"Guard duty?" Ezra stared at his partner, shaking his head. "Guard duty?! I'm not going to stand around looking like some dressed-up idiot!"
Chris Larabee smiled. It was one of those secretly amused smiles that could drive his lover up the walls. He knew how much Ezra despised the official uniforms and how happy he was every time they went out on assignments where the dress code was non-existent. For Ezra Standish, uniforms were a barely acceptable constriction, as well as a reminder of what he was doing: law enforcement. While the thief was working on this side of the law, he still had the instincts of a criminal. Those instincts told him that uniforms and he didn't mix.
"It's an order, Ezra. Follow it," he just answered.
"Order my butt," Standish growled and slumped back in his chair, glaring at the stack of cards in front of him.
"And such a nice one it is," Larabee purred, opening his side of their shared Bond, sending something that made Ezra jump.
<Shit!> the thief cursed, feeling the sensation course through him like fire. <Don't do that!>
<Why?>
He glared at his lover and received a smirk in return.
<You don't like it?> Chris teased. <How about this then?>
Ezra moaned softly, eyes sliding shut at the erotic images flooding him. Shit, shit, shit!
<Not fair> he breathed.
Chris chuckled and the sound was so close, Ezra's eyes flew open, meeting the hot, hazel orbs of his lover.
"All's fair, love," Chris murmured and leaned forward, kissing him.
Ezra arched into the kiss, forgetting their argument, the assignment, just about everything, and his hands clenched into Chris's shirt, holding him close. He forgot all about where exactly he was, just latched onto his lover's presence, wanting him closer, nearer, with him.
It was Ezra's day off and he had been involved in a luxurious game of chance with some of the locals at Nettie's bar. Chris had found him there, reaming in some money, smiling pleasantly at the men who were just leaving the table. Gambling wasn't illegal on Four Corners, as long as the bets didn't involve life stock, weapons, illegal goods and human work force. Money was an accepted betting currency and from the looks of it, Ezra had just about made half his annual pay.
Chris had never really inquired deeply into his partner's former activities, other than checking the thin file the Agency had been able to find on him. Ezra had never done time, had never been convicted by a court of law, but he had been involved in a few skirmishes that had drawn the attention of Section 1 to him. Section 1 dealt with industrial espionage and white collar crime. Like JD, the Chimera's pilot, Ezra was a professional hacker when he had to be.
And then there was the bond, the intimate connection between their minds and souls where no lies or secrets were possible. He knew what Ezra was, who he was, and he trusted him implicitly – whatever he had done in the past. None of that counted, as it had never counted with any of his men. And Ezra was more than just one of his men. He was his bonded soul partner, his lover, his missing part… everything. Part of Chris, part of the team.
"And here I thought Section 7 handles smugglers and piracy," Standish muttered as they separated.
His mind was a warm, fuzzy place, but he felt Chris's presence overshadowed by the reason he had come here.
"We do."
Chris slid onto his lover's lap, settling down. Like Ezra, he ignored their surroundings. Not that there were any witnesses per se anyway.
"Since this conference is about just that problem, Travis was asked to participate as a representative of the Agency."
"And he had to choose us."
"We're currently unassigned."
Ezra rolled his eyes. "Wonder why?"
Chris chuckled. "C'mon, it'll be a breeze."
Ezra sighed theatrically. "Famous last words, Commander Larabee."
Chris leaned closer, nipping at the delicious lips. "You'll do fine, Ez."
The thief grumbled to himself, not even trying to shield his misgivings from his Bonded. Chris knew that if Ezra couldn't bitch about it, he wasn't happy. While Larabee himself wasn't overly enthusiastic either, he saw it as just another assignment. Simple.
Then again, simple had gone down the drain, though, the day he had linked to Ezra Standish on BP-379. His partner and, for the last five years, lover had been, and actually still was, a thief, con man and cheat. He was damn good at it, which had helped them through some tight spots on previous cases, and Ezra had never denied his nature. Chris wouldn't even dream of changing him. It made him a fine Agent, even if his linked partner sometimes had to rein him in a bit.
But Ezra was also a very caring man, someone who took friendship seriously, and who had an open ear for problems. Vin and Buck had once jokingly called him their 'counselor'. Well, it wasn't that far off from the truth, actually. The team talked to him and he listened. Just that: he listened.
"You won't have to suffer alone," Chris remarked with a sly grin. "Vin and Buck will be there as well."
"Oh joy."
"Briefing is tomorrow at 0700 hours. Departure is at noon."
Another grimace. Chris kissed him again, removing his presence from the tempting lap.
"I don't want to haul your ass to the briefing room again."
"You didn't have to 'haul my ass' anywhere last time, Commander Larabee," Ezra replied with a huff. "I was on time."
"Which time zone?"
"It's not my fault!" he argued. "Someone," he shot Chris a pointed look, "plain wore me out and didn't think about waking me up on time!"
Chris chuckled and leaned closer, kissing his nose. "I did. You turned around and went back to sleep."
Ezra shot him a dark look, twitching his nose. There was a smile in his eyes, but he refused to give in. "And you didn't try to wake me again."
"I'm not suicidal."
"I'll be there," Standish repeated.
Chris smiled at him.
Ezra sighed. "Sometimes, days off are not worth the effort."
<Some are> Chris's voice whispered seductively in his head, images accompanying the voice again as his lover turned and walked out of the bar.
Ezra groaned, feeling his knees about to buckle. <No fair, Chris> he complained.
<Hate to repeat myself… all's fair. And if you can squeeze it into your day off's schedule… I'll be in my quarters in twenty minutes>
The hot sensation rushing through him was almost his undoing. Shit, Larabee really knew all the moves!
<Course I do. I'm Bonded to you, lover. Learned from the best>
Ezra shook his head, smiling, but he quickly stowed away his winnings and hurried to Chris's quarters. No way was he going to let this opportunity go. Who knew how long this guard duty would last?

* * *

The Chimera described a gentle arc and steered toward a massive, kind of cubic vessel, a lot larger than the Agency ship, but also much slower. It was not moving, hanging in space like a dead whale. Its position was outside any territory, close to an abandoned research station in orbit around a dead world. Ezra leaned forward and watched how the Chimera edged closer to the metal hull. The paint had flaked off on most of the parts,  but he could see the faint outline of an airlock. A few minutes later the ship shook slightly. JD's fingers danced over the control panels.
"Chimera has docked," he reported. "All secured."
Chris nodded and left the command chair. Ezra followed him silently through the corridors down one level to the entrance hatch.
"We have a green light," Buck told them as they met up outside the airlock.
"All ready. Have fun," JD confirmed over the intercom.
Ezra decided that there was a definite smirk in the pilot's voice and he ignored it. Fun. Right. He had to wear a uniform and that was where the fun ended.
Buck was first through the airlock, followed by Travis, who was flanked by Chris. Ezra let Vin pass as well and brought up the rear, fiddling with the dark blue and black uniform. Damn, he hated that thing.
<Stop bitching about it, Ezra> Chris sent, not even looking at him.
<You don't have to listen to it!> he grumbled.
<I'm not going to bring up complete shields because you are childish>
<Childish?! I'm not childish!>
<Oh?>
Ezra glared at Chris's back and heard his partner's silent laughter. They walked through the airlock and onto the freighter. He pointedly brought up a shield and could have sworn Chris was laughing harder. Glaring more, he simple walked after the others who were oblivious to the exchange. Mostly anyway. Buck's eyes were twinkling and Vin's grin said it all.
Childish! Pah!

*

"They have docked."
He watched the new-arrivals disappear into the corridor. They belonged to the Agency, but he doubted they would be any trouble. A small, cruel smile appeared on his thin lips.
"All are here," he said into the handheld comlink. "Begin."

* * *

"Welcome aboard, Judge."
Orrin Travis nodded at the man greeting him. Kenneth Marshall was the acting liaison between the Agency and the Traders Guild. They had met several times before in the last years and Marshall had always been a pleasant person to talk to. He was a quiet and calm man, who could get his point across without raising his voice. When he was convinced of something, he would fight to the end without ever insulting or flinging loud words at his opponent.
"Thank you, Ken."
"Let me give you an overview of who is who," Marshall said as they walked down the corridor to the conference room. "Jennifer Benedic, lawyer. Top of her class. She comes from the bunch of lawyers who are handling contracts with the deep space routers."
Deep space routers were a funny bunch, Travis had always thought. They spent their whole lives aboard their ships, docking only long enough to refuel and unload their cargo, and they never set foot on a planet. It was bad luck to any router. Or so they said. Some were close to phobic about it, refusing any kind of firm ground other than a space station underneath their feet. They were well-respected and offered good, fast and cheap ferry services. Like everyone, they were concerned about smugglers and pirates, though Travis sometimes suspected that they knew some of them real close, and not as enemies either.
"I see."
"Then there is Thomas Moore. Watch him. He's not as innocent as he looks. He's representing the business interests here. Moore works for the Cross Trade Lines Corporation."
Cross Trade Lines was a conglomerate of trading companies, working in tandem with the deep space routers, and they managed all business that was even remotely connected to trade. CTL was powerful, but it also suffered from internal power struggles of the dozens of larger companies and the hundreds of smaller ones. Neither wanted to give in or fold when it came to a deal and mostly, deals were ruled by a decision of the conglomerates trade council, which upset half of the involved companies, pissed off another third, and pleased about one or two percent of the rest.
"The other is Oliver McKnight. Old time ambassador. His aid is a young woman named Hanna Josephs. Mind like a sponge. She has a photographic memory. McKnight is here as a mediator in case things get rough."
Travis grinned wryly. Things would get rough. No one wanted to be the first to agree to something, in case it would be the wrong decision and weaken his or her position. But neither did anyone want to argue too long, in case it would push them into the corner of the loser. Fun times ahead, he thought.
"Then we have Per Carlson," Marshall went on conversationally. "He's a bit of an extremist and is the representative for the banks involved in the trade lines. His view of certain topics sometimes collide with what the others think. He works without an aid. Watch him as well. He likes to provoke you."
Money was always a powerful factor in any deal, and both the CTL and the deep space routers needed it. Get on the wrong side of your financial support and you can wave it good-bye.
"The others are mostly harmless. They are here because their respective parties sent them. General Hank X. Brighton is the Joined Governments representative."
Travis nodded. "Thanks for the information, Ken."
Marshall smiled. "I know how important this is, Orrin. That's why insisted on being part of it. If we can come to an agreement concerning smugglers and pirates, and how to handle their increasing power on the traders, we'll be one step closer to the solution of this problem."
Travis smiled dimly. He had worked for Section 7 long enough to know that there would never be a real solution.
Ken Marshall stopped in front of the conference room doors. "Well, here we are. Let's start the music."
He opened the doors.

