Physically, very little had changed in his absence. The hallway was still decorated in muted earth tones designed to soothe the men and women who roamed the halls. The frosted glass windows still provided a buffer between the civilians who were privileged enough to venture into this closed society, and the clannish inhabitants who occupied it.

Ezra realized he occupied a strange position in this world. He was one of their own, and yet he wasn't. He'd become, for many of them, an embodiment of their fears. An example to be held up and pitied, but also a warning. A reinforcement of the truth that even ATF agents were human.

His progress through the corridor was painfully slow, but determinedly dignified. He gripped the end of his stylish walking stick- he couldn't bring himself to call it a cane- lightly, giving the impression that it was merely for show and he could set it aside at anytime. The truth of the matter was, he wanted to lean on it heavily. But that would betray the limp he worked so hard to conceal. One weakness he wouldn't allow himself. He'd spent a lifetime concealing his vulnerabilities from his peers. Why should he stop now?

The intensity of his emotions as he reached the door to Team 7's lair, surprised him. He was not prepared for the waves of regret and sorrow that washed over him as he pushed open the doorway. He very nearly turned back for the safety of the elevator. Sheer will power propelled him through the door and into his former office.

As with the outer office, he was struck at once by how normal things seemed. The decor and basic layout were still as he remembered them. Almost at once, his trained eye began picking out the differences.

Strange faces glanced up at his entrance. Ezra knew from the others who'd been selected to fill the empty spots on the teams, but by name and reputation only.

The desks had been shifted. Everything was the same, and yet, everything was different. His former desk was occupied by a slim Asian man who was studying a case file with a serious expression. The man glanced up briefly, but gave no indication of recognizing Ezra.

A single spur still marked the desk across from him as Vin Tanner's territory. Ezra smiled fondly remembering the scene when Buck had presented one half of the set to Vin and Chris. A subtle way of condoning the new friendships that formed when the team was still in it's infancy.

Two more new faces were in the corner Nathan and Josiah had shared. Enwrapped in quiet conversation, they gave Ezra only a cursory glance.

Nathan was seated at the desk Buck once occupied. The orderly stacks were a stark contrast to the riotous mess that belonged there.

JD's desk, too was different. The haphazard piles now had an apathetic air about them, instead of their former preoccupied order. The desk was devoid of the trinkets and treasures that Ezra remembered. Only a much cherished newsboy cap marked the place as JD's.

Nathan finally looked up from the monitor he was frowning at. For a moment, he almost seemed puzzled by Ezra's appearance, then his face lit up. "Knew you couldn't stay away."
Ezra had seen Nathan only a few days before, but the welcoming smile still made him feel like the prodigal son come home at last. And it made this visit that much harder. "Mr. Jackson, I trust you've been well," he didn't have to force the affection in his tone.

Nathan nodded. "Well enough."

"Are the others here?"

"Vin's in there with Chris, but JD's. . ."

"Gone to see Buck. I know. That was my first stop. The boy looks ill."

"He doesn't take care of himself. It's like having a stranger wearin' JD's skin in the office. He hardly talks to anyone. Not even us anymore. We've lost him, too."

There was nothing Ezra could say. He'd seen the changes in the normally exuberant young man, and like the rest of them, had been unable to stop them.

Time to change the subject, he decided guiltily. Leaving Denver was going to be hard enough without feeling as though things were unfinished. "Are they busy?" Ezra asked, gesturing to Chris' office door.

"No. Just goin' over some case details for tonight."

Ezra smiled sadly. "So you're going back out?"

Nathan nodded. "Yeah. They finally decided we're as street ready as we'll ever be. 'Sides, it looks bad if their best team goes to seed sitting in the office. And we were the best."

"Still are," Ezra amended.

Nathan shook his head. "We're still good, but it'll never be like the old days again."

