Be Still My Heart
By:
Heidi
Category: ATF, Hurt/Comfort, Ezra & Vin
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the
television
show "The Magnificent Seven". No copyright
infringement intended to
CBS, TNN, MGM, Hallmark, Trilogy, Mirisch, or any
others holding the
rights. No profit will be made from this work.
Warnings: A few bad words, some hurt and angst.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Cin for the plot bunny!
Special shout out to the birthday girl BARB!
Part One
"One more week, Ez," Vin reminded his partner.
"And leave this oh-so-charming assignment? For
shame, Mr. Tanner,
for thinking our talents are squandered here."
"I ain't arguin' about it again." The Texan shook
his head and
continued checking the case of alcohol for
stickers on the bottle
tops.
"Let's review, shall we? You drove the car."
"Stop," Tanner warned.
"Yes, you did stop the car. By running it onto a
pier and forcing
the man into the water."
"We caught the suspect."
"After you made me go in after him." Ezra's voice
was full of
outrage.
"He didn't resist," Vin pointed out.
"He was drowning!"
"Reckon I mighta asked if he knew how ta swim
first."
Ezra rolled his eyes.
"Yer fancy swimmin' lessons paid off."
"Ruined my suit, for which you still owe me."
"Ain't me that crossed yer suit off the expense
report."
"I know." He drew out know. "Mr. Larabee
subjugates me into a
pauper wearing rags with his tightwad tendencies."
"Like ya don't have a closet full of suits."
"There was only one of that particular fabric and
cut, and it cost me
thousands!"
"Ya paid too much."
"Pride in one's appearance has always been
tantamount."
"That's why ya look so glamorous in them khakis
checkin' tax stamps
here."
"I blame you."
"And we're back ta the beginnin' again." Vin
smirked, and threw in
an eye roll for good measure.
"You should have anticipated the fact that
decrepit pile of rotten
wood would not hold the weight of the car and
collapse."
"We were due fer a new car."
"Because you destroyed our last new car by sinking
it three feet into
mud beneath that pile of wood laughingly called a
pier. Since this
was the fourth vehicle in three months, the ATF
was rather
displeased."
"Travis got his butt chewed, and it rolled
downhill ta us. Get over
it, Ez, happens enough."
"I refuse to get over it. Vin, we are in Outer
Boondocks, USA
checking tax stamps on alcohol bottles at a local,
compliant
distributor, with one week left rotting here
before we get
transferred to yet another exotic locale for yet
another week of
menial labor with the intellectual stimulation at
the level of
chewing gum." Ezra reached over to punch Vin in
the arm.
Vin punched back.
They both grinned, ready for a little tussle to
break the monotony.
"Don't start somethin' ya will lose," the Texan
drawled.
"I don't play to lose," Ezra drawled back.
The door opening across the back room caused them
to fall silent and
continue working. Footfalls came closer,
announcing a new arrival.
"Agents, how are you doing?"
"Just fine, Warden," Ezra drawled.
"Warren, Agent Standish. Supervisory Agent
Warren."
"Of course."
Vin hid his amusement; that was one of the jokes
Ezra prolonged, and
Warren was clueless to the insult. Their sense of
humor kept things
interesting no matter how boring the job, or
annoying the temporary
supervisor.
"Good news. That's the last two cases from here.
When you're
finished, I want you to check out the satellite
packaging plant about
fifty miles from here. It's a pretty drive; it
will give you a nice
break."
Tanner figured that meant it was it was further
into the rural part
of the state than here, and probably the only
thing they would see
would be cows or farm fields.
"Lovely. I do so enjoy an outing into fresh air."
Vin wanted boots to protect him from the sarcasm
piling up on the
floor.
"You've got such a positive attitude, Agent
Standish." Warren
beamed, oblivious to Ezra's smiling insults. "I
don't know why
Assistant Director Travis felt it necessary to do
surprise
inspections or send you boys out here, but we
welcome the assistance."
