. The older ones, in particular, were the hardest to reach. They already knew. They were already hardened. They wouldn't trust him. They wouldn't trust anyone. They were just like him, and he often didn't know how to deal with that.

So why was he going there alone?

"Everything okay?"

"Quite fine. Shall I call you upon my return, mother?"

The jest was obvious, but the subtle underlying message still came through loud and clear. Standish was nervous about going to the Home, and in his own closed-off way he was quietly asking Chris to keep his guard up, to watch his back.

"We'll come looking for you if you don't." His own tone was annoyed, threatening, but also carried its own underlying message: Don't worry. If something happens, we'll be there to pull you out.

"Very well, Mr. Larabee." – Thank you.

Chris hung up the phone, feeling uneasy. He thought about sending Vin to go meet Ezra at the Home, but was forced to relinquish that thought. He couldn't spare another man right now. They each had their assignments regarding the Jones case, and removing one of them would be like stealing away a piece of the puzzle. Whatever Standish was up to, he was on his own.

Chris hated it.

7777777

The allotted few hours had passed. As feared, Ezra had not called in. Screw the puzzle, his man was missing. Chris sent Vin out to Purgatorio, and Buck and JD to Ezra's house. Josiah and Nathan agreed to check out some of the private man's usual haunts. He remained in the office in case Ezra decided to call or stop in. He didn't do well with the waiting. The floor was probably wearing thin where he paced back and forth in front of his desk, loudly cursing the name Ezra P Standish, but silently praying his man was all right.

He nearly jumped out his skin when the phone rang.

"Talk to me."

"Chris, it's Vin. Pam says Ez was here for a while, but he didn't come to visit the kids. He convinced one of the new girls to pull up a bunch of records from twenty years ago. He musta found somethin' 'cause he lit outta here pretty quick with one of the kids' files."

"Who was the kid?"

He could practically hear Vin shrugging through the phone. "Boy named Thomas Miller. Not much I can tell ya about 'im since Ez has all the info. From what the girls remember, he was a transfer from another shelter in Phoenix. He was in and out of foster care, kinda quiet, emancipated himself at sixteen – the usual story."

"Unusual enough for Ezra to take interest," Chris told him. "See if you can find out anything more."

"I'll call ya if I do, cowboy."

What'd you find, Ez?

7777777

Two hours later met with six morose men sitting around the ATF office. They had searched everywhere and still was there was no sign of their missing friend. They waited impatiently as the youngest typed fiercely away on his keyboard.

"Got it!" he suddenly shouted. "Man, hacking into the foster system is almost harder than getting into the National Bank."

Chris raised an eyebrow at the kid, but chose to ignore the statement.

"What do ya got?"

They all crowded around his computer while JD summarized the file aloud.

"Thomas Miller. Dumped in the system when he was six years old by his own mom. I guess he was havin' a real hard time at the Phoenix shelter so they sent him back here."

"Back?" Buck asked.

"Yeah, he was born here in Denver. Anyway, he didn't seem to like goin' out to the foster families. He never caused any trouble in the Home so they eventually just let him stay there until he was old enough to leave."

Nathan threw his arms up. "What does any of that have to do with Ezra?"

"Hold on, there's more." JD punched in a few more keys and several pictures magically appeared on the screen.

"Holy shit," Vin breathed out.

Chris clenched his fists at his sides.

It's Thorton Jones.

7777777

Damn you, Standish! What is so hard about a simple order to stay home? And why are you always running off on your own? Don't you know we'd back you in a second?

No, no he didn't. Not this time, anyway.

He was trying to help. All he wanted to do was sit here quietly and do what he could to put Jones behind bars. You pushed him away, Larabee, you forced his hand. If you'd kept him here, you could've kept an eye on him. Now he's out there, alone, waiting for you to find him. He asked you to come for him. You promised him you would. He's counting on you.

Damn you, Standish! Why do always make me feel guilty? Why do you always make me worry?

7777777

Vin spoke irritably as he rapped his pencil on the desktop. "Everything we have says Jones ain't been back here in Denver since he split the Home."

"So why come back now?" Nathan speculated.

"What's important enough to bring a man back to his home after such a long absence?" Josiah thought out loud.

Vin, Buck, Chris, and JD all came to the same conclusion at the same time. "Family."

Chris jumped back into action. "JD, find out what you can about Jones' birth mother.

"Already on it, Chris." Again, his fingers flew over the keyboard. Within a few minutes he spat out a name, but didn't have much to offer about her.

Josiah leaned forward as he spoke. "What was the name again?"

"Teresa Hamil. Why, does it mean somethin'?" JD asked.

