No Enemy But Time

by Kath Tate

Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven and characters are the property of MGM and Trilogy. This story does not intend to infringe on that copyright. My acknowledgement and thanks to Mog for the creation of the ATF AU. I hope I didn't mess up the fanon too much. There are a plethora of named minor supporting characters in this. They belong to me. =)

Kath's Notes:  I will be the first to admit my knowledge of law enforcement procedure is entirely bred on fiction. For those of you who know better, consider this fantasy. ;-) Thanks to Sheena and Vicki for editorial support.  And thank you very much to Nicholas who napped peacefully, allowing his mommy to proof my story.  (Never let it be said that I forget the little people!) =)

*****

Monday morning 6:15

Vin rolled over and shut off his alarm. He blinked slowly at the digital display a few times and wondered why he'd bothered to set it. It wasn't as though he had some place to go. He had no reason to get out of bed at all. If he so chose he could stay here all day and do absolutely nothing. He rolled back over to stare at the light filtering through the curtained window.

Five minutes later, dressed in shorts and an old t-shirt, Vin exited his apartment. Using only his jog down the stairs as a warm up he started running. He had plenty of time for that.

*****

The clock on the stove told Vin it was now 8:23. His heavy breathing echoed loudly in the glass of water from which he was drinking. Gulping down the last of it, he mopped his face with a towel. A quick flick turned on the radio but he almost immediately switched it off again. He didn't need to hear a traffic report this morning.

He stood looking across his main living area towards the door. He could almost see Chris standing there as he had on Saturday night, uncomfortable with his message, hovering where he could make a quick getaway. And Vin had stood right here, arms crossed defensively, nodding like he understood, his expression neutral like he didn't blame Chris. No, there was no one to blame but himself.

"Just a formality. Just a procedure they have to follow," Chris said.

"Yeah. 'Course."

"Look at it like some unexpected vacation time. We could all use some down time, right?"

"Sure thing." Vin could not meet his friend's eyes.

"If you get bored, you could always go out to the ranch and..."

"I got lots to do," Vin interrupted. "Don't worry about that."

Chris put his hand on the doorknob. He hesitated. "Thanks for, ah, getting the report done so quickly. I'm sure it'll help speed up the process."

"No problem."

"I'll be in touch."

Vin's memory of Chris's visit faded, leaving only the empty room. A shower. That's what he needed. He had lots of time for one of those.

*****

First thing Monday morning was a hell of a time for a meeting with Travis, Chris thought. Whatever else, it sure set the tone for the day. He made his way down the corridor towards his team's office area with a marked lack of enthusiasm for his work. His eyes took in his team members as he walked past them to his door.

Nathan and Josiah were organizing photos and tapes for the case evidence file. JD appeared to be rapidly entering data into some form on his computer; Chris could almost see the smoke rising from the keyboard. Buck was conferring with one of the assistant district attorneys, Ray Flynn. Ezra wasn't around, but hell Ezra never got in this early in the day, particularly not after a big bust. And Vin...

Chris nodded to everyone and entered his office. A moment later he poked his head out to see that Flynn had left.

"JD?"

"Yeah, Chris?"

"Could you get a hold of Stephen Rowan and ask him to keep us in the loop with his investigation? I'm particularly interested in any crime scene photos he's got."

JD nodded slowly, his usually exuberant manner somewhat muted. "Sure thing, Chris."

Buck hopped up and sauntered over to Chris's door. Placing his hands high on the frame he leaned in. He wasn't surprised to find that Chris was not at his desk working but rather standing by the window, staring blankly out.

"So, what are we gonna do?" asked Buck.

Chris didn't pretend to misunderstand as he turned to face his friend. "Nothing."

"What? Chris, what are you..."

"Don't give me that look!" snapped Chris.

Buck stepped inside the door and shut it carefully. "We have to do something," he insisted.

"No, Buck, what we have to do is cooperate with Rowan's investigation and leave the doing up to him."

Buck leaned on Chris's desk, his whole body emanating suppressed energy. "I can't believe you're trusting Vin's fate to some other team when we could be..."

"We could be what, Buck?" interrupted Chris harshly. "We're biased in case you haven't noticed. No evidence provided by us will carry any weight at all."

Buck straightened, his brow furled. "Evidence isn't biased, Chris, even if the person who finds it is."

Chris shook his head and turned back to the window. His voice was weary. "Don't you get it, Buck? If we find something it smacks of coverup. Hell, even if Rowan finds something now it'll be painted as one department covering for another. And maybe there isn't any evidence to find here. Not by Rowan and not by us. Maybe he just made a mistake. It happens."

Buck was quiet for a moment. He walked over to the door and then with his back to Chris asked, "Did you think about tampering? You were the first on the scene. Something could have been planted."

He almost expected an explosion. Given Chris's mood and the situation, not to mention the question, an angry outburst would not have been extraordinary. Instead, Chris turned back to face his friend with a puzzled expression.

"Buck," he said quietly. Buck looked over at him. "I wasn't the first on the scene. Vin was. No tampering I could do would change what actually happened."

"Guess you're right," Buck acknowledged softly and he left.

*****

Armed with an oversize coffee, Ezra arrived to find a photo of himself with the Brightman brothers taped to his computer monitor. Brightman, Ezra thought with a snort, was a total misnomer considering the distinct lack of sense combined between the three brothers. The photo was obviously taken with the team's surveillance camera. Ezra eyed it critically. No detail given to the composition, although the focus was good.

"Do I have Mr. Tanner to thank for this lovely portrait?" he asked of JD.

The younger man frowned and looked decidedly irritated. "That's not funny, Ezra."

Ezra blinked with surprise at the tone. What had he said? Vin was always playing the tease with his fellow teammates and pinning up evidence photos would be very much in his nature. Unless... Ezra's hand stopped lifting his coffee cup to his mouth and it hung suspended for a second. Sometimes undercover meant you never knew what was going on. But surely if something had happened to Vin they would have found some way to get word to him?

"Is Vin well?" he asked, perplexed.

"He was in perfect health last I heard," JD said, then gestured bitterly towards Vin's empty seat. "For a guy on 'administrative leave' that is."

At this point Buck came out of Chris's office with an uncharacteristically glum look on his face.

"Good lord, what has happened?" asked Ezra, now thoroughly concerned.

"Long story," Buck interjected swiftly before JD could open his mouth. "And you don't have any time right now. You're late for a meeting with Flynn."