"I'm sure you do." Standish shot a significant
sour look to Tanner.
Vin smirked. "Reckon the AD just likes ta help out
where he can.
Figured we were the men for the job. Ya got
directions ta the place
we're going?"
"Oh yes, typed out nice and neat." Warren handed
them to Vin.
Ezra snatched them from Vin's hands. "I'll be
driving, thank you.
Are we done here, Agent Warden?"
"Warren, it's Warren. And yes, if you finished
those two cases,
you're done."
"Excellent." Ezra closed the box back up and left
without a backward
glance.
"Go on, Agent Tanner. I'll clean up here." Warren
patted him on the
back.
Vin barely stopped himself from decking the man.
First, they were
senior Agents to him; they did not deserve to get
condescended to by
a man with no clue of the real job in the ATF, and
third, they were
not under his command. They were operating
independently, reporting
in to the local Agent just as a courtesy, not
actually accountable to
him. However, Warren seemed to think they were his
personal go fetch
boys, and that was driving him nuts. Plus the
touchy-feely crap; Vin
was a man who didn't let anyone close unless he
wanted them there,
and a stranger or overly-friendly co-worker
putting hands on him
rankled. He couldn't wait to leave either.
Once he managed to leave without offending Warren,
he found Ezra with
the car running and ready to go. He barely got his
seatbelt on
before Standish took off, stopping at the nearest
gas station to fuel
up. Vin, of course, had to pump; Ezra refused to
dirty himself
further than necessary.
As anticipated, they saw cows and farm fields, and
not much else.
The near monotony of it about drove them insane;
the only saving
grace was their conversation, a combination of
banter and insults.
"You must be joking."
"Nope."
"They truly package alcohol here?" Contempt filled
the green gaze.
The buildings were run-down, with every third or
fourth showing a
collapsed wall or roof. A faded, peeling sign
pronounced, "Rocky Peak
Industrial Center", strategically located in the
front of a pile of
something vaguely resembling a building.
"Says ta go ta the back," Vin read from the
directions.
"Will we come out again?" Ezra asked skeptically.
"I anticipate
hearing the theme from Deliverance at any moment."
"Ya wanna have Travis know we're chickenshit about
goin' back there?"
"Point taken." Standish drove into the industrial
park, dodging
potholes the size of a chassis and weaving worse
than a drunk.
"Keep missin' them sinkholes. I ain't writin'
another report on us
losin' a car."
"I have more care than you. I am the one of the
very few on our team
that has not destroyed a vehicle. Therefore, I
drive, you observe."
"Think that might be it." Vin indicated a building
that was intact,
recently painted, and had a profusion of trucks
around it.
"And I thought we would drive to the rubble past
it. How observant
you are."
"Just park, ya smart ass. Sooner we finish, the
quicker we leave."
"Then yes, please don't dawdle."
Both men went inside. They were greeted
immediately by the
receptionist, who, smiling the entire time,
jabbered on and on about
the company while taking them back to the
packaging area. It was
neat and clean, well organized, and from the
surprised employee
expressions, their arrival was not expected. They
met with the on-
duty shift supervisor, then set to work.
Monotony again quickly set in. This company never
had a single
violation. Despite their remote location, Vin and
Ezra found
nothing. Since surprise inspections like this
happened once a year
or so, it wasn't startling to see compliance. They
were bored, and
that was a dangerous state for them to be in.
When they overheard the location of a still –
through the paper thin
walls – from one old-timer telling his grandson
where to find it to
get him some moonshine, the two ATF Agents perked
up. Betraying
nothing, they finished their inspection and left.
Agent Warren was
called and told they completed their assignment.
He gave them the
rest of the day off, not that he had to. Left with
plenty of time on
their own, they returned to the hotel to plan.
"Another disaster free day," Chris announced. He
leaned against his
office doorframe.
"There's a miracle, Josiah," Buck said.