* * *

Chris and the other three Agents had little to do throughout the actual conference. They weren't allowed inside, so Larabee had decided that they would have a look around, check security. Josiah, Nathan and JD were still aboard the Chimera, the ship hovering a good deal away from the Aro, keeping watch.
Currently, he and Ezra were exploring the ship, noting escape routes and fire doors, hatches and the location of each elevator. Ezra kept fidgeting with his uniform.
"Ez, leave it," Chris told him.
Standish sighed. "I look like a clown."
Chris gave the dark-clad figure a close once-over. The uniforms were kept in black and midnight blue, with faint, silverish trimmings. Ezra looked good enough to eat in his, his narrow hips and slender waist in contrast to the muscular shoulders and chest. And Chris knew just what he looked like underneath – intimately. That helped, too.
Ezra shot him a look and caught the brief flash of hunger in the hazel eyes, grinning mischievously. Neither of the two men had ever disregarded duty or been unprofessional while on an assignment, even when heavy flirting had gone on, and they wouldn't be today. But all was fair, as Chris had said a few days before.
<Gonna peel that uniform off you later> Chris whispered in his mind. <Slowly. Inch by inch. Till you beg for more…>
Ezra licked his lips, keeping his eyes away from his lover, which didn't help much due to the link.
<I might be convinced to wear it a while longer then> he replied, congratulating himself on the steadiness of his own mind-voice.
A husky sound floating across made him shiver. <No one's gonna take it off but me, Ezra>
Ezra smiled. <No one> he promised.
For a brief second he was tempted to throw all caution to the wind and simply grab his lover and kiss him. But only for a second. Instead he sent a kiss through their bond and saw Chris smile.
<Later> was the sworn promise.

* * *

The man was dressed in the standard Joined Governments uniform. He was of a slim build, with brown hair and deep-set eyes. He was handsome in an off-beat way, high cheekbones and sharp features mixing into a kind of pleasant, slightly harmless way. No one paid him much attention. He was from the JG. He entered one of the many quarters, those not used for this flight because the ship was not running with a full crew.
The room was empty except for the standard furniture of a crew quarter. The man walked over to the wardrobe and opened it, taking out a non-descript bag. He carried it over to the bunk and carefully opened it. Removing five small, palm-sized devices, he began to unpack. Last he took out a cylinder, which he unscrewed and extracted several miniature timers, detonators and coils of thin, differently colored wires.
Then he set to work.
All over the ship, four men did exactly the same.

*

Another man in uniform approached the engine room, a black bag slung over one shoulder. He slid an ID card into the security slot and the access door opened automatically. Huge engine blocks throbbed and hummed softly. Metal ladders ran up into the maze of catwalks, support beams and pipes. The farther he walked into the engine room interior, the louder the humming became. The engine sound was nearly deafening at this point and he could hear two of the engineers shouting to one another before he could even see them.
He kept out of sight and continued walking until he spotted what he was looking for. The emergency control board of the engines. He smiled, made sure he was alone, and started his work.

*

In another part of the freighter, a man dressed up in uniform as well stood in the room labeled 'Life Support. Authorized Personnel Only'. He had unscrewed several covers from the banks of equipment, placing the small devices inside various openings, then screwing the panels shut again.

*

A room, located a level down, said 'satellite and radio communication'. Someone had gained access with an authorized security card and had done the same here as the man in life support had. Now he was on his way back to his place.

*

"We are done. Everything in place."
"Good. Stand by." He looked at his watch. Everything was on time. "Begin phase one.... now!"

* * *

The guard never had a chance. He saw one of his comrades walk toward him, nodded once as a greeting, and suddenly felt a shooting pain in his chest. Looking down he noticed a growing stain on his white uniform. He stared at his fellow crewman, seeing the small gun, struggling to comprehend. Then he crashed onto the floor, dead.
"This is Omega 5. All clear," the killer said calmly.

*

Several levels down, two more guards died as well. Two more calls of 'all clear' came in and the leader of the small group of terrorists smiled as he walked down the corridor to the conference center. He was accompanied by two of his men. The door was secured but no longer guarded. All working perfectly.
He slid his security card through the access point and the doors opened with a hum.

* * *

Travis stared at the man in a JG uniform, holding a deadly rifle that, if fired at those close quarters, would injure or even kill most of them in this room. He was thin, tall, dark-haired, and wearing a headset. Cold eyes regarded them all with contempt.
"Sit down!" he ordered and those standing did.
"Who are you?" Marshall asked, voice quiet.
"Your liberation!" he man declared. He smiled coldly. "You may call me Omega One."
"This is madness," Jennifer Benedic now joined in. "What do you think you can gain from holding us hostage?"
The man looked at the lawyer and his smile turned even colder. "More than you'll ever know, collaborator."
"You won't get away with this," Travis told him quietly.
"Oh, but we will, Judge. We will." The man gestured at one of his helpers and the man walked over to the intercom, softly talking into it. "We have the power to change the worlds. Your restrictions will fall, there will be free trade, free prices, no more control! And don't think we are afraid to die for our believes. We know no one gets out of this alive."
Benedic's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "What do you mean?"
"We are all gonna die, that's what I mean, collaborator." The terrorist chuckled. "There are bombs all over the ship, placed in strategic positions. You will never find them even if you overpower us, which won't happen. I've set the bombs on a timer, which I'm activating ...now!"
He pushed the button on the dark remote and a red light lit up. Benedic inhaled sharply, paling even more.
"You are totally out of your mind!" Marshall hissed. "This will have consequences!"
"Oh, yes, it will." He grinned maniacally
Travis fixed his hard eyes on the terrorist. "This will gain you nothing. It won't work."
Omega One only laughed. "You think your precious Agents will help you? I doubt it. I am very much aware of their presence on this freighter. We'll take them out, one by one." He listened to something on the headset. "Actually, we already have one of them."

* * *

Ezra had been checking one of the upper crew levels of the Aro when he ran into the opposition in form of a heavily armed terrorist. He and Chris had separated half an hour ago, deciding to meet up again in another two hours.
The man immediately raised his weapon, a close-quarters bolt gun, and fired. Something hard hit Ezra in the side, like a foot kicking him forcefully, but he was too busy getting out of the way to worry about it. He jumped for cover inside one of the many abandoned quarters, breathing fast and hard.
Damnit!
He licked his drying lips, feeling his breath coming in jagged gasps. Something was wrong, he didn't know what, but he set his worry aside when he heard whoever it was with the gun come closer. He aimed for the shooter. The man went down with a hole in his shoulder, immediately unconscious.
Ezra briefly checked for more opposition, then moved on. He remembered the slam he felt against this side. He reached his gun-free hand inside his uniform jacket, touched his side and winced, gasped.  He pulled his hand out. It was covered with warm blood.
"Crap," he whispered.
He hated bolt guns. They were usually planet-based weapons, since they wouldn't work in a zero gravity environment, but some criminal elements used them wherever they went. They released small bolts with an incredible kick, able to penetrate flesh and shatter bone.
The adrenaline rush was starting to wear off and Ezra was beginning to get a hint of what the pain was going to be like when it hit him full-force. He clamped down shields around his mind, enforcing them, not wanting his partner to be part of this. As long as he was mentally able to, he would sustain the shields. Whatever else happened.
That was when he ran into another terrorist, but he hadn't seen him coming.

*

Chris had really no idea what hit him. One minute he felt a strange rumble along the bond, a kind of deep throbbing, then the pain screeched across the link, right into his mind. He grabbed his right side, crying out in pain, and collapsed against the wall.
<Ezra!> he screamed across the link, the only conscious thought he could muster. <No!>

*

The first strike barely even touched him when Standish side-stepped. The second blow floored him. Almost winded, Ezra rolled out of the way of the third one, gritting his teeth against the searing pain racing along every nerve in his body. With a cry that expressed his pain and anger, he lashed out and struck a soft body, throwing it back. He tried to get to his feet and staggered, colorful spots exploding in front of his eyes. He was breathing hard and the pain was almost too much to bear.
Something screamed in his mind and he knew it was Chris.
Hands grabbed him, threw him against the wall, and Ezra felt his body collapse. There was nothing left in him, no more fighting. He was hauled up and he saw an unfamiliar face bop up and down in his narrowing field of vision.
"Who are you?" a voice hissed.
He only smiled weakly.

*

Chris was panting, his side throbbing painfully, even though there was no wound. He was dizzy with the sensations from the link and it was hard to draw a steady breath, let alone think clearly.
A voice penetrated the fog, insistent and calm. "Chris? Listen to me. Listen clearly. Think of your shields. Draw them around you. It's not you who is hurt. Do you understand?"
"Ezra," he gasped, blurry eyes trying to get a fix on Vin.
"Yes, Ezra. Just call up the shields. Calm yourself."
"Ezra....," he groaned again. "He was... shot." Chris clenched his teeth against the searing pain. "Gawd.... They have him...."