Team 7 had been out of circulation for nearly six months while they recovered from various injuries. Another six had been spent on the desk waiting to be cleared for return to active duty. There had been talk in the beginning of splitting the survivors up and reassigning them, but AD Travis had made an impassioned plea on the behalf of his team. In the end, 'The Powers That Be' had decided there was more to gain by keeping Team 7 together. They had become a mascot of sorts to the other teams of the Denver field office and moral had suffered heavily while they were out.

So it was that they decided to return Team 7 to duty, if only in a support position.

Tonight was their first real case and Chris was determined to make it go smoothly. He and Vin were going over the positions for the team during a night raid on one of the local warehouses. Team 2 was running the show, but Chris wanted to ensure every detail was looked over.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the planning session. Without waiting for acknowledgment, the door sung open revealing Ezra and Nathan.

"Ezra?" Chris was obviously surprised to see the southerner standing in his doorway.

"In the proverbial flesh."

Vin quickly vacated his seat to let the former agent take the weight off his bad leg. "What's the matter, Ez? Miss your old stomping grounds?"

"Why yes, Mr. Tanner. The siren song of paperwork and stale coffee proved too much for me to resist." Ezra's words were underscored with a familiar teasing tone. A tone that he'd missed.

Not that the others hadn't been there for him. But there was always an edge to their visits as they'd politely tried to keep things from degrading to a pity visit. This felt right. But it couldn't last. "Actually, I've come to make my farewells."

"Farewells?" Vin echoed in a puzzled tone.

"Yes. An opportunity has arisen that I would be foolish ignore."

Chris leaned forward frowning slightly. "What kind of opportunity?"

"My mother's current husband has offered me a position within his corporation. I've decided to accept it. My flight leaves for London in an hour."

"So this is it, huh? Leavin' Denver?"

"Mr. Tanner, I could hardly be expected to maintain myself on a pensioner's income. Besides, as Mr. Larabee is so fond of pointing out, when left to my own devices, I tend to. . . ," he groped for the proper word, "attract, through no fault of my own, trouble." Ezra didn't add that he couldn't stand being so close to the team and not be a part of them anymore. So he was doing what he'd always done. Ezra P. Standish was running.

Chris seemed to sense the sudden moodiness and offered Ezra a reprieve. He stood and shook the former agent's hand firmly. "Just remember you can always come back. You've got family here."

Ezra nodded and smiled gratefully. This time he had a place to run back to. And that made all the difference in the world.

JD hated this place. Hated it from the cold industrial lighting right down to the waxy build up on the linoleum floors. He hated how his voice echoed in the hallway. And the way other people came here to be healed.

Most of all, he hated the machines. With their tubes and chords, lights and sounds. . . The way they hunched, carrion like, over that frail body. He sometimes imagined that instead of feeding the stubborn life-force, they fed off it.

As had become his routine, JD sat silently by the bedside. He'd long abandoned the hope that Buck could hear him, or that the big man would ever wake up. Now he just held the cool hand and watched his friend die by weeks and months.

Not for the first time, JD stared at the myriad of chords. It wouldn't be hard. He knew which ones to unplug to get the job done. And it wasn't as if he'd be killing Buck. Buck was already dead, just waiting to take that final leap into mortality.

Each time his thoughts turned in that direction, some stubborn vestige of hope stilled his hand and drove him from the hospital room.

This time, however, he began to speak. "Ezra came to see you. Came to say good-bye." He paused trying to find the right words. "It's really over. Josiah's gone. Now Ezra. And you're. . ." He choked back the lump that formed in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to say the words, had trouble even thinking them. "Only a matter of time 'fore the others leave. One way, or another." He fell silent, lost in thought.

Long minutes ticked by, counted off by the hiss and click of the respirator and the steady beep of the heart monitor.

The silence became too much after a bit, and he began speaking again. Telling Buck about the office. He rambled on and on about the new team members, and the secretary down in records. Anything he could find to keep his thoughts occupied. The sound of his voice offered more comfort for himself then it did for the comatose man on the bed.

He was startled when the nurse came in, telling him it was time to leave. Hours had melted into seconds.