*****

Vin lay on his back on the couch and mapped out the cracks in his ceiling. If he turned his head at a certain angle there was a whole mess of them that could, with some imagination, be made to look like South America. And the ones closer to the window had a distinct Gulf of Mexico look to them.

The phone rang drawing Vin's eyes down to the device where it sat on the table. It was across the room and would require him leaving the couch to answer it. He could think of no one he wanted to speak with so much that it was worth the effort. The machine kicked in but almost immediately aborted its duty. A hanger upper then.

Just as the machine's tape was correcting itself in preparation for the next call a shrill electronic ring sounded from the opposite corner. It was his cellphone this time, which was still in the pocket of his jacket.

Vin waited a few moments after the ringing stopped before levering himself off the couch and wandering over to the jacket. He punched a few buttons to discover the last call had been from Larabee's office phone, but no message left on voice mail. "I'll be in touch."

Nothing too important then if it wasn't worthy of a message on either phone. Vin shut down the cellphone and popped it onto the battery recharger. He may as well keep it charged, just in case he needed it.

*****

Tuesday morning 6:15

Vin stared at the clock for several seconds before finally shutting off the alarm. Hadn't he learned anything from yesterday? The clock changed to 6:16 and then 6:17. Vin sighed and rolled over. Maybe today he would just stay in bed. His eyes travelled to the curtains and he tried to gauge what kind of day it was going to be by the level of light.

There had been a window in that hallway on Friday night, he remembered suddenly. Two of them, in fact...

The upper hall ran along the west wall of the house and led to an outside door. Beyond the door there was a deck at the back of the house. Ezra had told them the deck was unstable, in such a state of disrepair that it was unlikely to hold anyone's weight. The door was bolted on the inside and lock painted over. Vin, himself, verified that the door was secure before he tackled the empty room.

So Vin came along the hall from the only point of access, unless one counted the windows. Vin could see they were both open, a gentle but persistent breeze was blowing the curtains out across the narrow passage momentarily obscuring his view. The white colour of the wispy material was the only brightness in the gloom, as though it had absorbed all the light in the area and was holding it in a ghost-like specter that danced with the wind's movement.

Vin wished for more light as he came to the door in the middle of the hall and entered the room. There was a large window open in here as well. The blowing air tickled the back of his neck. Behind the tiny rattle of the windowpanes combined with the distant chatter in his earpiece all Vin could hear was the sound of his own breathing. All he could see in the darkness of the room was the threat. He threw himself down and to the right, crashing against the doorframe as he fired. The shot was deafening.

Vin sprang out of bed. It was time to get moving on the day.

*****

Chris tried to find a comfortable position in his chair. This was difficult because he was incredibly uncomfortable for reasons that had nothing to do with his seat and everything to do with the other people at the table. Shuffling slightly he focused his attention on his pen and began twirling it on top of the closed file folder.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Agent Larabee," said the chairman of the committee.

Chris nodded acknowledgement.

"Chris, we've read your report on the incident," Travis spoke up. He tapped the paper lightly with his index finger. "Is there anything you want to add or change?"

Chris twirled his pen again and looked up at Travis. "Not really."

"We'd really like to hear your account in your own words," put in Dr. MacNeil.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say," Chris said after a pause. "There's nothing I can tell you that isn't already documented both by me and Agent Tanner."

He sighed. They weren't going to let him go that easily.

"My team had compiled evidence indicating a large store of weapons was going to be changing hands last Friday. We entered the house with an arrest warrant, rounded up the suspects, arrested them, and confiscated the weapons. During the raid Agent Tanner shot at and killed a potential suspect."

"Was he alone at the time?" asked Ed Burke, of the DA's office.

"Just him and the suspect."

"Why did he fire?" asked Dr. MacNeil.

Chris shifted again and resisted fiddling with his pen. "He believed the suspect to be armed and reacted."

"Statistics show, Agent Larabee, that an overwhelming majority of law enforcement officers never fire their weapons in the course of duty." This was obviously a soapbox that Burke liked to climb up on.

"I suppose these stats show them to fire more often when not on duty?" Chris tossed his pen down on the file with disgust. "You want to know how much I care about statistics?"

"Chris." Travis held up a hand to intervene but Chris ignored him.

"No, I think this is important," he continued. "If you're going to judge Vin Tanner based on a statistical analysis of weapons use then you need to know a few things. Like the likelihood of the weapons we secured on Friday being used to intimidate, injure, and kill innocent people. Such as the possibility that those suspects we arrested and countless others like them would use those same weapons against us! You know what I think about statistics? I think they make a very convincing argument for whatever side happens to be speaking!"

"Can you tell us what Agent Tanner was wearing on Friday night?" This was the first question from Rowan.

"What he was wearing?" Chris turned an incredulous look on Travis who cleared his throat but held his gaze. "Well." Chris smiled. "I believe he had on a nice blue jean with navy t-shirt ensemble and an ATF jacket. Have you seen those? They're all the rage this season."

"Was he wearing a vest?" asked Travis.

"Yes." Chris's impatience was clear.

"Are you sure?" asked Rowan.

"I saw him put it on; I saw him take it off. That's as sure as I can be. Why are you asking these asinine questions?" He half rose out of his chair

"Chris!" Travis's voice was sharp. Chris slumped back down, shaking his head.

"Did Agent Tanner have a communications device on him?" asked Dr. MacNeil.

Chris tried to refocus. "Yeah." He gestured to his ear. "We all had ear pieces with mics. It's fairly standard stuff."

"And his equipment was working?"

"Yes, it was."

Chris didn't mention the bolt of fear that coursed through him when he'd heard that shot from above. He'd acknowledged, okayed even, Vin's checking of the upper floors and had thought nothing of it. No one was supposed to be up there and all their suspects were already accounted for.

His head snapped up with the sound.

"Vin?" he spoke into his mic. "What's your status?"

There was no response. Chris caught Buck's eye from across the room. "I'm going to check it out."

As Chris made his way up the stairs he tried again to raise Vin on the radio. "Talk to me Tanner. What's your status?"

Wind was blowing the curtains but he could make out a dark form low in the door. Was Vin hurt? Why didn't he respond? Please let his radio be broken, Chris thought. Other reasons for the silence were too horrible to contemplate.

He stepped forward only to have the form snap immediately alert and swing his gun in Chris's direction. For a second Chris was certain his friend was going to fire at him. It seemed an eternity before he held up his hands and called out, "Vin! It's Chris."