* * *

Travis looked up from where he sat when the doors were opened. Two of their kidnappers walked in, dragging a third body, and he recognized the dark blue and black uniform immediately.
It was one of his men.
Ezra Standish, to be precise.
Standish was unceremoniously dumped in one corner, where he lay like a puppet whose the strings had been cut. The others in the room stared at him, but didn't move. Travis shot from his chair and walked briskly over to his downed Agent. None of the terrorists stopped him. He knelt next to Ezra and rolled him carefully onto his back. Travis cursed under his breath as he discovered the dark, wet stain on the partially open uniform jacket.
"Judge," Standish rasped, glassy green eyes trying to focus on him.
Someone joined him and Travis looked up, recognizing Ken Marshall. "I need something to staunch the blood flow," he told his colleague briskly.
Marshall nodded and left, only to return with what looked like a bunched-up shirt. "Donation from Brighton," he said with a brief smile.
Ezra winced and cried out softly as Travis pulled the jacket and then the severely blood-stained shirt away.
"He's still losing blood."
Ezra shivered and closed his eyes.
"Don't go out on me, Agent Standish!" Travis snapped. "Stay awake! You're going into shock."
"I… figured," Ezra said weakly.
"Is there an exit wound?" Marshall wanted to know.
"I… think so," Ezra answered instead of Travis, eyes rolling to look at the second man in his line of sight.
"I need to see it," Travis decided.
"Can't you just take my word for it?"
The Judge reached for his shoulders to pull him toward him. "This is going to hurt."
Ezra tensed. He fought not to cry out as Travis moved him onto his side.
"How… do I… look?" he asked between gasps.
"Looks like the projectile went right through," was the diagnosis. "Ken, rip that apart," he indicated the shirt, "and tear off a large strip. We need to stop the bleeding."
Travis let Ezra roll back onto his back once more, noting the lines of agony in the young face. He quickly unbuckled the pants and pulled out the belt. They should try to elevate the legs; it would slow down the blood loss. The Judge looked around, then turned to his colleague.
"We need a chair."
Marshall didn't ask. He just fetched a chair and Travis laid it on its side, then proceeded to raise Ezra's legs. The younger man gasped in pain, eyes screwed shut. Travis wiped the cloth over the sweat covered features.
 

Ezra grit his teeth. It felt like someone had stuck a glowing hot nail into his ribs and was currently twisting it around. Blood was flowing in steady streams and soaking his shirt.
He had been dragged into a room where more people were being kept. He couldn't really tell how many. It was hard enough to just stay conscious and keep the shields up. He had been thrown to the floor and left to bleed all over it.
Someone had helped him.
To his surprise he had recognized Judge Travis.
Currently the Judge was busy bandaging him up. He pushed down hard on the wound and the thief was barely able to bite back a scream. Panting, Ezra tried to fix blurry, tear-filled eyes on his boss, but all he saw was a shapeless blob hovering above him.
"Judge?" he rasped.
"It's okay, son," the Judge said softly, tying the bandage tightly, using his belt.
Ezra felt his grip on consciousness fail. He sensed Chris at the other end of the Bond, trying to get through, but he stubbornly kept his shields up. He couldn't flood his partner with what was racing through his system. It would surely knock him out.
Travis riffled through the thief's pockets and gave a small grunt as he found what he had been looking for, the field kit. Every Agent, whether on representative or undercover duty had to carry a first aid kit. It was small and consisted of just a few liquid or solid drugs to relieve pain or stimulate the brain. Ezra winced as the tiny injection was administered. He hated the painkillers. They were strong, knocking out pain signals for hours, but after that the body would suddenly plunged into the agonizing hell it had been forced to ignore. He already dreaded the descent.
"Thanks," he croaked nonetheless.
"Chris?" Travis asked softly.
Ezra drew a shuddering breath. "Here. We can... talk. Briefly. Can't… take… the shields down… or… he'll drop. But I can… keep him… informed."
The Judge nodded. It was all he needed to know. Ezra closed his eyes, letting the painkiller work, and he prayed he would get out of this alive.
 

Orrin Travis felt his worry multiply as he watched Standish close his eyes. The Agent was deathly pale, face sweaty, and his breathing had still not evened out. The wounds looked serious and he had lost a lot of blood. Ezra needed medical help and soon. The painkillers were only a temporary relief.
Travis gazed over to where their captors were standing, guarding the door, keeping an eye on things. Marshall shot him an inquisitive look.
"He looks bad," the liaison remarked softly.
Travis nodded. He did. And right now, there was nothing they could do about it. Standish was their link to the outside, something only Travis knew. As long as he could keep Chris apprised of the situation, as long as Chris could give them any idea how it looked outside, things were not completely lost.
"What's… going on?"
The raspy voice drew him out of his thoughts and Travis looked into the bright green eyes. Ezra seemed more alert and though he doubted that the painkillers were already working one hundred percent, there was some relief in the thief's eyes. He gave Standish a brief run-down of the situation.
"Oh joy," he muttered.
Travis smiled grimly.
"I'll try to… get it… through… to Chris. No… guarantees, though."
"I can't ask for more," Travis replied softly, his worry not abating.
Ezra was in a very bad shape and upholding the shields, as well as communicating with Chris was taking more out of him by the minute. It was eating away at what little reserves the Agent had, and even an increased healing ability didn't change the odds because for that to happen, Ezra needed even more energy. He had nothing to spare.

* * *

Chris stood as still as a statue, hands pressed flat-palmed on the table, head hanging down, eyes fixed on the dull gray table top. They had converged into one of the many abandoned crew quarters of the former freighter, making sure none of the terrorists had seen them. The link pulsed softly, a far cry from the usual hum that told him everything was fine with his partner. Ezra was seriously hurt, he was under heavy pain medication, and he was in one room with a mad man.
A part of Chris was screaming at him to save his soul partner, his lover; it was the instinctive part, the protective streak. Another part, the logical mind, the Agent, told him to clear his head and think this through.
Finally he raised his head, meeting the level gaze of his second-in-command and the anxious eyes of his oldest friend. "We have to get them out of there."
Vin nodded. "The question is how. I read the attendee list. All high ranking officials. They have quite a collection of hostages in there. "
"Any ideas, people?"
"Okay, let's have a look at what else we have," Vin thought out loud. "The ship is in the hand of terrorists, led by a guy we have no name of."
"I can think of a few," Buck growled.
Vin shot him a wry smile. "They have placed bombs, which are on a remote timer. The timer has been set off. The terrorists plan to blow the ship, but not just yet, but we know they are not interested in deals. Their aim is the destruction and death of everyone aboard. We don't know where the bombs are or what kind of bombs we are facing. All the delegates are held in the conference room, which is a former storage hangar and located next to the main cargo hold."
Buck frowned. "That about sums it up. We might want to call the Chimera and see if they can't ID the guy."
"They might be listening in on us or even block our coms," Vin threw in.
"But we have to try," Chris agreed. "Buck, call JD. Give him the details, then ask him to find a secure frequency. We'll change position in case they can home in on our signals."
Buck nodded and called the Chimera.

* * *

Ezra felt no pain; actually, he was feeling rather good. But he doubted he would be able to move a foot, even if he had to. The drug was working its magic, but he knew this 'high' wouldn't last. And it took its toll. A normal human being could last through a maximum of two shots, then the body would shut down and plunge the victim back into agony. Ezra had no idea if Borderlines were 'normal' where that was concerned and he didn't really want to find out.
He silently watched the three terrorists as they guarded their doomed victims. It was a crazy plan, killing themselves and a ship of politicians and ambassadors to plunge the Joined Governments into a chaos over the trade routes, in turn giving the smugglers and pirates more reign and freedom to set up their own system. It was such a mad idea it might even work.
Ezra had to give them some professional courtesy. They had somehow gotten aboard, had taken out the ship's personnel and taken over the operation.
The representatives of the various factions were a mixed group right now. Some only sat there, stone faced, totally scared. Others nervously wrung their hands, chewed on their lower lips, nails or fingers, and some just kept on looking around, eyes darting from one corner to the next. Travis had settled himself next to Ezra, now and then looking at him as if to check on his condition. Ezra had thrown up as many masks as possible, keeping his expression bland, but he knew he couldn't hide what he felt from Travis. The Judge knew what his condition was.
Suddenly one of the aides started to tremble more visibly. His face was  chalk white and covered in sweat. His hands were shaking so badly Ezra was afraid he was going to have a spastic attack. Suddenly he gave a whimpering cry, erupting from his chair.
"No!" he cried, wailing.
The three terrorists fixed their attention on him.
"Sit down!" Omega One ordered.
The man stared at him, wide-eyed, completely lost in a nightmare he had set up for himself. He screamed again and his screams became higher and higher. Nervous breakdown.
"Shut him up!" the leader hissed. "Or I'll do it for you!" His gun leveled at the hapless aide.
Per Carlson, sitting next to the wailing man, got up and stepped between the gun and the target. "Why don't you shoot? Kill us all before we blow up?" he asked, voice level. "Saves us from counting the minutes!"
Omega One sneered. "Oh? Would you like to be the first?"
"Carlson, sit down!" Travis ordered.
"Why? Because he will shoot me?" Carlson shook his head. "He wants to see us suffer like poor Hartman here. He wants to see us squirm. He can't do that if he shoots us!" His piercing blue eyes fixed on Omega One. "You know how much time is still left and you know when to leave for safer waters. You want to take the memory of us slowly going crazy with you, don't you?"
Omega One listened patiently to the accusing words. Now he smiled. "You amuse me." Then he pulled the trigger.
Carlson was hit right in the chest. He broke down, blood gushing out of the wound, an expression of surprise on his features.
Screams echoed through the room, strangely enough not from Hartman, who only stared at the dead man lying at his side with wide eyes. Travis had instinctively moved between his injured Agent and the madman, blocking Ezra's view.
"Shut up" Omega One bellowed.
Ezra felt bile rise in his throat and anger briefly lashed out, broke a hole into his Bond shields, and leaked into the link. Chris's presence intensified, asking, needing to know, but he quickly repaired the hole he had punched into his protection.
Bastard!
The others huddled in their chairs, sobbing, shaking or trying not to faint. Travis fixed a murderous gaze on the terrorist, then slowly settled down next to Ezra.
"I don't like amusing people," Omega One now told them. "All of you better shut up or you have the honor of dying before your friends. Do I make myself clear?"
No one said a word, only nodded.
Travis turned to look at Ezra and Ezra gave him a faint, humorless smile. The older man mirrored in, but both their eyes was nothing but anger and contempt.