"How long will it last?" asked JD.
"Anyone care to bet?" Nathan looked up from his
case file and
smiled. "Figure Ezra would do the same."
"The Good Lord's providence only lasts so long,"
Josiah
intoned. "Twenty on tomorrow."
"Tonight." Buck tossed his money in.
"Saturday, when the locals are home and no one can
hear them
scream." Chris put his in.
"I'll take Sunday," JD said.
Outfitted with hiking gear and evidence collection
apparatus, Vin and
Ezra left their car at the entrance lot for the
local national park.
They checked in with the ranger on duty, simply
stating they planned
to hike then camp for the night. Other than their
personal driver's
licenses they did not identify themselves as ATF
agents.
Then the hike started. To camouflage their true
purpose, they had
poured over maps, roughly determining the location
of the still. It
was on the far end of the park, so they decided to
pretend to hike
and camp. Instead of camping, they hiked. And
hiked. And Ezra
complained, until it became another session of
wheedling each other.
"How much farther?"
"Stow it."
"Are we there yet?"
"Ya say ya gotta pee, I'll punch ya ta make ya go
in yer pants." Vin
continued to lead their single file trek on the
narrow paths.
"You do that, my friend, and I would seriously
debate the wisdom of
falling asleep."
Vin snorted. "Ya ain't that good or brave."
"Test me."
"Just might, if ya keep bitchin'."
"I do not bitch," Ezra huffed.
"And Chris don't glare." Vin let a leafy branch
snap back into
Ezra's face.
Ezra ducked and talked without missing a beat.
"Saying Mr. Larabee
does not glare would be like saying Mr. Sanchez
renounced all his
spirituality. It will never happen."
"So you bitch, Chris glares, and Josiah's
spiritual."
"And you are – "
Vin held a hand up for silence. He motioned Ezra
off the path and
pushed them down to the ground. "Heard somethin'
comin'," he mouthed
at his friend.
Ezra listened, then pointed to his ears and shook
his head no.
Tanner held up a finger, and then the noise became
apparent. Across
the path, a mother doe and her fawn slowly made
their way through the
woods.
Vin smiled, and was pleased to see Ezra did too.
They stayed where
they were for a few minutes to let the mother and
child get clear of
them before they continued.
What seemed like a day later, they reached a rise
above the supposed
still and stared down.
"I don't see it," Ezra whispered.
"There." Vin pointed with his finger.
"Ah, yes. Well hidden."
"Don't see anyone around. Might as well get some
pictures and
evidence."
"A sample, of course?"
"Of course."
Grinning, the two men slowly approached the still,
finding and
avoiding the various traps set around it to keep
the wild animals –
and two legged variety – away from the promise of
honeydew vine
water. They photographed the area, tasted it and
declared it very
good, and then collected several jugs of
"evidence". Mission
complete, they picked up their gear and prepared
to leave.
Part Two
There was a distinctive sound to gunfire. Breaking
that down
further, a handgun sounds different than a rifle,
which sounds
differently than a shotgun. A shotgun stands in a
class by itself
for characteristic blast. Racking a shotgun, or
putting a round in
the chamber, was a noise that brought involuntary
shivers to the
listener, unless the listener was holding the
shotgun.
Ezra did not hear the rack, but he heard the
report. Then the wooden
post between him and Vin splintered, shot
spreading everywhere. He
heard the second priming of the weapon to fire,
and he dove at Vin.
All he thought was to get them out of the line of
fire. His tackle
pushed them behind a large tree.
That's when he felt the sting in his side. He
ignored it while
pushing himself tighter behind the cover of the
old trunk.
"Aw, hell," Vin muttered. His weapon was out and
an extension of his
hand.
"I second that," Ezra whispered.
The tree splintered around them.
"Ya get an idea where it's comin' from?"
"You are the sharpshooter. You should know."
"Ya thinkin' at the top of the rise where we
were?"
"That's my guess. I heard the echo of the rack."