The gun wavered slightly in Vin's grip and then was lowered.

"What happened?" Chris asked, coming closer.

"Agent Larabee?"

Chris started out of his memory to look over at Dr. MacNeil. "Pardon?"

"I asked if you found any weapon in the room that Agent Tanner could have seen as a threat."

Chris shifted in his chair again. "No. There was no weapon found at the scene."

"Was there anything that might have contributed to his inability to see properly?" asked Rowan.

"It was dark," Chris stated bluntly. "It was night and there weren't any lights on in the upper part of the house. Vin had just come from a well lit area. I'm sure that contributed."

"So there wasn't anything restricting his vision? Sunglasses maybe, or a hat?" Burke asked.

"It was night," repeated Chris shortly. "No sunglasses. His hat was on backwards specifically because he didn't want it to obscure his view. That's the way he worked."

The room was quiet for a moment. Chris felt this bunch should give seminars on intimidation through sheer frustration.

"And how long have you worked with Agent Tanner?" asked Dr. MacNeil.

"Almost three years," Chris replied.

"And in that time, have you..."

"In that time," interrupted Chris before Burke could complete his question, "I have never known Vin to fire his weapon without justified cause. I would not characterize him as lacking respect for human life. I trust him implicitly to react accordingly and have done so in situations where my own life was in jeopardy!"

The committee seemed momentarily stunned by the intensity of Chris's speech. He stood and scooped up his folder and pen. "I'm sorry. That's all the cooperation I can give you at this time."

*****

Vin spent his afternoon helping one of his neighbours fix the taps on her bathtub. He wasn't a plumber by any means, but it was a simple enough problem that he could handle it. Wiping his hands on a towel, he gratefully accepted the cup of coffee she held out to him.

"If you're having trouble getting things done, I can talk with Mr. Williamson for you," he offered Cara.

"Yeah, Williamson is scared of Vin so he'd do whatever we want!" spoke up Cara's 10-year-old son, Jessie.

Vin smiled a little at the thought of their landlord being afraid of him.

"Sometimes it is nice to have a man to do the confronting," sighed Cara.

"He's afraid 'cause Vin has a gun and he's allowed to use it," continued Jessie.

Vin visibly flinched at the fierce words, spilling coffee on his hand. He hissed softly.

"Oh my goodness!" Cara immediately drew his hand under the cold water tap he'd just fixed. "Are you all right, Vin?"

"It's fine, it's fine," he assured her. The coffee wasn't hot enough to burn. "I should be going."

"If you ever want to give up chasing criminals, Vin, you could always become our building super," she teased. Vin's smile wasn't as warm as it usually was.

*****

All talking ceased as Chris stormed through their area to enter his office. A brief second later the sound of something crashing against the wall made JD jump a little. He looked to Buck with concern. Buck rubbed his face with one hand and soberly regarded Chris's door.

"Boys." Travis had entered the area at a much slower rate than Chris and now looked around at their serious expressions. "Good work on the Brightman case. Flynn's office is very confident of a conviction."

"Glad something good came out of this sorry mess," Buck said, his voice low.

Travis nodded. "Well. Keep up the good work," he said gruffly.

Tapping lightly on the half-opened door he entered before Chris could voice any objection. Larabee was pacing in front of his desk, not quite succeeding at keeping his formidable temper in check.

"That could have gone better," Travis said quietly, with just a hint of admonishment.

"That was a witch hunt!" spat Chris back. "That was no more an inquiry into the truth than a kangaroo court."

"Not everyone has the benefit of your point of view on things, Chris," Travis kept his voice calm. "That was why you were supposed to provide it for them."

"Who on that committee is looking out for Vin? Tell me that, Judge. Which one of those idiots is going to play advocate for Tanner?"

"Well, Chris, I was there," Travis pointed out. "You were there. Rowan knows what it's like to be in the line of fire..."

"Rowan wanted a fashion report!" snapped Chris.

"They are looking for reasons that contributed to him making such an error in judgement!" Travis responded in kind.

"They are looking for a way to present this to the media so that it doesn't look like a murder," corrected Chris. "If they want a reason so badly, what about self-defense?"

Travis pursed his lips together. "For that reason to be used, Chris, there had to be a weapon," he pointed out.

"What I don't understand, what I'm having a hard time getting my head around, is the condemnation of the very skills for which he was hired by the ATF." Chris was bitter. "He's a weapons expert and it surprises them that he knows how to fire his gun."

"That condemnation, as you call it, is not for his skill, but his lack of prudence in using that skill," Travis said sharply. "Knowing how isn't as important as knowing when, and knowing when not to." He sighed. "It would help if he'd talk to the psychiatrist."

"I'll mention it to him," Chris said shortly. "But it's going to be hard advice to take coming from me."

"It won't work if you coerce him, Chris," Travis said gently. "It has to come from him or it's a waste of everyone's time."

"The way things are going I'd do better to tell him to consult with a lawyer," Chris shot harshly.

Travis nodded and made his way over to the door. "That wouldn't be a bad idea either."

Travis missed the startled and dismayed expression on Chris's face but Buck, coming around the corner quickly after the judge's departure, caught it and the slumped shoulders told more of a story than he wanted to know.

"That bad?" he asked.

Chris shook his head. "Worse."

"Then you probably don't want to hear Ezra's news," Buck said somberly. Ezra peered around the door as though a little wary of approaching.

"What is it?" Chris's voice was weary.

"Well, ah, while at the district attorney's offices this morning talking with Flynn I was privy to a certain feeling of pressure coming down from the mayor's office to do with violence and law enforcement." Ezra cleared his throat uncomfortably. "There have been two separate accusations of physical intimidation used by members of the police department in the last week. Normally I wouldn't be at all interested in such political posturing; however, Mr. Tanner's name was also mentioned."

"Hell," Chris swore. "They're going to press charges." It wasn't a question.

"I got that impression, yes," Ezra said.

"What a fucking mess!" Chris clenched his jaw. "If he'd been a drug dealing, gun running smack head we wouldn't be dealing with this shit."

"But he wasn't any of those things, Chris," Nathan's soft voice spoke up as he entered the room. "Wrong place, wrong time. Nothing worthy of a death sentence there."

"Wrong place and time my ass," Chris muttered. "He had to have a reason for being there, even if we haven't figured it out yet."