* * *

Chris was furious and sick in one. He stumbled against the wall, fighting down the anger and the nausea.
"They killed a hostage," he whispered harshly as he composed himself once more. "For no reason."
Buck whirled around, cursing. Vin briefly closed his eyes, shaking his head.
"Damn," Tanner only said. "How's Ezra?"
"Not good." And that was all Chris was willing to say on the topic, but his eyes spoke volumes.
There was a crackling sound in their headsets and Nathan's voice could be heard over the secure frequency.
"Chimera, Jackson here. Anyone reading?"
"Larabee," Chris answered, his voice level and controlled. "What have you got for us?"
"I think we found the bad guy. James Breen, active member of too many radical groups to count. Volatile personality, irrational but brilliant. Expert in small explosive devices and sabotage."
Buck sighed. "So we got a mad man on the ship."
Chris lips were a thin line. A mad man who held a room full of hostages, including his partner, on a ship that was destined to blow. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
"Do you have the layouts we need?" he asked.
"Yes, JD's rigging up a transfer that'll get those plans right into your com displays," Nathan answered. "Should be coming any minute now."
"Thanks."
"By the way, Chris, we have company out here."
"Who?"
"Looks like media."
The three Agents looked at each other, confused. Chris felt a gentle touch from Ezra, alerting him to the fact that his partner was currently listening in. Part of him instinctively reached out for the other half of the Bond, trying to wrap his own presence around the weak pulse, draw it closer.
<You shouldn't expend so much energy on this, Ez> he chastised while simultaneously trying to get a better look at his lover.
But Ezra kept the shields tight, the communications line so thin and unstable that if Chris pushed, it would collapse and leave the shields instead.
Son of a…., Chris thought, half in anger, half in understanding. He needed to touch Ezra; badly. He wanted to know the extent of the injuries, how he was faring, but his partner didn't allow contact. Chris was craving the soft mind-touch, the reassuring hum of another mind connected to his; it hurt to be unable to listen to it.
<I'm fine> came the wobbly reply.
Ezra was keeping such a tight rein on his shields, his mind-voice was a shadow of its former self. Chris could only guess what he was really going through.
<Ezra…>
<Chris, please. My reserves are limited>
<I know> he whispered. <It's why you shouldn't talk at all>
A wavering smile was his answer, then his lover pulled himself together, switching back to the topic at hand.
<Media is what could be expected> Ezra told him. <We are facing a group of extremists, ready to blow the ship with everyone aboard, not demanding anything and not offering an exchange. They are hell-bent on obliterating everyone aboard, but they haven't done it so far. Why? Answer: media. Pure and simple. They want this to be a widely known incident, not some accident in deep space. They want TV coverage and they'll get it>
Chris was stunned by his partner's theory, which rang very true. He told the others what Ezra had said and Vin frowned thoughtfully.
"So they are waiting for the cameras to establish their shooting positions, then they'll blow the thing?"
"Exactly," Chris agreed. "They'll probably give a little speech first, then set off the bombs."
"Then we're running out of time," Buck concluded.
<We're on our way> Chris sent and felt Ezra's tension and relief in one. <Just hold on>
<I am. But some of the others are close to losing it now>
Chris knew what this meant. If anyone else broke or had a nervous episode, he or she would die. It didn't help that Ezra was badly injured, though he blocked the pain impulses as best as he could. It meant concentrating on the shields and having less energy for long communications through the Bond. And a lot less energy to act in the real world. Ezra was fading.
<Ezra....>
<I'm fine> the thief interrupted him, his mind-voice sounding unsteady. <I can deal with it>
Chris nodded to himself. Of course. Ezra could be bleeding to death and he would still claim he was fine and dealing with it. It didn't make the commander worry any less.
<I love you> he sent, emotions lacing each letter.
Ezra's presence, the little he felt of it, shivered in response, then he closed even the small link they had shared. It left Chris feeling bereft, floating, alone.
"Chris?"
Vin's calm voice drew him out of his pain. He collected himself, drew his thoughts away from his partner and into the mission ahead of them.
"I'm fine," he said, voice level.
Vin met his eyes, searching, finding, and finally nodded. Nothing needed to be said. Tanner knew exactly what was going on and how stressful it was for his friend.
Headsets were checked and rechecked, then everything was ready. The freighter's floor plans had been sent into their com displays and they now had an idea how to get around.
"We are go," Chris told them
They separated and moved out.

* * *

The air in the conference room was stuffy. Most of the hostages had given up and were sitting silently in their chairs, either eyes closed or staring blankly at something they didn't really see.
Orrin Travis was watching his Agent.
Ezra's wound had stopped bleeding and he was reasonably alert, but that was about it. He hadn't spoken three words in all the time and there was always a rather faraway expression in his eyes.
"How're you doing?" Travis asked softly, concern evident in his voice.
"As well… as can be… expected...under the… circumstances," Ezra informed him, his speech a bit labored.
Travis nodded. "Chris?"
"Moving."
Even the one-word replies seemed to strain him and Travis simply held his silence as he kept an eye on Standish. He had done all he could, but the man needed more help if he wanted to survive, speedy healing abilities or not.
Travis was quite aware of a few special circumstances concerning Ezra Standish, not all of them having to do with his different genetic make-up and metabolism. Neither Chris nor Ezra had ever told their boss, but Travis knew that those two men bound more than just a mental link. While Tanner and Wilmington had had their coming out years back, the soul partners had kept their relationship quiet. Travis appreciated it. He wasn't homophobic and Ezra had given Chris back a life Travis had thought the commander had lost. He had vanquished Larabee's demons and they were happy. But Ezra was part of Chris's team, and Chris was his boss. People might view the combination unfavorably.
With a silent sigh, the Judge turned his attention back to the situation at hand. Of the three terrorists, only two were here right now. Their leader had left for the bridge.
Ken Marshall sat two chairs further down, watching the terrorists like a hawk would a mouse. Travis knew the man wasn't about to be frightened into inactivity. Something was going on inside of him; he just hoped he wouldn't try some foolish stunt. The same went for the general, who had covered the dead body with his jacket after closing the poor man's eyes.
Suddenly Ezra turned his head and met Travis's eyes, his green ones very much alive again. He nodded almost imperceptibly and it told him more than words.
Chris and the others were closing in.

* * *

James Breen, 'Omega One', stood on the bridge of the freighter, smiling darkly as he looked at the dozen blips all around them, each identifying itself as a TV crew of a different station, all asking for an interview. Everything was working smoothly...
He looked at the timer. Two more hours until the bombs went off and nothing could stop him. No Agency ship had shown up on their scanners and neither had any Joined Government vessel. Of course, they could be hiding among the TV crews, but he doubted it. And even if they were, what could they do? No one would be allowed on board and he would schedule the interview, or better: his last speech, that it would end five minutes before the detonation.
Nothing would stop him.

* * *

Vin connected the circuits and the door slid open with a soft hum. He allowed himself a satisfied grin and crawled through the door. 'Door' was actually said too much. It was the entrance to an air ventilation shaft of the Aro. With a bit of work and manipulation at the small control switch of the upper shaft he had opened the security door without setting off the alarm. Now he was crawling along the shaft that was normally equipped with highly sensitive pressure pads which Vin, with a few tricks, had persuaded to ignore him.
Travis had mentioned that the JG had refurbished the whole security of the old freighter. It was a virtual playground for electronic gizmos!
He left the ventilation shaft and found himself in a dark hallway. According to the plans of the ship, which he had learned inside out before he went on his 'tour', he was close to the life support units. The door to the closest room opened almost noiselessly as he pushed the entrance button. He walked in and started to check the rows of machinery.

* * *

Chris was a catlike shape against the indigo darkness of the engine room, listening to the low throbbing of the engine blocks. He kept a mental eye on Ezra, but his lover was shielding. Looking down from the catwalk he now cowered on, he discovered an armed man in an JG uniform. Chris's eyes narrowed.
Target acquired.
Moving in.

* * *

The elevator was not on this floor, so Buck opened the doors by force. He looked up the elevator shaft and he saw tiny emergency lights along the tunnel. There were also rectangles of light, indicating closed elevator doors. In the middle ran the main elevator cable. Buck sighed and -- jumped. For two awful seconds he was flying in empty space, then he banged straight into the heavy cable. He clutched it tightly with both, heavily gloved hands and felt himself begin to slip. The cable was heavily covered with the grease  and no matter how tightly he held on, he was still slipping. Well, he wanted to go down, so why stop it? He lowered himself down floor by floor, counting how many doors he passed.
When he arrived at the level the bridge was, he partly covered by grease and it was disgusting. He listened closely. No sound. Again he forced the doors open and stepped into the corridor. He hoped the corridor wasn't monitored.