"I don't know, but it sounds familiar. I'm sure I saw that name somewhere recently…"

Chris hit the desk with his fist. "We don't have time for this. Figure it out, now."

"I think I saw it recently, too," Nathan said, reaching for a newspaper on his desk. He flipped it open and quickly scanned through the contents. After a moment, he folded it back to the obits and pointed out a name.

"Teresa Hamil – her funeral service is at nine tomorrow morning."

"You mean this mornin'," Buck corrected. "It's already five."

"Where's the service?" Chris asked.

"O'Mulligan's. It's a small plot on the north side of town."

"Let's go."

Please don't let it be too late…

7777777

The church was dark when they arrived. They made their way through the building carefully, checking every room, closet, and cupboard. Chris already knew they wouldn't find him in there, though. Nothing was disturbed, the dust was still settled, everything was still locked up tight. He ordered his men out into the cemetery.

"Ezra!" he hissed out as he made his way amongst the tombstones. He could hear his team doing likewise from other reaches of the deathly silent night. As he neared a far corner of the cemetery, he spotted a recently-dug hole.

That has to be hers.

Cautiously, with a basketball-sized knot growing in the pit of his stomach, he let his light shine down into the open grave.

I'm gonna kill 'im.

There, sitting casually against the dirt wall with one leg bent up and the other stretched out in front of him, and of all things, smiling at him, was his missing agent.

"Ah, Mr. Larabee. I see you decided to go with the ever-popular 'fashionably late' moment to arrive."

"Guys, I got him. Southeast corner," he sighed into his mic.

"Is he hurt?" Nathan, ever the healer.

Chris took a closer look at his man. From what he could see, Ezra had managed to earn himself a black eye, though it wasn't bad enough to swell shut. He didn't have a good view around the knee, but he could tell that both slings appeared to be missing.

"Your arms?" he simply asked.

This time, Ezra sighed. "I fear I may have committed myself to some extra time in those wretched bindings."

The other men finally appeared and spread themselves around the grave. Buck laughed.

"Nice shiner," he joked. "You get that fallin' down that hole?"

"Actually, no, Mr. Wilmington. I didn't fall down here, I was intentionally placed here. And the eye was a result of…well, something I said."

I bet.

"Let's get you outta there. We'll discuss this on the way back," Chris said, kneeling down in preparation to slide down into the grave.

"I can't leave," Standish quickly spat out, halting Larabee's movements.

What?

"What?"

"I can't leave, yet. If Jones and Jones 2 find out that I-"

"Jones 2?" JD asked incredulously.

"Twins," Standish explained. "Or, rather, triplets. The reason for all of Jones' super-villain like abilities was due to the fact there were actually three of him, one of which I did, indeed, mortally wound in Atlanta."

"I'll be damned," Vin whistled. "There weren't any records of brothers in the orphanage files."

"No, there wouldn't be," Ezra confirmed. "Thomas was the only brother to wind up in a shelter. Of the other two, one boy remained with the father and the other was sent to an uncle's home."

"How'd ya figure all this stuff out?" JD asked.

"Mr. Dunne, now is hardly the time to discuss the details. The service is due to begin in a few hours."

"Which is why we need to get you out of here," Chris said more forcefully.

"If I leave, the remaining two brothers will be signaled of my absence and they will slip away. If I remain, however, they will feel confident that I was correct in my assurance that I was working alone. I played it off as a rogue mission to bring Jones down after his 'ruination of my career in Atlanta.'"

Not too far from the truth.

"We're not leavin' you here, Ezra," Larabee ordered.

"And I am not allowing them to get away from me, again," Standish said, with a glare to match Larabee's. "I'm not asking you to leave me. I am telling you to remain hidden until the end of the service. At that time, the brothers will feel secure enough to come pay their respects to their departed mother. Then, and only then, you may rush in with guns ablazing or whatnot and see to my rescue."

Vin shook his head. "I don't like this, Ez."

"There is no other choice, Mr. Tanner. This may be our only chance to put both men behind bars where they belong."

Buck spoke quietly. "Hate to say it, pard, but I think he's right. We pull him out and they'll now we know about both of 'em. They'll step up their defenses even more, be almost impossible to catch."

"They were already impossible to catch," Josiah mumbled.

Chris looked at each one of his men. He could clearly see that JD and Vin were against leaving the man they had just spent all night tracking down, Nathan and Josiah looked like they'd go with whatever choice was made, Buck was nodding, and Ezra was still giving him that damn hard, stubborn stare.

He'll never forgive you if you don't let him do this.

