Three Weeks Later - Denver ATF Building

Chris looked at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Ezra was now 35 minutes late for the Team meeting.

Tappity-tap-tap.

He glared at JD, who immediately put his pen down on his stack of papers. Buck just shrugged when their leader glanced at him. He hadn't a clue as to why the Southern undercover agent was even later than usual.

"No, I don't know neither where he is," Vin drawled without opening his eyes or shifting from his slouched position when Chris looked at him. Nathan and Josiah both shrugged, they had no ideas. Chris glanced at his watch again and reached for the phone. If Ezra didn't answer, he was putting an APB out on the man.

Before he could dial, the door to the outer office banged open. Ezra strolled in, immaculately dressed as always, a pair of sunglasses hiding his green eyes. His hair was slightly tousled indicating he'd driven in with the top down on his sleek black jag.

"My apologies for my tardiness this morning, gentlemen," he said coolly, slipping into his seat. Placing the green and white cup of Mocha Almond Latte on the table, he quickly pulled out his case files and a notepad. Ready, he let his left hand lie in his lap, hidden from view. Chris hadn't missed the flash of white bandaging, nor the fact that he had yet to remove his sunglasses.

"Lose the shades. It's not that bright in here." Chris had a hard enough time reading the Southerner when he could see his eyes. Forget about it when he couldn't.

"Maybe to you," he mumbled as he reluctantly removed them. Nathan was out of his chair and around the table in an instant. The others just stared in shock. His right eye was black and pretty much swollen shut. His left eye, while unmarked, squinted against the fluorescent lighting. He winced when Nathan gripped his head so he could check him over.

"I assure you I am quite all right, Mr. Jackson." He tried to pull away, wincing again when Nathan's fingers brushed over a sore spot.

"Uh-huh," Nathan grunted. Once he was done checking Ezra's head he handed him his sunglasses, then picked up his bandaged left hand. Ezra gratefully slipped the glasses back on while trying to retrieve his injured appendage. Nathan could tell immediately that Ezra had attempted to bandage his hand himself. "This happen last night? JD, get my kit from my desk. I'm sure you didn't bother going to the hospital. How did it happen? You have trouble waking up this morning?"

Ezra blinked a couple of times, trying to process the rapid-fire questions. Finally he said slowly, "Yes, it happened last night. No, I saw no need to go to the hospital, and yes, I had some difficulty rousing myself this morning."

No one missed the fact that he ignored Nathan's question on how it happened.

"Nathan?" Chris asked.

"He should be all right. I don't think there's any damage to the right eye, but I won't know for sure until the swelling goes down. He's got a concussion, which is why the lights are bothering him. That was a damn fool thing to do, Ezra, going to sleep with a concussion. You're lucky you woke up at all. There's a couple of tender spots on the back of his head, which accounts for the concussion, and he scraped his knuckles pretty badly. Should I ask what the other guy looks like?"

"Which one?" Ezra hissed as Nathan poured hydrogen peroxide over the scrapes.

Nathan paused. "Which one? How many were there? Are you hurt anywhere else? Ribs? Back? Dammit, Ezra, why didn't you go to the hospital and get checked out?"

"There was no need, Mr. Jackson. Two gentlemen...no, two Neanderthals masquerading as men and myself got in to a slight altercation over who actually had the right of way. They kindly explained to me how erroneous it was for me to believe that because they had the stop sign and I did not that I had the right of way."

"Did you get a plate number?" Chris demanded. No one messed with his agents for whatever reason.

"No, I did not, Mr. Larabee. My thoughts were elsewhere at that particular moment. I'm fine. So, if we could move on? I'm sure you are all most eager to conclude this meeting which my tardy arrival delayed."

"We were pretty much done. Do you have anything new to report on your cases?"

"Regrettably, no. My informants have been sadly lacking in information of late."