* * *

Vin had been walking through what looked like a factory warehouse for some time now, trying to figure out where exactly he had to go. This place was heavily confusing! He was completely unfamiliar with the surroundings and though Vin had had a look at the blueprints, this looked very different. He was still in the main storage area connecting to the part of the ship where he had just disarmed two bombs placed in the life support system. There were a lot of crates, machine parts and other stuff he didn't even want to try and identify.
And then he ran into his first terrorist. He looked young, Vin noted, barely in his mid-twenties, with very short hair, wearing an JG uniform, armed with some kind of remodeled regular gun. It looked like it had some nasty fire power.
"Stop it right there!"
Vin's eyes met those of the young black man facing him, trying to tell him that this was foolish while he raised his hands. He could read the wavering emotions in the man's dark eyes, but there was a firm expression around his lips, an expression Tanner had seen with kids, who knew they might do the wrong thing, but were determined to go through with whatever they had to do.
"Listen," Vin began, his hands spread out to show the young man he had no intention to shoot  him.
"Shut up," the man commanded.
The ship's engines were a low background noise, throbbing, vibrating. The air conditioning was a soft hum compared to it and somewhere metal creaked. All this Vin suddenly heard, was acutely aware of. He was reminded of an article he had once read, that people in near-death situations, stress situations, had heightened senses. Well, he mused darkly, the article had been right. And he could really attest to it. He had been in many near-death situations, but each one was new.
"What you are doing is wrong. It's suicidal."
"I said shut up!" His voice had risen.
"You'll die. Is that what you want?"
The young man gave a hiss and his finger curled around the trigger.
"You don't," Vin pressed on. "I know. I can see it in your eyes."
Indecision warred in the dark brown eyes.
And Vin jumped.
The blast went wide and Vin delivered a hard right into the face of his opponent. He went down like a felled tree.
"Sorry, kid," Vin muttered and dragged him behind one of the containers.
Then he searched for the exit, which he found ten minutes later. He was on the conference room level now.

* * *

He had neutralized three terrorists so far. He didn't know how many more there were. He hated vague information. Chris stepped down the stairway and was just about to move on to the door leading to the hallways, when he thought he saw something move.
Chris turned the second as something crashed down on him. Because he had turned the heavy object -- it looked like a metal bar -- hit his right shoulder. He cried out and fell down, rolling aside to get out of the way of his attacker. His left hand reached for a weapon, his right arm feeling numb and detached from his body. His hand closed around the hand gun he was carrying. The metal bar ended the life of a switched off light. Glass shreds rained over Larabee as he crawled away, trying to get some distance between himself and his attacker.
When he looked up from his supine position he saw the attacker, clad all in dark clothes, looming over him, the bar raised to strike again. He raised his weapon and tried to shoot. The bar swung down, catching his left hand. He cried in pain again as his hand was caught between a metal bar and a hard place, so to speak. At least the wall was very unwilling to soften. Chris lost his weapon, blinking back tears of pain. His mind went on overload, trying to separate pain and Agency training. He fixed on the training, ignoring the pain, and he struck at the attacker with his feet, catching him square in the chest. He was rewarded with a grunt as the attacker flew backward.
Chris staggered to his feet, his left hand ablaze with pain, his right shoulder and arm numb, but he was unwilling to let his opponent get the upper hand. And he had never known when to quit. With a strength born out of adrenaline he attacked, using his feet since his hands were useless, kicking and striking at the man with whatever he could muster. The attacker lost his weapon. Chris tried to get the upper hand, but a strike against his shoulder made him let go with a yelp of pain. The other guy was definitely good! He had apparently had some training. All the others had been amateurs. This guy was a professional!
Chris suddenly saw the weapon lying near by and grabbed it with his left hand. Then he aimed at the shadowy figure of his opponent - who wasn't the least bit impressed.
He charged.
Chris pulled the trigger.
There was a cry.
The man broke down, collapsing with an audible 'thump'.
With an effort the Agent staggered to his feet and toward the attacker. He stopped at the motionless body's side, unsteady and panting.
The guy was still alive, Chris now saw, a sizable wound in his chest. Still, he lived. Furious dark eyes blazed up at him.
"You lost," Chris growled.
"Go to hell," the other hissed.
"That's where you'll go," Larabee answered coldly, his gun still pointed at him.
"And you'll follow, collaborator."
"I'm not a collaborator. I'm doing my job, which you made quite hard."
"It's not over yet! No one will leave this ship alive!" the terrorist coughed. "We will win! We will set a sign for everyone to see!"
Every word dripped with utter rage and hatred. He lived this hate, he fueled it with all he possessed.
"Shut up!"
"You are nothing but a stinking collaborator!" he screamed and his hand whipped up.
Chris saw something flash in the light of the emergency lamps.
It was the blade of a knife.
He reacted.
The sound of his gun rang in the silence of the room.
The terrorist's eyes widened, then he fell back, a hole in his forehead.
Chris put away the weapon, a sad look on his face as he walked away from the body. The words had stung, had hit him hard, but he didn't feel the satisfaction he thought that would come from silencing this scum bag.
<Chris?>
Ezra's sudden contact made him sway. There was so much pain there; only audible, but still very much there.
<I'm fine>
<Uh-huh> There was a wave of disbelief from his lover. <Don't try to fool the master>
Chris smiled dimly. Yeah. Don't try it.
<I'll be there soon> he whispered.
Ezra sent a shiver down the weak link, then closed it again, but it was harder each time. Chris collected himself, strengthened his own shields, and pushed the worry and desperation away.
He still had a job to do.

* * *

Ezra's cheek muscles twitched and he fought the overwhelming sensations coming in from Chris. While his partner was doing his best to uphold his own shields, pain impulses were coming through, awakening new pain in his own wound. He was aware of someone talking to him, his own breathing loud in his ears, rasping, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Ezra? Calm down. Shhh, son."
The voice again. This time he even heard and understood the words. Glistening eyes fixed on the older man next to him, unable to speak. He was aware that he was holding on to something and he felt embarrassment warring with the pain for dominance. He was clutching at Travis's arm as if it was his lifeline.
"Sorry, sir," he gasped, fighting for control.
"There's no need to apologize. Painkillers wore off?"
"Chris. Was attacked. Shields cracked." Ezra swallowed reflexively several times. "His pain...."
Travis nodded and dug out another of the small capsules with pain medication. "I'm giving you another one, Agent Standish."
Ezra stared at the colorless liquid, but was unable to voice his protest. He hated drugs, and this one's aftereffects, if overdosed, were pretty bad.
Travis injected it and he leaned back, concentrating on his breathing.
"How is Chris?" the Judge wanted to know.
"Okay," Ezra whispered, unable to keep his fear out of his voice; unable to hide the pain.
Travis regarded him for a long five seconds, then only nodded. His hand closed around Ezra's wrist and squeezed in support.
"You'll be okay, son," he murmured.
Ezra swallowed, gathering the meaning behind the words. Both of them, him and Chris. He just prayed they would be.

* * *

Breen didn't know why, but something was wrong. He reached for his com link and tried to raise one of his team.
He was greeted by silence.
A frown appeared on his forehead and he walked off the bridge, leaving the two others alone to handle the freighter.
"Omega team, respond!" he bellowed into the mike again. And again there was no reply.
He broke into a run toward the conference center, his gun ready and the safety latch off. It was on the highest setting.

* * *

Travis only saw it because he had been watching Ezra like a hawk. The younger Agent was still holding up okay, but he was fading and the blood-soaked bandage did nothing to quell his fears. Standish needed medical treatment. He was currently hanging on to consciousness by sheer willpower alone and the last time Travis had checked the shot wound, it hadn't really looked any better. Ezra's healing factor was on hold.
But suddenly there was a twitch around his mouth, a barely perceptible smile. Standish met his eyes and the weak smile appeared again and he nodded. Travis looked at Marshall, exchanging silent information.
Something was about to happen.
Ezra's cheek muscles spasmed and he gasped softly, whether from pain or something else, Travis didn't know. His eyes moved toward the door and narrowed almost imperceptibly.
It was the moment the doors to the conference center flew open, revealing a figure in black. The two terrorists whirled around, guns rising to fire.
General Brighton moved. His age belied his agility and the terrorist closest to him was surprised when the aging JG officer jumped him, throwing them both to the ground and introducing him to a fist like titanium steel. He lost consciousness.
The second terrorist managed to lose a shot toward the new-arrival, but his aim was way off. Panicked, he started to fire wildly into the room. Screams could be heard, pain and confusion audible in them, and everyone lunged for cover. Travis felt a hot blast hit the floor beside him where he was covering Ezra. Two inches more to the left and it would have been him.
Then the gun-fire stopped. Travis raised his head. The second terrorist lay on the ground, equally unconscious. Ezra was breathing hard beneath him, pain rasping with every breath over dry lips. Travis throwing himself on the smaller man hadn't really helped.
"Ezra?" he demanded.
"Just… great, sir…"
"Everyone okay?" Vin asked sharply, his voice cutting through the sobs and confused mutterings.
Brighton stood and straightened his uniform, looking around. There were several hurt people, but none seemed to be gravely wounded.
"Okay!" Vin went on, silencing even the last of the frightened humans. "We're gaining control of the Aro, but we're not out of danger yet! Everyone stay calm; we're handling it!"
Brighton approached the Agent. "Brigadier General Hank X. Brighton," he introduced himself, voice as sharp as a knife. "Who are you?"
"Agent Vin Tanner, Sir. Part of the rescue team."
Brighton frowned. "You are not JG, are you?"
"No, Hank, he's one of mine," Travis spoke up as he got to his feet but not moving away from Ezra. He nodded at his Agent.
Vin smiled slightly. "We're here to get this mess straightened out. Back-up is out there and waiting for our signal. There are still bombs we haven't found yet."
"And you won't find them!"
They whirled around.
James Breen stood in the corridor, a mad grin on his face. One hand was holding a gun, the other the remote control.
"Say good-bye!"
His finger twitched. Breen fired his gun. The shot impacted with the re-enforced vest. Vin was thrown back against the wall, momentarily winded, gasping, pain shooting from his now bruised back.
Breen pushed the remote's button.
 