"Then we're sitting ducks here."
"You think?" Ezra drawled.
Another round of shot hit the tree they so
inelegantly hid behind.
"Maybe. On three go fer the hill and slide down.
Can't hit what
they can't see."
"My three or your three?"
"Mine. Ready?"
"No. Does that matter?"
"No. One, three!"
Vin and Ezra rolled out from behind the tree,
popping off shots at
different points at the top of the ridge. Since
there was no
answering fire, they figured that they were close
enough to cause
their shooter – or shooters – to duck.
Both men ran down the ridge, opting to slide more
than walk so they
were flush against the ground, as much as their
packs allowed. This
prevented their heads from being something to aim
at, and neither man
wanted a bullet or shot as a souvenir.
At the bottom, they looked up, and then broke for
the protection of
the thick copse of trees that surrounded the
flatlands. Neither
stopped their flight until they were deep into the
greenery. It
seemed like miles, but the sameness of the forest
kept them from
knowing how far they traveled. When they did
finally stop, they
listened for the sounds of pursuit.
Vin's sharp ears picked up nothing and he said as
much. Then he
threw in an insult for good measure. "Ya oughta be
ashamed of
yerself, Ez. Ya ran like a scared rabbit."
"Following your lead, Mr. Tanner," Ezra wheezed
back. For some
reason, pulling a deep breath gave him a sharp
pain in his side; he
really thought his fitness regime kept him prime
for anything. He
guessed they crossed at least a couple miles in
their journey, and
wondered why the hell they did that instead of
stopping, doubling
back, and returning to their car. That would have
been the
intelligent thing. Of course, how often could they
be accused of
doing the intelligent thing? Didn't Mr. Larabee
often lament loud
and long about their harebrained ideas and damn
foolish behavior?
Didn't Mr. Larabee understand the spur of the
moment decisions that
were made, and usually worked out to their
benefit? That they
trusted their instincts? Ezra forced those
thoughts away to hear the
return salvo from his friend, and prepare a
comeback.
"Like hell. I woulda shot them, but ya were lookin'
a bit scared."
"Because you did not move after the first shot,"
he retorted.
"I was scopin' out where the shots came from," Vin
replied.
"Continue to tell yourself that. Now we must get
out of here and
report our findings," Ezra decided.
"Would be nice if we figured out where we were
first 'fore we decide
where we're goin'." Vin pulled out the map.
"The park is not that large, Mr. Tanner. Use your
excellent
navigation skills to find our way out." His side
was aching
something fierce, and he promised himself he would
adjust his workout
in the near future to get into better shape. This
was appalling. He
studied the Texan checking compass readings, GPS
readings off his
map, and comparing them to map.
"Ez?"
"Yes?"
"We have a problem."
"What's that?" He leaned back against a tree
trying to catch his
breath.
"We ain't in the park. We're on someone's land
now. That means
we're fair game if they decide ta chase us."
Ezra sighed. He pulled his cellphone from his
pocket. "Typical. No
signal."
"I got our location. We have ta hike that way."
Vin pointed. "Ya
ready?"
"Does that matter?"
"No." Tanner started hiking deeper into the thick
copse of trees.
"Of course not." Ezra trudged along, following his
friend. After a
short time, the catch in his side became
full-blown pain, and the
pack was rubbing him raw. He did not want to
complain, but it was
beyond unbearable. "Vin," he rasped.
"Yeah?" Ever alert, the Texan turned and faced
him. "Aw, hell, Ez!
Why didn't ya say anythin'?" Tanner rushed to his
side and helped
him onto the ground.
Ezra yelped. Undignified, but he couldn't help it;
landing on his
backside caused significant pain on one side of
his body, and his
pain receptors were on overload. "Must you be so
rough?"
"Damn it, Ez, I wish you would have said somethin'
instead of
bleeding and sufferin' in silence like some damn
fool." Vin stripped
Ezra's pack off, and then stretched him out on his
good side.