"Hell...JD, give 'im your damn comm link. I want everyone in a position where you can get back here fast if we need to move in, but stay hidden. Ezra, you keep in contact. If you need us to pull you out early, you damn well better say so."

"Understood," Standish nodded as he caught the earpiece thrown down to him. Despite the obvious wince of pain at the movement, his smile never left his face.

Cocky bastard better not get himself killed.

7777777

"What's that, Lassie? Lil' Ezra's trapped in the well?" Buck whispered jokingly over the comm.

"Mr. Wilmington, if you make one more wisecrack regarding my current situation-"

"Both of you shut up," Larabee grumbled.

"I thought I was told to keep in constant contact," the undercover agent quipped. Chris could hear the smile on the man's face.

Why do I put up with them?

Despite his thoughts, he couldn't stop the smile that stretched across his own face. Damn, but it felt good to go rounds with the Southerner. The last several hours fearing the worst had caused another headache to surface, but at the first sight of the smug agent sitting down in that hole, relatively unharmed, it had miraculously vanished. He could only hope it wouldn't have a reason to rise again.

"We got incoming," Vin's voice broke through the earpiece.

Within a few minutes, a small procession of people trickled around the plot. Chris watched intently from his post behind a small work-shed as a man walked over to the empty grave and stared down into it. Without showing any reaction, he casually waved over the casket bearers, and Chris held his breathe as he watched the heavy wooden box get lowered into the hole.

"Ezra, you okay?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Right as rain," his agent barely whispered in return. "They were kind enough to leave me room to breathe."

The hour-long service was probably the longest hour Chris Larabee had ever spent in his life. Every once in a while, Standish would check in just to inform them he was doing well. Everyone else remained absolutely quiet. As the priest spoke his last words, Larabee looked on in confusion as the mourners each took turns dropping flowers into the grave. They couldn't possibly have missed the fact that a man was standing down there, could they?

Are they all in on it?

He doubted it. But why couldn't they see Standish? Where was he? And where was Jones and his twin?

"Relax, gentlemen, it's almost time," Ezra quietly assured them.

The sound of a loud engine starting rang out into the quiet morning. Startled, Chris looked around the other side of the shed to see a small bulldozer ambling its way towards the gravesite.

"Oh my god, Buck, they're gonna bury him!" JD's muffled voice came through on Buck's mic.

"Chris?" Vin asked.

Ezra's voice broke through with a harsh whisper. "Stay put!"

"I make the calls, Ezra," Larabee growled.

"And you agreed to wait until the end of the service. The very end," Standish hissed out.

He knew. Dammit, he knew all along!

"You didn't tell us they were gonna bury you!" Chris barked out, having a difficult time keeping his volume in check.

"I'll be fine, Chris. Please, just trust me."

It's not a matter of trust.

"…Chris?" Why did Ezra's tone have to sound so damn pleading?

Dammit!

"We hold position."

A stream of protests flared up in his ear and he was tempted to rip the piece out and smash it into oblivion. Instead, he merely reiterated, "I said we hold. As soon as we see the twins, we finish this. Zero hesitation, you understand?"

His words were met with silence. That was a good sign. It meant his men were already focused, already prepared to jump the second they were able. They were spring-loaded bear traps, every last one of them ready to snap their jagged teeth.

The bulldozer pushed the first pile of dirt into the hole. His heart skipped a beat as he heard Ezra's sharp intake of breath.

"Just say the word and we'll pull you out," he spoke softly to his man.

Another mound of dirt got pushed into the hole.

"I'm fine," came the tense reply.

Liar.

There went the third push.

"Oh god," Standish whispered out.

"We're right here, Ez," Chris soothed.

The last pile of dirt was shoved in. If his heart skipped a beat before, then it went into full blown cardiac arrest when the heavy vehicle drove right over the grave, pressing the dirt flat.

"Can y…hear me?" It was broken up by static, but it was still there. And it sounded panicked.

"We hear you. Still wanna say you're fine?" Chris teased, his voice light.. He hoped it would help calm Standish down.

There was a laugh. It was one of the best sounds Larabee had ever heard.

"..se…Jon….et?" The static was heavier.

Shit.

"Not yet. We give 'em five minutes, then we're digging you out. No arguments."

There weren't any, but Chris didn't know whether it was because Standish agreed or if it was just because the static drowned out his reply.

At least there's static.

It let him know his agent was still talking, still breathing.

A thought occurred to him as he began to wait out his allotted five minutes. He watched closely as the bulldozer trudged along back to wherever it had come from. Coming to a quick decision, he ordered Josiah to follow it.

"If they have a bulldozer, they probably have an industrial shovel," he explained. "I want you back here with it in five."