On the bridge, a small screen came to life. Data rolled on it and then came to a stop like the rolling elements of a slot machine. A single word was spelled on the screen: READY.
Neither one of the two terrorists still guarding the bridge saw it.
 

Several levels down, the emergency control board of the freighter went up in a brilliant sheet of flame that spread across the room, scorching the walls and searing everything in its immediate radius.
 

As did the navigational control system.
 

And the engines control board.
 

The Aro bucked once, then lurched forward as all safety measure around the engines broke, igniting them.
 

Breen laughed wildly and leveled his gun at the assembled conference attendees. "We may not go up all at once, but this ship is heading for doom! We will win!"
His finger once again curled around the trigger.

*

"We have movement!"
Josiah whirled around. "What?!"
"He detonated the remaining bombs," JD whispered, horrified. "Aro is gaining speed!"
"Move in to intercept! Give me course and speed!" Josiah ordered.
"Heading five-zero-one. Speed is twelve and rising!" was the answer.
The three Agents  looked at each other.
"The space station!" Nathan whispered. "They are going right toward the damn station!"

*

Chris had not witnessed all that had been going on, but looking at it from his vantage point above the corridor, he had a pretty good idea what was happening.
And he acted.
With one swift kick the air vent grill went flying and he dropped out of the shaft, rolling over the floor and coming into firing position.
Breen whirled around.
Chris never hesitated. He brought his still aching arm up to stabilize the gun he was holding and fired.
The terrorist leader went flying back a few paces, his finger spasmodically twitching around the trigger. The shots hit the air vent above, turning it into a sieve, molten metal dripping down, some shots ricocheting off.
Chris staggered to his feet, feeling his body protest. Vin did the same, biting back a groan. They looked at each other.
"Nice work," Tanner said with a faint smile.
"Likewise, though we are not out of it yet."
Larabee stowed away his gun, looking into the conference room full of frightened and confused people. When his eyes fell on Ezra's bloodied form, he nearly lost it. Hazel eyes widened, his face lost color, and hands clenched.
<Ezra!>
A myriad of emotions crashed down on him and he was frantically pushing against the block, which was no longer that strong. He wanted to touch, to hold, to comfort, but the rational part reminded him that if he gave in to his needs now, it would shatter the last control either man still had left.
<Hey> came the weak reply. <Fancy seeing you here. You took your time>
He had no idea where Ezra took the strength from. Chris didn't feel very strong at all at the moment, and he wasn't the one bleeding all over the floor.
<Oh my gawd....> he murmured, mind-voice raw.
Chris ran over to his wounded partner and fell down to his knees, taking in the pale, sweaty features, the burning green eyes. His eyes traveled to the bloody bandage. Chris started to tremble from the combined pressure of their shields, from the pain his own body radiated, as well as from the leaking impulses from Ezra's shields.
"Ez...."
<'m okay, Chris>
<You're not> he breathed. <Hell...>
So much blood.
So… much… blood…
Touching his lover, he felt the trembling of the smaller body underneath his hands. Their hands briefly slid into one another and while Chris was acutely aware of his superior close by and watching, he didn't give a damn. This was Ezra, part of him, a vital part of him, and he was badly injured. He was in pain and still trying to deal with it alone. Chris's instinctual part wanted nothing more than to take that burden and share it.
<I'll live. Healing abilities, y'know> came the soft whisper.
Chris brushed back sweaty bangs of hair, feeling the fever building, the clammy skin, and the shivers.
Healing abilities.
For Ezra's Borderline powers to kick in, he needed a lot of energy – which he didn't have. His body had shut down whatever it didn't need to survive, and that meant healing hadn't started yet.
<Ez….love…>
Shields wavered and Ezra's eyes reflected a yearning mirrored by Chris. He reached out, brushing over the shields, pressing close. Part of him still fought the need, another didn't give a damn.
"Chimera to anyone. Chris, can you hear me? Buck? Vin?"
The call interrupted the tender Bond, shattering the concentration and Ezra valiantly tried to shield again. Chris's anger flared briefly in his eyes, wanting to hold onto the precious presence, ignore the pain and fire that broadcast across their connection.
But he gave up immediately. Whatever fight he put on now, Ezra would counter it, depleting his reserves more and more. They had had but a second and the decision as to whether or not to connect had been taken out of their hands.
"Larabee!" he snapped, harsher than intended, but the stress was getting to him.
"Chris, damn, am I glad to hear your voice," JD could be heard. "What's going on? The Aro is moving!"
Chris frowned. He had noticed a change to the engine noise, but he had been too busy to think about it.
"What?"
"You are heading for the station!"
"Ah hell....."
"The Minotaur is ready to send a shuttle for evacuation," the pilot went on.
"Understood. Tell them to get it over here ASAP! And we need Nate!"
"We'll take care of things here," Travis announced, freeing Chris from his duty to get the hostages to safety, but he still wanted to remain here, with Ezra.
<I'll be fine, Chris. Go>
The green eyes met his and Larabee had to fight his instinct to stay with his seriously injured partner. Protective; possessive; guarding fiercely.
<You have a job to do, Commander! Go!>
"Chris, I'll take care of him," Travis said softly but firmly, just loud enough for the two men to hear.
Chris looked at the older man and saw something in his superior's eyes that made him nod.
"Thank you, sir."
And he went, gritting his teeth, putting his own shields back up firmly. Sometimes he hated decisions.
"Vin?"
"I'll get them to the hangar bay," Tanner told him, almost as if reading Chris's thoughts. "And I'll take care of him," he added, voice so low only Larabee could hear it.
Chris nodded his thanks, then hurried off.
 

* * *

"Minotaur has deployed shuttle," JD reported, voice tight.
Josiah watched the shuttle race away from the Minotaur which was keeping a parallel course to the Aro, though only as close need-be.
"Aro still on collision course," JD went on, voice level. "Impact in ten minutes."

* * *

Taking the bridge was no great effort. Chris had met up with Buck down the corridor from the bridge's entrance. One of the terrorists tried to shoot them, but Chris got him first, the second one screaming he would surrender. Buck punched him out just to be on the safe side.
Looking around the empty bridge, Wilmington cursed softly. They were moving and they were gaining speed. It wasn't a full thrust run yet, but their speed was climbing. He fiddled with the controls, then gnashed his teeth.
"The bomb severed all links to the engine controls. We can't stop!" he said as he moved between the radar screen and various navigational computers.
Chris felt a cold wave rush through him. "Any way to cut off the engines by force?" he now asked.
"Dunno. This place looks like Mission Control!"
Larabee grabbed a wrench and eyed the computer banks. "Let's see how long it takes to hit the autopilot," he commented and smashed the next best control panel he found.
A fountain of sparks was the only visible effect.
"Smooth," Wilmington chuckled wryly.
Chris smashed a computer screen and a digital display with the same result. "I don't think this is working. What if we blow the connection between the engines and the thrusters?"
Buck smiled grimly. "If you wanna blow up the whole ship while doing so, yes, that's a way. Right now we have got no access to emergency shut down whatsoever."
"We have to evacuate the ship!" Chris growled, idly swinging the wrench.
"We can't! Everything's dead! We can't do anything but watch reports from the sensors come in and pray! The cargo doors won't open, much less the emergency trap doors to the outside!" Buck gave a frustrated hiss.
"We have twenty people on board and they need to get off this floating piece of junk!" Chris ground out. "No ship can dock while she is moving so fast and we have less and less time!"
The other Agent stared at the space station coming closer. "I'd say we have no time," he whispered almost inaudibly.
Chris looked at the view screen, realizing what was coming.
"I should have stayed in bed," the other Buck muttered. He looked at his read-outs. "We got fires down below."
"Where?"
"Near the engines."
The ship shuddered beneath him like an angry dog trying to rid itself of its fleas.
"You stay here and ..... do whatever!" Chris ordered.
"And where do you think you're going?"
"Blowing the cargo doors!"
With that he was gone.
The old metal structure of the station was looming up before them now, the Aro moving faster and faster. Buck's face was expressionless as the freighter kept bearing down on the unmoving object, knowing it was inevitable.

* * *

The hostages watched in dread as the ship moved closer. No one was able to tear their eyes away from the screen which gave them a direct link to the outside cameras.
"Brace for impact!" Vin yelled.
With a rending sound of steel against steel, the Aro sideswiped the station. People screamed as they were thrown from their places, sprawling and tumbling as the floor beneath them heaved and pitched. The Aro ran its nose along the side of the outer left part of the space station with a loud, grinding and crunching noise. The space station's outer part crumbled like paper. Paint scraped off the ship as it moved on relentlessly.
Somewhere, the outer hull bent under the impact, rupturing. Steel plates were torn apart, sparks igniting a small fire down in the storage areas, smoke pouring out into the corridors. Fire alarms sounded and the automatic firefighting system began a hopeless battle inside a dying ship.
More steel plates began to bulge inward like paper.... and broke.
Something clung to the freighter, looking like a giant thorn now slicing the side open. It was some obscene bent and twisted metal arm from the space station, cutting through the weakened structure like a knife through butter. As the Aro went forward, the arm pulled tight against the steel plates of the ship's side. Rivets popped and ricocheted off the walls like jumbo-sized bullets. The plates fell off the ship like playing cards. Then the arm ripped free, taking some more plates with it.
 