Tanner's own pack landed beside Standish's.
"Bleeding?" Ezra latched onto the one word that
sent off warning
bells to his self-preservation system. "I'm
bleeding?"
"Hell, from the looks of it, ya caught a load of
buckshot on yer side
when ya pushed me outta the way. Stupid fool
Southerner."
"You owe me," Ezra retorted faintly. He then felt
very lightheaded
and closed his eyes.
He didn't hear Vin whisper, "I know,"
What a fine mess they were in. Ezra was shot, they
were now on
private property which may or may not belong to
the moonshiners, and
the park boundaries meant nothing to people who
had the audacity to
put a still on Federal land. A couple of campers
would not be
missed for some time; the ranger would leave for
the night, and of
course, they didn't know whether the ranger
station was manned twenty
four hours, or if there was a callbox to get
someone there after
hours.
He was a fool, and his friend would pay the price.
They should have
called this in, had backup waiting, instead of
rushing in pell-mell
and ending up in one of their usual disasters.
This time, there
weren't five friends waiting to bail them out,
either. They'd told
no one of their investigation, and now he had to
treat this like
hostile territory.
Checking their location against the map, he
realized that they were
about a mile or so from a good, defensible
position inside the park.
The only problem would be getting there and not
leaving too many
tracks. Then there was Ezra to consider. Passed
out and injured,
Ezra was not going to be walking that mile. In
fact, Vin could just
hear Nathan telling him that Ezra was not to be
moved unless
necessary.
His own cell phone had no signal, and of course he
didn't think to
bring the satellite phone. No, that would have
made sense. Reckon
he was running short on that.
First things first. Moving Ezra's clothes to get a
better look, he
saw the shot pieces running from the hip, across a
buttock and his
lower back, and halfway up his side toward his
armpit. Looks like
that tree they hid behind wasn't good enough cover
for both of them.
What to do? Should he drag Ezra to the safer
campsite and then tend
his wounds, or tend them now and chance them
opening up again during
the hike? How exactly was he going to haul Ezra a
mile or so?
Ezra's green eyes opened slowly to stare at him.
"What?"
"Ya passed out. Now stay still."
"Are we safe?" Standish kept his voice low.
"No." He wasn't about to lie.
"How bad?"
"Ya will be fine. Once I get ya some help."
Ezra gripped Vin's hand. "Vin."
Damn. He couldn't resist it when Ezra looked him
square in the eye
and asked for the truth, whether spoken or
unspoken, with a simple
look and intelligent green eyes. They'd been
through too much
together.
"We need to get a mile or so before we have a good
camp. I'm
thinkin' on how ta carry ya. I don't want ya
walkin' cuz of that
lead in your side. Ya bled for a while without
treatin' it."
The Southerner took a deep breath. "Take my pack,
then help me to my
feet. Get me a walking stick."
"I ain't gonna let ya walk."
"Do you see a stretcher around here to carry me?
Or perhaps you
could whip up a travois with your survival skills
that would hold my
weight."
"That's an idea."
"That would take time we don't have, and leave a
trail we wouldn't
want followed. Look around you, Vin. It's getting
dark, and we have
to move. These people are not hesitant to shoot a
stranger for
trespassing on their still. Do you honestly
believe that if they
found out we were ATF that they would let us go?"
"I got ya shot."
"Then you will take care of me when we get there,"
Ezra told
him. "We must move, or we will both perish here. I
have no desire
to become an epitaph in these woods."
Ezra waited while Vin thought things through. He
was right; they had
to do it this way. Either they stayed out here in
the semi-open, or
get to the defensive position Tanner located on
the map. It was
going to be very painful for him; of that there
was no doubt; but he
would preserve. Failure was not an option he
entertained lightly, if
at all.
"Hell," Vin swore, then hit a tree with the flat
of his hand.