Damn. Larabee would be looking for him by now. JD grimaced. Of all people, Chris ought to understand. Instead, he kept pushing at JD to move on. Kept insisting that Buck and Josiah would want him to grieve and then move on. How the hell was he supposed to grieve, when Buck couldn't even die?

That was his fault. Another black mark to add to his already unforgivable tally of sins. He'd been in shock when the papers were thrust into his hands. The doctor's words swirled around him, confusing him with jargon and odds. He'd put his 'x' on the line, and now Buck was caught in a living death.

He shook his head to dislodge the bitter memories. It didn't work. It never did.

The ride from the hospital back to the office gave him a chance to clear his thoughts. He'd missed the briefing and Chris was not going to be happy. He left his bike in it's usual spot. Ignoring the strange cars in familiar spaces, he jogged the short distance to the elevator.

"Where the hell've you been?" Chris' barked question greeted JD as he came through the door.

"You mean you didn't have me followed?" JD snapped back.

Chris glared at him. "I'm gonna ignore that for right now. You knew we had a planning session for tonight. How do you think it looks to the brass when you don't show. I can't keep covering for you."

"I never asked you to." JD spat the words out.

The air between the two dropped several degrees. Chris drew himself up and JD was reminded of a giant cat getting ready to spring. He forced himself to meet Chris' eyes without wavering.

Chris voice dropped to a deadly quiet tone. "You're pushin' it, Dunne. I know you're hurtin', but it was Buck that took those bullets. Not you. So quit actin' like you're the one who died."

"This from the 'man in black'? Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you've cornered the market on grief."

Vin's quiet drawl broke through the tense stand-off. "Chris. I need to see you for a minute."

"Can it wait?" Chris asked without breaking eye contact with JD.

"No."

"Fine." Chris turned his attention back to JD. "Have Nathan fill you in. You sweep with me tonight." Without another word he stalked to where Vin leaned against the open doorway of Chris' office.

"Kinda harsh weren't you, Cowboy?" Vin asked after following Chris into the small office and closing the door.

"Damn kid. He's not even trying to keep himself out of trouble," Chris said lowering himself slowly into his chair.

"Give him time. He'll come around."

"Time is one thing I can't give him. Between the recommendations of the damned department shrink, and this disappearing act-"

Vin interrupted him. "He didn't disappear. You know where he was."

Chris waved off the objection. "Same thing. The brass thinks he's unreliable. If he doesn't turn it around. . ."

"Jesus. Chris, he's still in mourning."

"He wasn't the only one to lose friends that day," Chris snapped in irritation.

Vin's answer was heavy with anger, "He *saw* Buck go down. And that boy spends part of every day at that hospital. Tell me, when was the last time you were there?"

"I know what he does with his time. But he can't keep on like this. It's killing him," Chris answered, ignoring the sting of Vin's question.

"Would you prefer he climb into a bottle?

Chris cradled his head in his hands, massaging his temples. Vin's last question had struck home. "No. You're right. I wanna help him. But every time I try, we just. . . end up gettin' angry." He looked up at Vin and chuckled humorlessly. "I never realized just how much I miss Josiah. He always knew what to say. And if he didn't know. . . he'd just be there 'til it was better."

"You ever try that with JD? Just bein' there, 'stead of tryin' ta fix it?" Vin's voice dropped back to it's usual soft drawl. He stood and left the office, leaving Chris to ponder his parting words.

"Chris?" The question was whispered so softly, JD wasn't even certain he'd spoken out loud.

Chris didn't turn from where he crouched, poised in the darkness. "Yeah, JD?"

"Do you. . . Nevermind."

"It's okay. You can ask."

JD chewed at his lip, hesitant to voice the question. "Do you believe in heaven?"

Chris turned and studied him for a moment. "Yeah. I do."

JD nodded thoughtfully, then turned back to his vigil. Several minutes passed in silence, then he asked, "Do you think Buck and Josiah are already there?"