"I'll be back in four," Josiah answered, apparently also watching the time.

More static crackled through the comm.

Hang on, Ezra.

Vin's soft voice rang out with the news they were waiting for. "They're comin'."

More static.

Chris ordered his men to hold until the twins were standing at the grave. There, the criminals had no cover, no intelligent reason to put up a fight. He just hoped they were as intelligent as they'd made themselves out to be all these years evading the law.

They were.

"ATF! Freeze!" was all that needed to be said. With an irritated glance at one another, and a nod of the head from one of them, both grumbled and raised their hands to their heads. They had already witnessed what would happen if they resisted. They had already lost one brother to that foolhardiness.

Thank god, something went right.

"We got 'em, Ez, we got 'em," Chris announced. "Just sit tight and we'll have you outta there, okay?"

There was no static.

There was no static!

Now he was positive his heart was flat-lining.

"Josiah!" he screamed into his mic.

"Right behind you, brother," the older agent announced, and sure enough, the powerful little shovel came rolling up the hill.

Chris watched with frazzled nerves as Josiah maneuvered the first shovel-full of dirt out of the grave. He pulled his eyes away long enough to take in the events unfolding around him. Nathan paced by anxiously, his medical bag already in hand. JD looked like he was on the verge of tears as he whispered "please be okay" over and over again. Josiah's face was a mask of pure focus and determination. Buck and Vin were on the ground hovering above the downed gunrunners, each harshly pressing a knee into their backs.

Perfect.

He stomped over to the twins, fuming with his tense energy having no outlet. Dropping down low beside the first man he reached, he grabbed a handful of hair and wrenched "Jones'" face off the ground.

"If he dies," Larabee growled, "You'll be wishing I had buried you alive by the time I'm through with you."

"Come on Vin," Buck spit out. "Let's get these two put away before I decide to let Chris do somethin' he's gonna get fired over."

Chris would never understand how it was that Buck always seemed able to think rationally in situations like this one, but he was grateful for it. He didn't want to look at the face of Jones again until his job dictated he had to. Hopefully, that would be a while from now. He was liable to make that face unrecognizable on both men at the moment.

"Chris?" It was Nathan's voice. Larabee stood up and ran over to the side of the emptied-out grave and peered in. The only thing he could see was the coffin, with absolutely no space around it and no sign of Ezra.

Where the hell is he?

Without thinking, he jumped down into the hole and frantically maneuvered the lid of the casket open. The only sight that welcomed him was that of an older woman, perfectly preserved in a moment of peaceful sleep. Not caring about disturbing her slumber, he reached in and rolled her body to one side, tearing through the fabric underneath her. When he reached the wood on the bottom, he hesitated for only a moment before rapping out a soft, coded knock.

Are you alive?

Ten seconds. Ten quiet, agonizing seconds ticked by. He heard the knocked reply: Yes.

His heart started beating again.

"Get this outta here!" he hollered up at the tense faces of his men.

Buck and Vin had returned to rejoin the rescue effort, and with all six of them working together, they wasted little time removing the barrier between them and their brother. As soon as the casket was clear, Chris once again leaped down into the deep hole without regard for injury to himself. Standish lay on his back with his eyes shut tight, gulping in deep breaths of clear air. Chris placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, Ezra, we gotcha," he coaxed, waiting for the panicked man's breathing to even out. "You all right?"

With eyes still clamped shut, Ezra merely nodded sharply. That was fine by Chris. Any answer would have been fine by Chris. It was better than the alternative.

"Chris, do I need to come down?" Nathan called worriedly from above.

Standish shook his head, but otherwise continued to remain where he was.

"No, just give him a minute," Chris answered, and sat down comfortably beside his agent, his friend, to quietly help ride out the storm.

7777777

Seven members of ATF Team 7 were crowded into Judge Travis's office, Larabee sitting beside a newly strapped-up Standish as he explained the events leading up to the capture of who were now being called the Hamil brothers.

He's even got the Judge wrapped around his little finger.

Not that it would be that hard with the story Standish was telling, and Larabee had no doubt that all of it was true.