"So," Buck eyed his friend thoughtfully, "we still leaving things up to Rowan to discover, or would you like one of us to work on figuring that out for Vin?"

"We have no jurisdiction," Chris said.

"Of course we don't," agreed Ezra laconically.

"And we can't step on Rowan's toes," Chris continued, "or Travis will have my butt in a sling."

"Rowan won't even know we're dancing with him," Buck assured.

"And the last thing we need to be doing, is finding more ammunition for the DA to nail Vin with," finished Chris with a weary tone. "So whatever we find we keep to ourselves for now."

*****

More for the company of noise than any other reason, Vin turned on his television while he started making something to eat. It was too damn quiet in his apartment and the soundproofing of the building was bad enough that he could hear normal life playing out all around him. He'd rather drown out that sound with whatever the local news had to say.

Frowning into his cupboards he started putting together some supper and then suddenly found his attention drawn to the television.

"...increased prevalence of violent tactics being used by law enforcement has opened up questions by critics that city officials are having trouble answering. Police spokesperson Sergeant O'Brien would not comment further on the allegations by two different suspects within the last seven days of beatings by police officers while in custody. This, on top of the killing during an ATF raid last Friday night, has city hall asking 'What has happened to...?'"

Vin reached out and turned off the sound, but continued to watch the images fly by. A press conference at city hall, another quote from the police press relations, even one from Judge Travis. Vin didn't want to hear what they had to say. He couldn't answer the question either.

Vin knew instinctively that whoever he'd seen had been hit by his shot and for some reason this filled him with more dread than relief. As soon as the bullet left his gun he'd wanted to snatch it back. There was something not right about the situation; something about the dark figure that told Vin he'd just done something horribly wrong. He stayed crouched in the doorway, as though moving would bring on another unexpected threat. His earpiece and mic were dangling from the wire attached to his battery pack so he couldn't hear Chris's voice calling to him on the radio. The room was empty and still.

Suddenly his attention snapped to the top of the stairs where he saw movement in his peripheral vision. He brought up his weapon again, adrenaline and nerves all fighting for control. He felt like he'd swallowed his heart when he realized how close he'd come to shooting his friend.

"What happened?" Chris came to the doorway.

Vin stood up. "I thought he was going to shoot," he said by way of explanation. Chris reached into the room and felt along the wall until he came to a light switch but it had no effect. Moving to the centre of the room Chris found the switch on the bulb suspended haphazardly from the ceiling. The harsh brightness after the darkness made both men wince. Vin drew a deep breath when he saw the body on the floor. He turned his face away but couldn't take his eyes off that body.

Chris stepped carefully around a dilapidated sofa to crouch near the head. He felt along the neck and looked back up at Vin. "He's dead."

Vin already knew that. Somehow, he'd known from the second the shot was fired.

"Oh shit, oh no," he whispered.

Buck's voice cut in on the radio then, demanding status of the upper floor. Chris remained kneeling by the body and responded while Vin began a frantic search of the room.

"All clear up here, Buck, but we're going to need the coroner. And the crime scene team as well."

Confident that Buck could make those arrangements, Chris finally stood. "What are you looking for?"

"The gun. He had a gun. Where is it?" Vin asked, his voice rising with desperation. "I saw a weapon; he was going to fire. Where is it?"

"There's no gun here, Vin," Chris said gently.

"I SAW it!" Vin insisted.

Chris stepped back from the body and pointed with his foot to something close to a hand. "That what you saw?"

"No, no, I saw a gun. He had a weapon in his hand! Oh God!" Vin's voice was strangled.

Buck arrived at the door then, never quite content to hear an all clear without actually seeing it with his own eyes. "Right, we've got things tied down below, what...Jesus Murphy, he's just a kid!"

"I gotta get outta here," Vin muttered, shoving his way past Buck in the door and running down the hall. He heard Chris call out to him and he kept running.

Remembering Buck's shocked voice and Chris's sad eyes, Vin decided he wasn't all that hungry for supper anyway. He turned off the television. Maybe he'd go for another run.

*****

Wednesday morning 6:15

Vin listened to the alarm and wondered how such an incredibly annoying sound could be chosen for the task. What bright light in clock radio design thought THAT would be a good thing to wake up to every morning? He sat up abruptly and grabbed hold of the device, pulling it from the socket and hurling it across the room in one motion. He flopped back down and stared at the ceiling.

He was beginning to think he was the one who'd died last Friday and this was Hell.

*****

It was a grey day, Buck thought, as he watched the rain come down in sheets. Somehow, dark days like this always made the office seem quieter. People focused on their tasks, not a lot of chatter, as though the weather subdued everyone's mood. Buck tried to imagine the day bright and sunny and couldn't fathom that it would make a wit of difference.

"Morning Wilmington," came a gravelly voice. Buck turned to see an old friend, Bobby Matthews. He smiled in greeting.

"Bobby, what brings you into our neighbourhood?"

Matthews held up a file. "Your boss asked for these photos. Rowan wanted them delivered personally."

"You working with Rowan now?" asked Buck, stepping forward to take the file. He'd known that of course, but it must have slipped his mind.

"I can't stay to chatter. We should go for a beer some time." Matthews was already turning to go. "Hell of a thing, Buck. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, see ya," responded Buck vaguely. He opened the folder and took in the first photo. A shot of the boy's body stared back up at him.

"Jesus Murphy, he's just a kid!" If ever there was a time in Buck's life when he wished he could take back words spoken it was at that moment. The stricken look on Vin's face and the flash of panic that preceded his flight from the room tore into Buck. Yet he was mute to say anything to make things better, or prevent Vin from tearing down the hall like the devil was on his heels.

"Vin!" called Chris, but threw up his hands with a helpless gesture. "That was fucking insensitive, Buck!"

The two friends stared at one another across the gloomy room with a boy's body between them. Chris swore again and turned away, rubbing his temples. He yanked off his earpiece and mic and stuffed the set into his jacket pocket.

"We need to get an ID on this boy," Chris said quietly. "And we need to find out what the hell he was doing here."

"Hey, what are you doing here?" JD's question brought Buck back to the present with a jolt. He looked up to see JD smiling. Buck turned to find Vin, looking awkward and uncomfortable, standing by his abandoned desk. Buck smiled as well, snapping the folder shut.

"Well, howdy, Vin! Just couldn't stay away from all the work, could ya?" He winked at Vin's sheepish grin but the teasing felt wrong. It was discordant with the general mood of the office. Buck slapped the folder into JD's hands. "There's that stuff that Chris asked you to get for him."