Chris didn't hesitate this time. "I do."

"How can you be so sure?"

He didn't get a chance to answer. Team 2's leader came across the airwaves giving the order to move in.

They moved quickly and silently through the warehouse. From other sectors came the sound of small scuffles and voices raised both in authority and protest, but in their own there was no motion.

JD and Chris moved carefully through the dark rows of stored boxes. They checked the area carefully for any hidden dangers. Human or otherwise.

One of the boxes on JD's side appeared to have been disturbed recently. He dropped back to check it, while Chris stood point. Nothing appeared suspicious. He looked up to give the all clear sign.

A shadow suddenly solidified and drew bead on Chris' unprotected back.

The picture was heartbreakingly familiar. JD was rudely shoved back to a year ago, when such a shadow had fired once, twice, and a third time into his partners back.

A back he was supposed to protect.

A ragged howl tore from JD's throat as the past and present merged. He brought his pistol up to fire, but the man stepped between sheltering crates.

This time, however, there were no restraining hands holding him, forcing him to watch helplessly. Pouring every ounce of energy he had into motion, JD dove at Chris. He did for Chris what he should have done for Buck.

Chris turned toward him alerted by the cry, but still unaware of his own peril.

JD grabbed his leader by the shoulder, momentum swung them around. For a brief second their eyes met. JD silently begged forgiveness and understanding, then he shoved Chris away, and free from the line of fire. For a moment, everything was all right.

Then the fire began. . .

His left hand drifted up to breeze across the spreading moisture on his shirtfront. Two ragged holes marred the chest plate of his Kevlar. 'Cop killers' they called the Teflon coated bullets responsible for this kind of destruction.

His gun slipped from his right hand and clattered unnoticed to the cement floor. He could hear gunshots and running footsteps. But his body wasn't responding to the training he'd received or the panicked orders his mind threw at it.

"Chris?" he asked, but there was no answer.

*Alone.* The thought flooded him. Burned through the pain, through the shock.

"Chris?" he tried again.

The roar of gunshots answered him, mocking his sudden fear.

The pain that blossomed in his chest, spread quickly. His limbs were heavy, their motions sluggish. He was unable to support his own weight. A distant roar filled his ears, then the ground rushed to meet him.

He was gasping, trying to draw in the needed air, but every breath was a battle, like breathing in molten metal. He whimpered as the shock began giving way to the flaring agony that coursed through his body.

A gentle hand brushed the hair from his face. Another comforting hand rested gently on his shoulder. The pain seemed ebb from his body, replaced by a drowsy warmth. JD forced his blurry eyes to focus on the figures that hovered nearby.

He expected to see Chris, or maybe Nathan hovering over him. Instead Buck's twinkling blue eyes gazed warmly down at him.

"B- B- Buck?" he stammered.

"Hush now, JD. Just lie still, the pain'll be gone in a moment or two." Buck's voice was just the way he remembered. Warm, with the full timbre of a lazy summer afternoon.

"You aren't here," the logical part of JD's brain insisted.

A rich bass reached his ears, resonating through him. "We're both here, son. You know we wouldn't leave you to face this alone."

"J. . .'siah?" JD's breath was coming in soft hitches. ". . . but. . .you're. . . you're."

"Shhh." The big man brushed his hand lightly across JD brow. The motion was a comforting one, and JD felt his breathing ease.

"m'I dyin'?" He asked quietly. He didn't wait for an answer, but continued, ". . . think I am." A weak coughing fit over took him, and by the time it passed he could taste blood.

Buck smiled gently, his eyes shining. "Aww, kid. Don't think of it as dying. Just gonna be walkin' a different beat, is all."

JD laughed. He was dismayed at how frail the sound was. "Know what, Buck? You're still full of crap." He couldn't help it as the feeble laugh gave way to soft sobs.

Buck's eyes filled with alarm and Josiah frowned deeply. Buck began trying to comfort the young agent. "Shh. It's gonna be okay. You'll see, it's gonna be all right."