"One last thing, then. You all know Josiah's giving a seminar at that conference in Cascade, Washington next week right? Well, the Judge has decided that we should all go. Says we'll benefit from it." Chris held up a hand before anyone could protest. "I already told the Judge what I thought about that and how none of you were gonna be happy. He said if any of you had a good reason for not going, and hot dates, events at the youth center, birthday parties, sudden arrival of family or friends and concerto/opera/ballet tickets do not count as good reasons," Chris ticked off each point with his fingers. "You can go talk to him. I don't want to hear nothing about it, and don't come whining to me when he laughs your sorry butt out of his office. Anything else? No? Good. Nathan, Ezra, my office. Everyone else try and get some work done. That does not include surfing the Net for new video games, pictures of women, rodeo scores, or information on some obscure tribe from who knows where."

Everyone filed out heading to their desks or Chris' office. In his office Chris closed the door and dropped the blinds so the others couldn't see in. Then he turned to the best undercover agent he'd ever worked with, who was also the biggest pain in his butt. "All right, Ezra. You are *going* to let Nathan check you over and you are *going* to do it willingly. If not I *will* call one of the others in here to help me hold you down. Understood?"

Ezra briefly considered refusing to cooperate, but decided it would be wiser not to argue with Larabee glare #16. The one that said, 'Try it and you will not like the results.' With a sigh of resignation he shrugged off his suit jacket and allowed Nathan to examine him. Ten minutes later Nathan handed it back to him while shaking his head.

"There's bruising over the ribs and some on his back. It doesn't appear anything's broken, although one of your ribs might be cracked. I'd feel better if you went to a hospital but I'm not going to force you to. If you start to have any kind of trouble like blurred vision, dizziness, trouble breathing I want you to tell one of us right away. All right, Ezra?"

"I've told you already, Mr. Jackson."

"Just humor me and promise."

"Upon my word of honor, if I begin to suffer any of the symptoms you have listed I shall contact one of you immediately."

"I expect you to keep that promise," Chris continued to glare at him, wondering why the man had to be so damn stubborn.

"Of course, Mr. Larabee."

"All right. Get out of here and try and get something done before lunch."

With a nod to their leader the two agents left his office and returned to their desks. It took a few minutes for Ezra to get his papers in satisfactory order. The pounding in his head was not helping matters. He was quite surprised when a plate containing a lightly buttered croissant appeared in front of him. Looking up, he found Vin standing next to his desk.

"What is this, Mr. Tanner?" // Okay, not the brightest thing to say but his head hurt, dammit. /

"It's a croissant, Ez," Vin replied with a cocky smirk. "You know, food. Nathan's always tellin' me ta eat somethin' after I hit my head, so I figured the same goes for you. 'Sides, a cup of Starbucks don't count as breakfast."

"And a Steak and Chilli Cheese Bean Burrito does?"

"Where I come from it does." He waited a moment as Ezra picked off a tiny piece of the croissant. "How's the Jag?"

"Other than a dented fender, remarkably fine." He absently pulled off another piece and popped it into his mouth.

"Guess yer gonna need a ride while she's in the shop, huh?"

Ezra shrugged. "I shall procure the services of a livery company." At Vin's confused look he clarified his statement. "I'll call a taxi."

"I can give ya a ride."

"I seem to recall you living on the other side of town from me. I would hardly expect you to drive out of your way just to provide me with transportation."

"I wouldn't a offered if I minded the drive."

Ezra opened his mouth to once again refuse, but suddenly realized he had no good reason to do so other than pride. "Thank you, Vin. I will gladly accept your offer."

"No problem, pard. When ya droppin' her off?"

"I was planning on doing so during lunch."

"Let me know when you're headin' out and I'll follow you."

Chris watched the conversation from his office. He had a pretty good idea what the topic of discussion was and was glad. Vin was probably the only one of them the Southerner would somewhat willingly take help from. If any of the others offered he'd dig in his heels and insist he was fine and didn't need charity, thank you very much. All of it said in that damn ultra-polite Southern accent of his that could make 'Go to hell' sound like a compliment.

He'd been surprised when the conman had slowly begun to open up to the quiet sharpshooter and eventually to the others. Thinking on it, he supposed the two recognized a common bond in each other. Both had had harsh childhoods and managed to survive. While he was glad they had found a friend in each other, he couldn't believe the amount of mischief and trouble the two managed to find. Speaking of mischief and trouble, he hoped this conference didn't go anything like the last one he'd sent them to.

Part 3