JD seemed a little surprised but recovered nicely. Whatever was in the file Buck didn't want Vin to see it and that gave JD a pretty good idea of the contents. "Thanks Buck." He retreated to Chris's office.

"I just came in to get something from my desk," lied Vin. He felt a little like a criminal. He'd walked around the building three times before getting up the nerve to walk in the front door. Showing his ID to security made him feel self conscious in ways he hadn't expected. It had to be paranoia that had him feeling like he was the topic of conversation for all he passed on his way over to his team's area.

"It's good to see you, Vin," said Josiah, arriving from behind to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Vin nodded almost shyly. Buck cleared his throat.

"How goes the case?" Vin asked, unhappy at being the centre of attention.

"Ezra and Nathan are talking with Flynn this morning. Everyone seems very confident with the evidence," Buck told him. "Travis is pleased."

"Chris must be happy things went so smoothly," Vin said. Josiah and Buck exchanged puzzled glances.

"I think Chris would rather things had gone a little smoother," Josiah finally said.

"Hey Buck," JD interjected, as he hovered nearby. "We're going to be late if we don't make tracks. Sorry Vin," he apologized as he pulled on his jacket.

"Don't be sorry. You guys got work to do. I'll just go see Chris and be out of the way in no time," Vin spoke quickly, stepping towards Chris's door.

"He's not there," JD told him. "Meeting with Travis."

"He should be back any time now," Josiah added. "Why don't you wait? I'm sure he'll want to speak with you."

Buck had turned to answer an insistent phone. He passed the receiver to Josiah as he, too, grabbed his coat. "We'll be seeing you, Vin," he called over his shoulder.

Vin entered Chris's office, feeling even more like a thief. What was he thinking to come into the office?

"Stupid move, Tanner," he told himself softly. "One of your worst."

He just couldn't take any more of the silence of his place. Stir crazy was the technical term for it. He watched the rain for a few moments and listened to the comforting sound of people working, phones ringing, voices speaking, computer blips, a can of soda being dispensed, some laughter, the elevator binging to let someone on or off. His eyes caught sight of the folder JD had placed on Chris's desk. Glancing at the door, he stepped closer and flipped it open with just the tip of his finger.

Vin swallowed. It was the crime scene report. He rapidly fingered through the photos, most of them taken from multiple angles.

"...having a hard time understanding how an entire box could just pick itself up and walk out of..." The sound of Chris's voice getting closer made Vin hurry through the rest of the folder.

"Larabee! It's not my fault that..."

"Maybe not your fault, but it's sure as hell your problem!"

Vin snatched one of the photos from the file and closed it as he pocketed the single shot. He stepped away from the desk as Chris's form loomed in the doorway. He was still chewing someone out. Josiah must have disappeared as well, or he would surely have stopped Chris to warn him of Vin's presence.

"...not interested in your excuses! Maybe the next time we spend so much time gathering evidence we'll just run it through the shredder for you!" With that Chris shoved the door open further to give it a good slam in the other man's face. His look of surprise at seeing Vin might have been amusing on any other day. His smile was genuine, even if it didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Didn't expect to see you here," he said.

Vin shrugged. "I just needed something from my desk."

"Well, I'm glad you stopped by," Chris told him as he went around to his desk. "I wanted to update you on what's been happening." Distracted a moment by the folder which hadn't been there when he'd left earlier that morning Chris paused. He picked it up and filed it in his cabinet under "C" for "See to it later" he told himself. He wondered if Vin had seen the contents but dismissed the idea. Vin wasn't the sort to snoop around Chris's office looking for official documents.

"So what's been happening?" asked Vin when Chris didn't continue speaking. Chris sighed and sat down, gesturing for Vin to sit also. Vin cautiously took his seat.

"Seen the news?" Chris asked. Vin nodded and looked at the floor. "Bad timing."

"I'll plan better next time," Vin said bitterly.

Chris opened his top drawer and started sorting through a pile of notes, cards, and scraps of paper. He fished out two business cards from the mess and handed them across the desk to Vin who took them reluctantly.

"Travis wants me to let you know that the department is behind you. But, unfortunately, the department is only part of this picture. Talk to the lawyer. The DA may call for a grand jury inquiry into the matter." Chris blew out a breath of air. "It's probably going to happen," he admitted softly.

Vin nodded without meeting Chris's eyes. Oh yeah, Tanner, coming into the office was an incredibly stupid thing to do today. He flipped the cards in his fingers. "And this one?" he asked, holding it up.

"Psychiatrist," Chris said. When Vin shook his head and looked like he might hand the card back, Chris added, "It might help."

Vin cocked his head and looked at the card, still held up by his outstretched hand. "Help the inquiry?"

"Help you." Chris's expression was sad.

"I'm not sure what kind of help you think I need," Vin said stonily.

"The kind to help you deal with having killed a teenaged boy," Chris said bluntly but not unkindly. "Now, I can't make you call that number. As Travis rightly pointed out to me, that would be a waste of time. But I can make you take that card."

Vin hesitated and then pocketed the two cards, putting them next to the photo. "I'll let you get back to work now." He stood.

"Vin." Chris stood as well. "Let's just take things one day at a time here, okay? We'll get you through this, I promise."

"Sure thing, Chris."

*****

Late in the afternoon Chris wandered out of his office to observe his team working quietly. The somber atmosphere was not indicative of focused attention to the job, he could tell. He leaned up against Vin's desk.

"Did Frank ever find those missing files?" he asked Josiah, who nodded.

"Seems to have been a slight miscommunication in the clerk's office. Everything's in place now."

"Flynn still happy?" Chris turned to Ezra.

"As a sow in excrement," Ezra commented dryly.

"Thanks for getting those photos for me, JD."

JD shrugged. "It was just a phone call. Hey, it was good seeing Vin today, wasn't it?"

"Mr. Tanner was here?" Ezra looked up.

"How's he doing?" asked Nathan at the same time.

Buck and JD exchanged glances, while Josiah shrugged.

"He was quiet," Chris told them.

"Vin's always quiet," JD protested.

"Not like this, he isn't," Chris stated.

"It's understandable," murmured Nathan. "Do you think he'll talk with you?"

Chris sadly studied the carpet for a few moments thinking about Vin's closed manner and his defensive avoidance of meeting eye contact, his insistence that he didn't need help with anything. "I doubt it."