Chris held on to whatever he could, the ship tilting wildly, tossing and bucking, metal creaking and groaning around him. His muscles were strained to painful maximum. With shaking hands, he strapped himself to the wall, using the harness of his suit which looked like a climber's gear. His left wrist throbbed painfully and his right shoulder was on fire. Cursing softly he started to hit a series of switches which would manually override the cargo door controls. The force field keeping the oxygen level up was barely functional and he didn't know if it would survive the rescue shuttle's entry, but he hoped so. Otherwise they were dead.
DO YOU WANT TO OPEN CARGO DOOR 1?
Chris hissed in pain as the ship bucked again and suddenly made a slight tilt to the left. He was slammed into the wall and started to see stars.

*

"Goddamnit!"
Heather Zanardi, pilot of the Minotaur's rescue shuttle, stared at the huge bulk in front of her. She kept her  eyes fixed on the moving freighter as she piloted the shuttle closer to the moving behemoth.
"Speed has slowed down somewhat," her co-pilot announced. "They are still bearing down on the main section."
"Get ready," was all she whispered.

*

The freighter's prow crashed into the space station's main body. The impact against the metal bulk threw everyone forward. Those down in the conference room tumbled around while the bridge crew was introduced to the navigational controls and computers. Travis held on to Ezra, who was gritting his teeth.
The Aro ripped through the observation dome of the space station, splintering it. With a rumble like hell opening itself up, the heavy load ship pushed deeper and further.

*

Chris was barely able to see, hearing explosions all around him, but he managed to key in the last commands and the cargo doors opened more.
He heard another explosion.

*

This would be a close call, Zanardi thought wildly. They had to go in through the partially open cargo doors, get everyone out, then move away before the freighter blew.
"Shuttle to Minotaur," she opened a line. "We're moving closer."
"Acknowledged," came the Minotaur's reply.
"Cargo hold in sight," she announced, steering the small shuttle after the giant freighter, keeping out of the way of debris flying left and right. "Going in," she added levelly.
The shuttle dove for the hole in the ship's belly, making a murderous run for the Aro.
 

Vin had no idea how they actually made it. He and Travis were supporting Ezra, who was fading more and more. He thanked the Powers that the painkillers were still effective. The hangar bay was one level down from the conference room and despite the bucking freighter, they managed the distance with the least amount of bruises. Vin whispered another thank you as he discovered the Minotaur's shuttle.
"Get into the shuttle!" the woman standing next to the lowered ramp yelled. "Fast!"
No one was arguing about anything. The freighter was now shaking more, groaning and twisting, and Vin thought he heard more steel plates snap off. Travis was still holding on to Ezra, his own uniform saturated in the younger Agent's blood and sweat..
"I can handle him," the older man said firmly, voice low as he nodded at Vin.
Vin returned the nod, face hard, no emotions showing. Only his eyes told the truth.
"Situation?" Tanner demanded as he stopped next to the woman.
"You are stuck in the station, but the engines are still on-line. Where are the others?"
Vin had checked in with both Chris and Buck, and had found Buck halfway between the hangar and the bridge. Chris was somewhere on this level.
The Aro bucked and nearly swiped them off their feet. Somewhere, something exploded.
"There they are!" Vin felt relief hit him.
Chris and Buck stumbled into the hangar, both looking battered and bruised.
"You - inside!" the woman ordered. "Now!"
They didn't argue. They just ran up the ramp.

*

The engines were by now making loud, grinding noises and vibrating like mad. Small explosions rocked the freighter, which was pushing both his own weight and that of the space station. The engines were strained beyond maximum and here and there pipes blew. Lights flashed on monitor screens and an electronic warning beep sounded throughout the engine room.
There was no one left to hear it.
There were by now so many red lights flashing on all the control boards that they were like Christmas decoration.
The needles on the engine dials were now in the red zone, almost hitting the highest marking, and hooters sounded alert on all engine room levels. And then it happened.
The tempered steel back of engine 5 lifted off. The blast was enough to mow down the wall between this room and the next one. Elsewhere, engine parts whistled like artillery shells and destroyed what they hit. The exploding engine caused the entire ship to tilt to one side, groaning and creaking dangerously. Anything not bolted down inside was flung everywhere, crashing into walls, ceilings and the floor. On the empty bridge, monitors and digital displays lit up.
And then the whole engine section exploded.

*

Vin willed the shuttle to go faster. It was already giving all it got and he knew it would not be fast enough. Everyone was strapped in as best as was possible. And then the shock wave hit them.
The shuttle tumbled almost out of control and the passengers screamed in fear and shock. The pilot and co-pilot hung on to their seats, faces grim and set. Vin had closed his eyes, breathing hard, his body pressed into the emergency security vest he, and everyone else, was wearing and which secured him to the shuttle's wall.
Finally everything quieted down.
"Damage report!" the pilot snapped.
"We lost some of the paint job, but everything is in the green," her co-pilot reported after some checking.
Vin breathed a sigh of relief.
Suddenly he noticed Chris's expression. He was barely fast enough as his commander lost all remaining color and his eyes rolled up in his head. There was a faint gasp of pain coming from his lips, then he was unconscious.
Vin ignored the others around him and dragged the lean form over to where Travis was sitting with Ezra. Standish was deathly pale, head against the Judge's shoulder, and his breathing was ragged and uneven, rasping over his dry lips. One hand was clenched into the Judge's vest, holding on for dear life.
"Painkiller wore off," the older man said softly, running a soothing hand over the sweaty hair.
Vin nodded. The shields had gone down so fast, Chris's brain hadn't even had the time to translate the impulses into a scream of pain. He had simply collapsed from a neural overload. Vin briefly checked on Larabee, noting the steady pulse, then did the same for Ezra. He frowned. Standish's was shallow and too fast, his breathing bordering on erratic.
Not good. Really not good.
"How is he?" Buck's somber voice interrupted his musings.
"He'll make it," Travis told him, never stopping his caress.
"Yeah, well, he's stubborn enough," Vin agreed, drawing a tight, wry smile from his boss.
"He has his healing abilities working for him," Buck muttered.
"They can't reproduce blood in the same amount as he is loosing it. He needs medical help."
Buck placed a hand on his partner's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. Vin briefly closed his eyes, his own adrenaline levels going down and his exhaustion going up.
Travis nodded. "He'll make it anyway," he repeated.
Vin settled down beside him, Chris still in his arms, face grim. Buck joined them, one hand secretly rubbing over Vin's thigh reassuringly.

* * *

Ezra woke to the feeling of someone being  with him, very close, hovering. He was confused as to what had happened, his mind fuzzy, and his body didn't seem to respond to his brain's commands. The presence drew closer, calming him as panic flashed because he couldn't remember, soothing his fear.
<Shhhh.... It's all right. You are in the hospital> a voice whispered. <We're back home>
<Chris?> he asked weakly.
The presence came closer and he drew an immense comfort from his lover's nearness. His mind was a mess and he couldn't really think straight. He had one anchor and that was Larabee.
<Relax> Chris said softly, reaching out, interweaving their individual strands of consciousness.
<How bad?> Ezra asked, insisting to stay awake.
<Bad enough>
And Chris enveloped him in his presence, cushioned him against the input from everywhere, hugging him close. Ezra just sank into the contact. He felt Chris's worry, his pain, his desperation, and he shared it all. His lover and partner opened up, drew him in, needing to know and wanting to Ezra to see. Ezra just floated in the protective embrace, smiling.
<I love you> Chris whispered fiercely.
The thief snuggled closer, feeling lips on his own as the Bond reestablished itself with all its strength, enabling the two men to touch without being physically close. He answered the kiss, drawing Chris nearer, meshing their minds, sinking deeper.
He didn't know how long it lasted, but the connection was a warm, wondrous world, energizing him, revitalizing their Bond on all levels.
Ezra finally managed to open his eyes in the 'real' world and blinked, feeling tired despite the energy that flowed through him from Chris's touch. He looked right into a pair of blue eyes. He couldn't attach a name to the woman's face hovering above him and he was slightly panicky that he hadn't heard her come in.
"Mr. Standish?" she asked.
"Yes?" he whispered.
At least he tried. His voice was barely audible, the word just a scratchy imitation of the real thing.
"Do you know where you are?"
Ezra swallowed and tried to nod. "Yes," he rasped again.
"Okay. I'll call Dr. Jackson. Just relax." She smiled and left.
Ezra turned his head and tried to find any sign of Chris, but his partner was only present in his mind.
<Nate kicked me out an hour ago and said not to come back before morning> Chris explained, amusement in his voice. Said I needed sleep or I'd scare you when you woke>
<Oh>
Ezra picked up an image of Chris laying on his side in his bed, eyes half closed, the room dark. But there was also the intention to get up, take a shower and go over to the medical bay.
<Lay back and relax, partner. We'll talk more later> Chris sent a soft kiss through the Bond and Ezra smiled.
<Promise?> It sounded almost plaintive.
<Promise. Love you>
Warmth flooded through him and Ezra curled closer to the feeling Chris evoked.
"Ezra?"
The voice startled him and Standish dragged himself out of his mind long enough to acknowledge Nathan. "Nathan," he murmured.
"Good to see you awake. You gave us quite a scare."
"Wasn't my intention," he rasped.
"Let's check you out. I bet that partner of yours is even now on his way, hm?"
Ezra smiled weakly. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"Uh-huh." Jackson didn't look convinced.
The thief felt his lover's presence, felt the embrace and the gentle whisper of lips against his temple, and he relaxed as Nathan started his exam.