As it turned out, Ezra had originally got his in with the Hamil brothers by drawing on his own lonely experiences as a child. The brothers, often trading places with one another (unbeknownst to the undercover agent at the time) would occasionally make references to their time spent in either foster care, with their abusive father, or the uncle that simply ignored their presence. Standish, having experienced being passed around and feeling unwanted as a child, himself, easily connected with the men and they took him on as their financial adviser and confidant. For the most part, they had remained fairly vague about their childhood experiences, but at one point two of them had managed to give Ezra the same basic time frame for where they spent one lonely summer. At the time, Ezra had made a joke about how either the man must have a faulty memory, or he was hiding an ability to teleport from the child's bootcamp his father sent him to the chilly wooded cabin the uncle forced him to stay in for three weeks. "Jones" had laughed it off claiming he got his years mixed up, and Ezra had forgotten the conversation until Buck's comment at the meeting. The childhood memories, coupled with the gunrunner's ability to seemingly travel to two distant places in record amounts of time, and Ezra's certainty that he had killed his mark in Atlanta, stirred up the possibility that there was more than one Jones. Standish's original plan was to simply conduct research until he could confirm or deny his thoughts, but it was only by dumb luck (or lack thereof), that he happened to run right into one of the Hamil brothers as he was investigating the funeral hall where Teresa's body was being prepared. Of course, he was instantly recognized as the man who betrayed and ultimately killed one of them, and with no good arms to defend himself, he was easily taken into their custody. He had, naturally, put up a valiant effort to free himself, resulting only in the loss of his slings and his arms wrenched around more than they should have been.

Earned another two weeks of being strapped in…What's the total? Six weeks? I'd kill someone before I went six weeks without my arms… Man's got too much patience.

"The eye, sir?" Standish continued. "I believe my exact quote was 'If I was forced to stare at three faces as ugly as yours, I would've gotten rid of you, too. Your mother was an intelligent woman.'"

Larabee raised a hand to his face.

How many times have I told you to keep your damn mouth shut? Idiot.

Standish went on to explain that the twins hadn't roughed him up too badly because they wanted him alert enough to suffer the atrocities of slowly suffocating to death several feet below the earth. They had rigged the casket to settle above him without crushing him, leaving enough space to experience slow asphyxiation but no room to move. This also allowed him to remain hidden from the other mourners as the service was played out; it was arranged that only the Hamils' men would handle the dropping of the coffin. Convinced that anyone working with Standish would not stand by and watch as their man was being buried alive, the Hamils' assumed that if there were no interruptions in the burial process, they could then safely go pay their respects. Ezra was to be both an offering and a slap in the face to their deceased mother - kill the man that killed her son, but force her to remain with him forever as penance for abandoning them in the first place.

Morbid, sick bastards…I bet I can get some say in who they cell with….

"Looks like they severely misjudged your tenacity," Travis chuckled.

Misjudged his stubbornness, more like it.

"Yes, well, I have been seeking to rectify my error in Atlanta for quite some time; though it was even more refreshing to find that there really was no error to rectify. The events happened exactly as I remembered them."

The Judge looked pensive for a few seconds. "I'm willing to bet your efforts in that case made business quite a bit more difficult for the Hamils. I will personally see to it that you receive commendations for your acts of bravery both here and in Atlanta."

Way to go, Ezra.

"Thank you, sir. May I now be excused? I'm a bit worn out."

"Of course."

Standish stood up slowly and turned to leave. Chris caught the raised eyebrows gracing the Judge's features.

Let 'im have it, Judge.

"One more thing, Mr. Standish." Travis waited until Ezra had turned to face him again before continuing. "Commendations for bravery do not condone stupidity. If things had gone any other way, we very well could have lost both the Hamils, and a damn fine undercover agent. Next time, you will inform your team of any actions you wish to pursue regarding any and all cases. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Standish said with a bowed head.

"Good. Now go home, Mr. Standish."

With a small nod, Ezra turned and left the room, his teammates quick to begin ribbing him for receiving a Travis lecture on the way out.

"Thank you, Judge," Chris smiled to Travis before sauntering off to join his friends.

7777777

Chris sat behind his desk, arms folded above his head, as he listened to the excitement finally beginning to die down out in the bullpen. A few moments later, a soft "Mr. Larabee?" filtered through his closed door.

"Come in, Ezra," he said with a sly smile.

There was a long pause, then. "Mr. Larabee….the door, if you will?"

Slowly, Chris stretched and stood up, grabbing a pencil off his desk as he made his way to the door.

"Thank you," Standish said hesitantly.

"Something you need?" Larabee asked innocently.

Ezra cocked an unsure eyebrow at his supervisor for a moment before asking, "Could I possibly trouble you for a ride home?"

Gotcha.

"Yep, as soon as you finish your report."

"My report?"

Chris shoved the pencil in the very shocked Southerner's mouth and threw an arm around his shoulder, guiding him back out the door.

"The method might be slow, but it's effective," he grinned.

Standish protested around the obstacle in his mouth, but failed to mask a slight smile.

Good to have things back to normal.

The End!