"Why not?" asked JD, surprised.

Chris stood up and moved to leave the office. "I know him too well, JD. There are expectations between us that he doesn't want to break. Good night everyone."

Josiah nodded thoughtfully watching Chris go.

*****

Vin stood at the top of the stairs looking down the dark hallway. All the sounds around him faded into the background, the wind against the glass of the windows, the crackle of the radio traffic, the shuffling of people down below. His breathing, quickened by the adrenaline he could feel, and his heart beating filled his ears until there was nothing else.

He stepped through the billowing fabric of the curtains to come to the door, knowing the threat was there but unable to stop himself. He swung around into the doorway, weapon drawn and held steady. He circled the room, seeking out any place where someone could hide and found nothing but shadows. He was nearly at the door again when the sound swung him around with shock.

A dark form with an indistinguishable shape moved inside the gloom by the window. Vin saw the gun. He saw the flash. And he felt the pain as the bullet entered his chest regardless of the protective vest he knew he was wearing.

"Aaaahhhh!" cried Vin, sitting up in bed, one hand pressed against his chest as though to contain the frantic beating of his heart, his other hand clutching at the sheets. "Oh god, oh god," he whispered, trying desperately to get his breathing under control. He gulped in air, not even realizing he was rocking himself back and forth. Eventually, he felt awake and aware enough to release the sheet from his fist and lower his other hand. He inspected his chest carefully with his fingers. There was no gunshot, no wound, nothing physically wrong except for an accelerated heart rate. It was just a dream then...a nightmare.

Still breathing heavily, he looked over to see what time it was only to be reminded that he'd broken his clock the previous day.

"Hell," he muttered, disentangling himself from the twisted sheets to stand on unsteady legs. He walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water and inspect the stove clock. 4:06. Not really an improvement on 6:15, he mused. In fact, he'd much rather awaken to an annoying buzzer than to that horrific nightmare.

He rubbed his chest absently and finished the water. It was too early to go running but he had no desire to return to bed.

*****

Josiah sat in his car and watched Vin on the basketball court. He was alone, but that hadn't stopped him from taking out his demons on the ball. He'd obviously been at it for some time, judging by the wet patches down the front and back of his shirt, and the sweat dripping off the ends of his hair. Josiah wondered if he'd continue until he dropped, which certainly seemed to be his intent based on how vigorously Vin was approaching the game.

A misfire rebounded off the back of the net to bounce over towards where Josiah was parked. Vin bent to retrieve the ball and then squinted in his direction. 'Busted,' Josiah thought and got out of the vehicle.

Vin dribbled lazily watching his approach.

"Care for some one on one?" he asked, tossing the ball at Josiah.

Josiah caught it easily enough but hesitated. He didn't really want to play however maybe this was the best way to tackle the problem. He cautiously dribbled, eyeing his opponent. He didn't stand a chance. While shorter, Vin was more agile and he easily stole the ball back, rounded back towards the basket and shot. Perfect.

"Nothing but net!" Vin crowed, grabbing the ball again.

"I didn't really come prepared for sports," Josiah gave as an excuse.

Vin rubbed the sweat out of his eyes and regarded Josiah's work attire. "Chris send you?" he asked, taking another shot.

"No," Josiah answered truthfully.

Vin snagged the returning ball and grinned over at him. "Right."

"Really. He thinks I'm dropping off some reports to the courthouse. Which I did, so technically he's correct."

Vin smirked. "I know Chris," he said, clearly believing Josiah to be lying.

"Well, then you know he's worried about you," Josiah took up that line.

Vin dribbled, looking uneasy for a moment. Then he grinned again. "Nothing to worry about here."

'I wish I could believe that,' thought Josiah.

"I mean, really," continued Vin as he maneuvered around Josiah and took another shot, "what does he have to worry about? You have to look at the different scenarios."

"Different scenarios?" questioned Josiah, not seeing where Vin was going with this.

"Yeah, you know, best case and worst case type thing." Vin spun the ball, throwing it up in the air. "Best case, there's no grand jury, internal affairs calls it a justified risk, pulls me off leave, and I'm back to work on Monday." Vin frowned as he missed a shot. "Wait a sec', what day is it today?"

"It's Thursday," Josiah told him.

"Okay, maybe not Monday. Bureaucracy never works that fast. Say, a week Monday. So the worst thing from Chris's point of view is a little extra paper work, which nobody likes, but it's not worth an ulcer over." Vin tried spinning the ball on his index finger but went back to dribbling when it fell off.

"And the worst case?" asked Josiah curiously.

Vin took a deep breath. "Worst case. IA declares me incompetent and fires me, the grand jury sends it to trial and I'm convicted of manslaughter."

"Only manslaughter?" questioned Josiah with a raised eyebrow. "Why not go for murder two, since this is worst case?"

"I try to keep a little optimism," Vin responded. He shrugged. "A little more paper work and finding a replacement. Still nothing worth worrying about."

"You don't think maybe it would upset Chris if you went to jail? You don't think we'd all be upset with that scenario?"

Instead of answering Vin turned away to take another shot.

"Chris said something yesterday that got me thinking," Josiah said finally. "And I thought I'd come share it with you since you weren't around to hear him."

"Oh yeah? What were the words of wisdom?" There was sarcasm there, but it was understated. Vin went back to spinning the ball in the air.

"More or less the idea was that it is sometimes easier to talk with a stranger than a friend," Josiah said gently.

Vin tilted his head to look at him critically. "Didn't Travis tell you that pressuring me to call the shrink wouldn't do any good?"

"Because," continued Josiah, grabbing the ball the next time Vin threw it up. "Because with a stranger you don't have to worry about that person's opinion of you changing. And sometimes when we need to talk about stuff that makes us feel fallible it's better to do that with someone whose respect we don't need to maintain."

Vin put his hands on his hips. He suddenly looked very tired and Josiah wondered how well he was sleeping. "Chris said that?" He was skeptical.

Josiah shrugged slightly. "Maybe not with so many words, but that was the gist." He tossed the ball over Vin's head and grinned when it went in the basket.

*****

After Josiah left Vin remained on the court lost in thought. He was stirred out of his reverie by the sound of young voices converging on the playground.

"Vin! Whatcha doin'? Examining the ball for fingerprints?"

Vin looked up to see several familiar faces of the boys and girls from his block. They seemed pleased that he was there for some reason. When Vin didn't respond to the teasing, Joe gave him a puzzled look.