"More noise will only bring more attention, and
your hand will give
before the tree will. I'd rather one of us was not
injured through
any further stupidity. Fetch me a stick, get me on
my feet, and
prepare to support me."
He watched Vin curse fluently while walking around
to find a walking
stick. He came back with a branch that would work
rather nicely.
Then Vin found a second, and quickly used his
knife to make them
about the same height and size.
"Makeshift crutches. At least ya can keep the
weight off the one
side," Tanner said apologetically. "I'll take yer
pack." Vin pulled
Ezra to his feet, then held him there while he
adjusted to the
upright position.
"Thank you."
"Wait." Vin took off his jacket, then his flannel
shirt and covered
the ends of the branches. "Maybe stop the chaffin'."
He nodded, giving his friend an appreciative look.
"Let's go."
It was a long and torturous mile, slow going and
fraught with
nerves. Vin was a hunter feeling hunted, looking
for the traps that
he himself would set. They avoided a few of them,
and finally
reached the place where he felt they could make a
safe camp.
He left Ezra sitting on a fallen log, searching
around until he found
a position that was easily defensible and could be
camouflaged. That
he knew how to do. Before too long, he had the
two-man tent erected,
hidden with limbs, branches, and blended into the
environment, then
spread out the sleeping bags. He put Ezra down on
one, stretching
the man out on his good side, then prepared the
gear he'd need to
tend his wounds.
How humiliating. Ezra felt irritable because his
side hurt and he
was weak, a situation he was clearly not fond of
in the least. He
didn't think the weakness was from loss of blood.
Getting pelted
with buckshot was far less serious than taking a
larger caliber
round, wasn't it? Maybe it was from the shock. He
was certainly
surprised when he discovered he had actually been
injured; he hadn't
felt a thing when it happened. He wished he could
say the same now.
Wincing as he felt another pull at his abraded
skin, he certainly
felt Vin was taking this whole first aid thing too
seriously. He
would have preferred his partner to just slap a
few Band-Aids over
the wounds and wait to get back to civilization to
care for them
further. But ever since Tanner went through EMT
classes himself, he
was beginning to sound like a mini-Nathan. Right
this second he was
mumbling something about not knowing what kind of
material he was
pelted with, lead wouldn't be good to leave in the
body, not to
mention getting an infection of any kind. So now
here he was in this
humiliating position, his bare butt pointed to one
wall, while his
sleeping bag covered the other important parts,
trying not to move
from the indignities he was suffering on top of
the pain of his
underarms burned from the abrasions caused by the
makeshift
crutches.
Yet the worst was yet to come.
There was nothing more embarrassing than a good
male friend digging
in your butt cheek to remove pellets. If things
hadn't been so
serious, he was sure that Vin would have joked
about it. But the
Texan was careful and gentle, as his thickly
calloused fingers used
the tweezers from the first aid kit to deftly
remove as many of the
pellets as he could get to and find. He said not a
word.
After a while, the silence got to Ezra, because
all he could feel was
the tweezers rooting around in areas not meant for
someone other than
a medical professional or a significant other to
examine.
"Did you include any painkillers?"
"Am I hurtin' ya?" Vin stopped immediately.
"Only my pride."
"Reckon that can take a beatin' or two."
"Pass me some of our evidence. I would like to
sample it."
"Ya lost too much blood, Ez. I can't do that."
"You were more fun when you weren't an EMT. Have
you told Nathan
yet?"
"Nah. He would think I'm tryin' ta take his place.
I ain't. Just
wanted ta be prepared if we ever got into – "
Tanner cut off.
"A situation like this," Ezra finished for him.
"Where I, the tragic
hero, risk my own life to save that of a dear
friend."
"Reckon that's why I'm the one pickin' shot outta
yer ass."
"Must you remind me?"
"Ya rather think about explainin' this ta Chris?"
"Hay-ell."
"That inflatable donut will be yer friend."
"I am not in the position to answer that
properly."
Vin laughed, then fell silent. "Shh…"