* * *

The sunrise had been spectacular and it promised to be a wonderfully sunny day, though not hot. Clouds dotted the blue sky and a gentle breeze was blowing. Gras bowed under the soft wind, rustling now and then, and the sound of cattle and horses drifted across the pasture closest to the ranch house.
Sharron Larabee stood framed in the door leading out of the kitchen into the sun-speckled yard with its small garden. The freshly painted barn gleamed dark red in the early noon light. Whinnies drifted over from the stables and she smiled as some of the ranchhands waved a greeting at her. It was close to the cattle auctions and the Larabee Ranch was bustling with activity to round up the cows, calves and steers to be sold at the annual grand sale and auction in Hay River. Her husband was already there, staking out his territory, and in two more days, everything around here would be a lot more quiet.
She walked back into the kitchen, took the glasses and carafe of lemonade, and proceeded to the other side of the house, which was currently bathed completely in sunlight. On the porch's comfy chair, wrapped in a homemade blanket, sat Ezra Standish. He was cuddled against Chris, who had his arm around the smaller man, and apparently asleep.
Sharron walked silently to the table and deposited the lemonade on it.
"Thanks, Mom," Chris said softly.
"How is he?"
"Still tired, but as you saw last night, he eats more. Had a bit of breakfast this morning and I've hopes to get lunch into him today, too."
She smiled. "He looks better, too."
Ezra had been a pale ghost of himself when he had arrived. She had been shocked by it, just like her husband, and had immediately taken to mothering over the injured man. Her son's soul mate and life partner. Ezra had been too tired to protest and when he had regained his verbal strength Sharron had in no uncertain terms informed him that she wouldn't take no for an answer. Ezra had simply surrendered.
Neither she nor Daniel had a clear idea just what had happened, only that it had been in the line of duty and that it had something to do with the vague references made on TV about a kidnapped freighter and some high officials. Chris couldn't give them all the facts and somehow, it wasn't important. What was important was the health of Ezra Standish.
Despite their rocky start, Sharron had developed a motherly relationship with the younger man, getting to know him better through letters and calls, and the occasional family visit. Today, Ezra was as much part of the family as Chris, and Sharron had finally come to understand what it was those two men shared. Not just the ability to communicate almost telepathically, but a connection that could never be severed. It was humbling to discover this bond, the depth of the link, and amazing to see them together.
Chris and Ezra would be here for another two weeks and from the looks of it, they both needed it. While Ezra had been the one injured, Chris had suffered on a mental basis.
"His healing factor is kicking in slowly," Chris murmured, caressing his partner. "The injury was serious, so his recovery took longer and he's still very sore, and he tires easily. His metabolism requires a lot of energy to heal him and his nutritional intake is not as it should be."
Sharron nodded. She knew about Ezra's abilities, aside from the shape-changing, and anyone else with the same injury would probably still be in the hospital. And she had a sharp eye on how much he ate, always putting a second serving onto his plate. Most of the time, it got her the evil eye. Sometimes it got her a defiant glare. Neither ever worked, really. She was a mother; little could sway her from caring for a child of hers.
"Do you need anything, Chris?" she wanted to know. "I'm going into town later."
Chris shook his head. "Nope, don't think so. Thanks."
"You're welcome." Sharron gave him another warm smile, which grew as she saw Ezra move sleepily and Chris adjust his hold on his partner.
Then she walked back into the house, leaving the two men to themselves.

* * *

"It was too close, way too close," Chris murmured, running his hand gently over the arm of the man laying against him.
Ezra was on the couch of the guest house, one armed curled over his still sore side, eyes half closed as he enjoyed the attention. He was leaning against Chris’s chest, settled between the taller man’s legs, a blanket over them. It was a place he wouldn’t mind staying for a long, long time. The emotional Bond between them was wide open, no shields, no blocks, no walls. Chris still needed the reassurance that Ezra was healing, that he was fine, that he was there for him.
Ezra, for his part, accepted the sometimes possessive hold of his lover, and he held on to Chris in turn. He needed his partner and Chris needed him.
Three weeks had passed since the incident aboard the Aro; one week of which he had  stayed in the medical ward, having Nathan remark on his healing skills, and suffering the endless procession of checks and examinations. Ezra had been sick and tired of it by day three and had been ready to commit any crime just to get out by day five. Nathan had finally taken pity on him, confining him to his quarters. He was to be off duty, and Chris had been sworn to watch his partner. If this had hit anyone else, he'd still be in intensive care, fighting to live, but except for an angry red scar, Ezra had healed. He was way too thin, still. His metabolism was demanding energy at an exceptional rate and Chris's mother had taken to cooking high energy food for her 'patient'.
It had been Chris's idea to come home to his parents' ranch, to get away from Four Corners and everything connected to the Agency, and while Ezra had first argued that he didn't want to impose himself, his partner had won in the end. They had gone and it had done him a world of good. The scar would remain, of course. Even his healing abilities couldn't handle that much, but except for the soreness and missing weight, he was back to his old self. Especially mentally.
"I know. But it turned out well," he murmured.
Chris shook his head. "It's a risk I no longer accept," he stated, startling the thief.
"Chris, it's the job." Ezra twisted his head to look at his lover.
Hazel eyes met green ones and the expression alarmed the younger man.
<"Chris?">
"Travis approached me," Larabee said.
Ezra blinked. Okay, change of topic? He carefully probed the Bond and found Chris's thoughts in controlled turmoil. Something was bothering his lover and it wasn't just the latest close call. There was subliminal tension there, which was slowly spreading through his body as well.
"About what?"
The blond rubbed a hand over his face. "The Judge told me that he's planning his retirement. Not now, not in a week, but in the next two years."
Ezra slowly got himself into a sitting position, ignoring the twinges. By the end of the weekend, he wouldn't even feel those anymore. He turned and looked at the man who held part of his soul, who was his missing half.
"Chris?"
"Before we met, Ezra, I once told Travis that when he leaves, so will I."
Puzzlement hit the thief. <Chris?>
His partner shook his head. "Back then I was unwilling to adjust to another commanding officer. Travis had gone through a lot of shit with me, we understood each other, I knew where I was with him. A lot has changed since then. For one, you came into my life."
He smiled and Ezra found himself returning the smile, but he was still confused. Chris sighed deeply, then looked up once more.
"Ezra, Travis made me an offer. When he goes, take over in his place."
Ezra knew his mouth was hanging open. Something inside of him echoed the hope and joy he felt from Chris. He had been hoping to one day be free of the Agency, the constant danger, but he had also been aware of how much his lover was interwoven with law enforcement. Chris came from a family of officers, it was in his blood. In a way, Ezra had resigned himself to that life, as long as Chris lived it.
Now...
"Will you accept?" he asked, mouth dry.
"I don't have to decide right away," was the slow answer. "And it will mean a lot of changes."
"What changes?"
"The team, for instance. Buck has said more than once he's getting too old for the daily shit of battling it out with smugglers and pirates. I know he was simply voicing his anger about a lot of things, sometimes joking, but there is a grain of truth. He and Vin want a future together. Just like I want one with you."
Ezra smiled. <You have it.>
Serious hazel eyes met Ezra's green ones. <Not like that. Not living in the fear of seeing you gunned down, Ezra> A strong hand touched his ribs, brushing over the sweater. "Josiah has expressed his interest in teaching part time. As has Nathan. If I take the job, there won't be a new team leader taking my place."
"You mean... the Chimera will be disbanded?"
"No. Section 7 will be restructured. It has been happening over the past two years. Small changes here and there. When Travis goes, more will change. If I take over, Vin will get the team if he wants to. Buck... well, I want him as my second. Travis agrees that restructuring the whole damn department will probably make us more effective. As the man in charge, I won't be out of the loop when it comes to operations. I'm not just bound to my desk. Buck and I will be in direct contact with the team leaders, and we'll still be active Agents. The Chimera will remain, two men shorter, but they will still be there - if Nathan and Josiah agree to continue their work, with a slight change of mission directives. Chimera will be the training facility for not all Agents. And I know you've been considering breaching the subject of Borderline humans among us. Agents with talents. Agents with gifts. I know you have talked to some, gotten them to trust you, show you their abilities. They can be an asset neither I nor Travis wants to lose."
Ezra stared at his lover in amazement. <And you're just 'considering' the offer?> he teased, eyes laughing.
Chris chuckled. <Gave it some thought already> His hand had slipped to the small of Ezra's back. <Actually, I hadn't really wanted to breach all of this to you until later....>
<Presenting me with the facts?>
<Kinda> Chris smiled apologetically. <I know you've been wanting out of this, but...>
"Shhhh," Ezra whispered, placing two fingers on the motionless lips. "I'll be where you are, Chris Larabee, and you know it."
<And I want you by my side, but no longer a direct target. You're a damn good Agent, Ezra, but that doesn't go hand in hand with dangerous operations, always playing the punching ball>
<Job description> was the only comment.
<No. Not any longer. I can’t risk losing you, Ezra. I can’t….>
Standish leaned forward and brushed his lips over his lover’s. <No one says you will>
<I can minimize that risk. I want to. We have a life to live. Together.>
The thief swallowed, strangely touched by the simple words.
<So... you're going to accept it?>
<I still have to give it a lot more thought>
"Chris, it's a good choice to accept," Ezra said seriously.
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Hey, I'm already used to sleeping with my boss," Ezra teased.
Chris laughed, kissing him gently. Settling Ezra against him again, they stayed like this for a while, wrapped in each other's arms. Chris drew strength from the smaller man, more than he could tell anyone in words. He would make his decision when he knew all the facts, had placed all his demands, and then, he would let everyone know.