"Are you going to play with us, Vin, or just stare at the ball?"

The words weren't meant to be disrespectful. The grins and giggles that accompanied Joe's words spoke of a long standing friendship Vin had with the children in his neighbourhood.

Vin remembered suddenly with startling clarity a moment with Chris one evening shortly after Vin had started working for him. They were sharing beers on the rooftop of Vin's building, seeking relief from the stifling summer heat. The evening shadows brought some coolness but also seemed to accentuate the noise of the neighbourhood.

Listening to an angry and profane argument that floated up from the street level Chris winced. "Why do you live here, Tanner?"

The question was not judgmental but rather sincere curiosity. Vin took in Chris's expression of perplexity which conveyed a built-in inability to understand why Vin would choose to live in a disadvantaged area when he could clearly afford not to. Larabee's upper middle class upbringing, his university education, his life experiences were all founded on advantages he'd been unaware of having. Their friendship was too new, too fragile, for Vin to make an attempt at dismantling prejudices Chris didn't even know he held. So Vin had opted for the easiest way of explaining it.

"For the kids."

"The kids?" Chris raised an eyebrow and took another swig of beer.

"Yeah, the kids. Can't you hear them?" Vin cocked an ear in the direction of the playground where a lively game of baseball was just finishing. "They need someone to look out for them, keep 'em out of trouble. You know, tell 'em to stay in school, don't do drugs, that kind of thing."

"They don't have parents for that sort of advice?" asked Chris wryly.

Vin shrugged. "Some more than others, I guess. But how much value did you give to your parents' advice when you were 14?"

Chris smiled with understanding at that and Vin wondered if maybe he'd underestimated his friend's comprehension of his motivation. "It does have a nice sound to it," Chris said softly. "The sound of children playing, I mean."

"Yeah, I like it too."

Vin more than liked the sound, he enjoyed participating in their games. Normally he would have been the first to challenge Joe to start playing. But today when he saw the boy the image that flashed through his head was that of Joe with a weapon, killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Can't today," he muttered tersely. Tossing the ball to the boys he turned and jogged away without looking back.

*****

"I don't know what's wrong with everyone these days, Bruce," commented Buck rather cheerfully as he handed over a box of files to be stored in the evidence locker. "If I were a conspiracy theorist I'd say they're pumping something funny through the air circulatory system."

Bruce grunted with agreement in a non-committal sort of way while Buck complained good naturedly about everyone's bad mood.

JD stopped listening to their conversation as he stepped around one end of a row of shelves completely focused on his search. It didn't take him long to find it. He knew the case number by heart and it was located for easy access as the investigation was still open.

Lifting his eyes to ensure Buck and Bruce were still dealing with their own files, JD pulled the box to him. His nimble fingers sorted through the files of photos and reports (which he'd already seen) to a few plastic evidence bags. Coming to the largest item he raised it out of the box to look at it critically. It was smashed beyond repair, virtually useless except as a focus for the DA's case of incompetence. JD dropped it back down and shoved the box in place.

"There ya are, kid," boomed Buck. "Thought maybe you'd gotten yourself misfiled back here." His chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh when Bruce swore at him. "And you have a good evening too, now." He winked.

Buck and JD exited the building for Buck's truck.

"Sorry about the delay but Chris has been a little edgy this week about losing things and I..."

"It's okay; I don't mind," JD told him and then lapsed into thoughtful silence.

Buck sighed and decided to abandon any attempts at conversation.

*****

Vin sat on his floor with his back leaning against the couch. He'd wrapped his comforter around himself and turned on the television before taking up his position. It was dark; the only light the flickering of images from the screen where two incredibly happy people were doing their best to sell some kind of kitchen utensil. Vin hadn't figured out exactly what it was yet, but he wasn't paying all that much attention either. He was trying very hard not to fall asleep.

Eventually though, exhaustion won and his head dropped forward, his awareness dimming to the low sound of the infomercial which faded into the crackle of the radio as the three teams entered the house from three entry points and converged on the startled occupants.

"Rear secure. Clear!" Buck's voice was reassuring in its cool confidence.

"Kitchen secure. Clear!" Nathan put in a second later.

"Front entrance secure. Clear," Larabee informed them all as they completed the search of the lower floor.

After that there was the usual murmur of communications while people were rounded up, patted down, and made ready for transport. Vin called the second floor secure before moving to the third. Just because he wasn't expecting anyone to be there didn't mean he wasn't alert.

The dark in the room on the third floor seemed to envelop him, choke him, smother him. He sensed more than heard the person behind him and tried to turn. But as much as he tried the room spun in the opposite direction, keeping him from seeing the threat that was approaching his back.

"Drop it!" His own yell came through the radio even though he no longer had a microphone with which to broadcast. "Drop it NOW!"

The shot tore through his back, propelling him forward into the doorway where Chris was standing. He reached out with a gasp of shock and found himself restrained by his comforter as it snagged on his elbows. The infomercial was over, long since replaced by an old black and white movie.

Vin slumped against the couch breathing carefully and rubbing his stiff neck. The clock on the VCR told him it was 3:52 a.m.

*****

Vin stepped off the elevator on the tenth floor of the Federal Building annex and hesitated before turning to the left. He'd only been in this area twice and wasn't exactly sure where the conference room was located. While he was anxious about the impending interview, he was almost grateful for the excuse to come to the office. If nothing else, it was a reason to shave. That didn't mean he was rushing to meet his accusers.

Rounding the corner, he nearly collided with a familiar figure just exiting Judge Travis's office.

"Damn Tanner!" Chris grinned. "You clean up good."

Vin gave him a pained look. Chris tried to keep his tone light but there was a tight anxiety around his eyes that he couldn't fully mask. He reached his fingers towards Vin's tie.

"You tie this yourself or did you have help?"

Vin stepped back out of reach and gestured rudely at his boss and friend. Chris smiled with amusement before sobering. "You want some backup in there?"

"I don't need you to babysit me!" Vin burst out angrily, turning away before he could see Chris's unhappy expression.

"I know that," Chris told him quietly. "I was thinking you might appreciate some support, not that you needed looking after."

"I'm just going to tell them the truth is all," Vin said, not looking up. "I don't need any hand holding for that."