"I'm s. . . sorry, Buck." The words tumbled out in a shaking rush.

Buck looked at Josiah in shock. The heavy guilt was not what he expected. "What for, JD?"

"M- my fault. 's my fault."

The despair in JD's voice, brought tears to Buck's eyes. "It ain't your fault, JD."

JD shook his head stubbornly. "He got the drop on me, Buck. An'. . . an' you got shot." If he'd still had the strength, JD would have been sobbing. Instead his breaths were coming in a series of soft hiccupping gasps.

"What," Buck said in mock-hurt tone, "you honestly think a two-bit hood like that decided when ol' Buck's number was up? Not even close, kid."

"My. . . fault."

Josiah leaned into the conversation. "Let go of the guilt, son. It's weighin' you down."

"I can't."

"Try, JD. Awful hard to enjoy angel wings when your feet are earth bound."

"Wings?" JD whispered.

"Yeah, wings," Buck answered for Josiah. "An' just wait 'til you see an honest to God angel." He gave a low whistle and grinned scandalously at JD.

"Come on, JD. It's time to go." Josiah said gently.

Biting his lip against the returning pain, JD shook his head again. "Not yet. Got some. . . thin' left. . . t'do."

"JD? JD can you hear me? Who're you talkin' to?"

Josiah's features blurred, giving way to Chris' concerned face.

"JD? Can you hear me, son?" Larabee's tone was thick with worry.

"He's here, Chris. Buck's here. . . gonna be okay." JD's words were slurred as he fought the encroaching darkness.

"I know, JD. Now just hang on. You'll be just fine."

"Chris-" Nathan's quiet voice cut through the scene. He didn't have to finish. The grief that was etched across his features, confirmed what Chris was desperate to deny.

He shook his head stubbornly. "No. No," he demanded, as if the weight of his word would be enough to force the life-blood back into JD's ashen body.

A light touch landed on his hand. He looked down to see JD's eyes flicker open. The hazel gaze was clear. "Chris, Buck found his peace. Let me find mine." The voice was faint, but steady. And for the first time in a long time, JD- not a hollow stranger, looked out at him.

The kid was waiting his permission. Chris felt his heart break. "You done good, kid. You can rest."

JD smiled up at his leader, hero, friend. . . brother. "Thanks, Chris," he sighed. And then he was gone.

"You done good, kid," Chris whispered again.

Slowly he stood, gathering the kid in his arms. Procedure be damned, there was no way he was going to leave JD on the cold cement.

It was a somber procession that slowly made their way from the depths of the dark warehouse. Chris led them, gently cradling JD's body. Nathan and Vin flanked him as honor guard. All walked parade ground straight, ignoring tears that streamed freely down their faces.

Bright lights and swirling noises assaulted the group as they exited the building. Yet it all seemed muted under the heavy pain. The chaos quieted as one by one the assembled personnel noticed them and the burden Chris carried.

Silence descended over the scene. Acting on some unspoken cue, a passage opened before Chris. To a man they saluted as the small group marched by.

A gurney, already fitted with a long black bag, was waiting for him near the ambulances. Chris pulled JD tight to his chest in a crushing embrace. He whispered softly into the young agent's ear, "I was wrong, kid. They weren't in heaven. They been with us all along."

He forced himself to let go, to relinquish JD to the care of strangers. Stepping back, he snapped to attention and brought his hand up in salute. He held the gesture as the long silver zipper slid closed. Without looking, he knew Nathan and Vin did the same.

A soft touch on his shoulder finally brought Chris back. AD Travis stood next to him. The 'Judge' wore the past several hours with the weight of years. "I'm sorry, Chris. He was a good man."

Chris nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

The Judge frowned. "I'm sorry to have to do this, Chris. Especially right now, but I thought it best if you heard it from me. At 10:46 this evening, Agent Buck Wilmington subccumed to injuries sustained in the line of duty."

"I know. He had some place else to be."