"Okay," Chris agreed. "Travis is in your corner, you know that. And MacNeil is fair as well. The chairman is neutral so far as I can see. But Burke is going to try to trip you up any way he can. And Rowan..." Chris hesitated. "Rowan is a good investigator but right now he's looking for the easy fix that will be the most politically beneficial, even if that means sacrificing you."

Vin nodded. "Thanks for the heads up," he said, shifting his eyes to look anywhere but at his friend.

Chris placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let me know how it goes."

"I'm sure you'll hear all about it," Vin said pulling away.

*****

They kept him waiting long enough to unsettle him but Vin was very composed as he entered the conference room and took his seat. Just tell the truth, he kept reminding himself, they can't fault you for telling the truth.

Despite having his detailed report in front of them, he knew they were going to insist on hearing the event from his own mouth. Which is why, he suspected, they'd waited so long to call him in, as though perhaps the passage of time would make him tell the tale somewhat differently.

He was prepared to tell his account as it happened and he remembered it all too clearly. He'd had nothing to do but remember it for seven days now. What he hadn't really prepared for were the interruptions.

"After I called the second floor secure I moved up to the third where I noticed the two open windows in the..."

"Excuse me for a moment, Agent Tanner," interrupted Burke. "None of the other reports mention hearing you call the second floor secure."

Vin stopped his narrative and looked back at Burke stonily. In the silence Travis finally cleared his throat and spoke up. "Agent Tanner, are you certain your radio equipment was fully functional?"

Vin shifted his gaze to Travis. "No. It isn't that uncommon for the radio signal to get interference. Things seemed to be working fine when I was down near the others and I could hear things just fine as I went upstairs. But I don't know if they were hearing me or not. I called the second floor secure and moved up."

"So, no one acknowledged you?" clarified MacNeil.

"No," Vin admitted. "No one acknowledged me." He waited a moment more but when they didn't pursue this he decided to continue. "The windows in the hall were open, the door to the room was open. I passed it by to check the..."

"How did you know the windows were open?" asked Rowan.

"The curtains were blowing with the wind," Vin explained gesturing with one hand. "I, uh, I checked the outside door leading to the deck to confirm it was bolted inside and then I moved to the door of the room. I swept left to right and then entered to check on the other side of..."

"Why didn't you turn on the lights?" Burke interjected.

'Does he think I'm a complete idiot?' wondered Vin. 'Wait, don't answer that. Don't let him rattle you, Tanner, just tell him the truth.'

"There wasn't a light in the upper hall. I tried the switch in the room but it didn't work. I could see there was a sofa in the centre so I moved around it to verify that..."

"In what direction?" interrupted Burke again.

"I moved left to right," repeated Vin. "Walking around the couch to come back to the door." He found himself gesturing with his hands again and pulled them down to his thighs, embarrassed.

"So," Burke consulted with his papers, "you moved away from the window initially to come back towards it before heading for the door?"

"Right." For some reason this question threw Vin off balance momentarily. What possible significance could this have on anything? Then he remembered Chris's assessment of the committee. Burke was out to trip him up in any way he could. Vin swallowed. Tell the truth. It was all he had right now.

"Was the window open?" asked MacNeil.

"Yes," Vin told him. "I could feel the wind. No curtains on this one."

"Then what happened," prompted Travis when Vin seemed to stall.

"I was almost back at the door and about to call third floor secure when I heard him come through the window. I turned and..."

"Where do you suppose he came from?" asked Burke as though mulling over a perplexing problem.

"My guess would be the deck," Vin answered very seriously, fixing the assistant district attorney with a cold stare.

"But I thought the deck was unstable, unable to support any weight?" Burke looked over to Rowan who nodded.

"We confirmed what Agent Standish told his team about the condition of the deck. It is in sad shape. I wouldn't want to stand on it." They looked back at Vin for an explanation.

"Maybe he flew in," Vin suggested with no hint of humour. "But I think it more likely that he just wasn't as...as heavy as you are and that's why the deck was able to support him."

"You didn't see him outside the window when you did your sweep?" asked MacNeil.

"If I'd seen him, I sure wouldn't have turned my back on him," Vin said, letting some of his irritation at their line of questioning show through.

"You turned your back on the window," Burke said thoughtfully. "Even though it was open and you couldn't see what was out there?"

"I had no reason to expect anyone to be on the deck!" Vin retorted, realizing that he'd lost some of his cool. Focus Tanner, focus. Tell the truth.

"Please continue, Vin," Travis said gently, trying to move them along.

Vin took a few seconds to compose himself before he went back to the story. "I turned and dropped down in the doorway and ordered him to drop his weapon but..."

"What weapon was that, Agent Tanner?" Burke's voice was sharp.

"The gun he had in his hand; the one he had pointed at me," Vin said clearly.

"Agent Tanner," the chairman spoke for the first time since he'd thanked Vin for coming. "You are absolutely certain you saw a weapon in the boy's hand?"

"Yes." Vin was proud of the confidence in his voice.

"You've told us how dark it was," put in MacNeil. "How can you be so certain that it was a gun you saw?"

"I saw it," Vin said simply. "It was a gun."

"In what hand?" asked Burke.

Vin turned cool eyes on the man. "His left."

"So you ordered him to drop the gun and then what happened?" prompted Burke.

"He didn't drop it. He stepped forward and I fired."

"Agent Tanner, forgive me if this seems a self-evident question, but why did you fire?" asked MacNeil gently.

Vin wasn't sure how to articulate his feelings on this. His response was more hesitant than he would have liked. "I...I believed myself to be in danger. I believed him to be a...a threat to me and to my team. I had no doubts that he was going to fire on me," he concluded.

"About how much time elapsed from the young man entering through the window to when you fired at him?" asked Rowan.

"It was fast," Vin admitted. He thought carefully. "About three or four seconds maybe."

"Why didn't you acknowledge Agent Larabee's calls for status?" asked Travis.

Vin rubbed his head briefly before taking up the tale again. "When I dropped to my knee in the doorway I hit the frame pretty hard and knocked my ear piece out. I didn't hear Agent Larabee's request for status and by the time I realized I didn't have the radio in my ear he was already at the top of the stairs."

"One of the first things Agent Larabee did was to turn on the light, is that right?" queried Burke.

"Yeah, uh, yes. He found the switch on the bulb when the wall switch didn't work. He, uh, he checked for a pulse and then told Buck to get the coroner and the crime scene team."

"Agent Tanner, can you give us an explanation for the fact that neither you, nor your team, nor the crime scene team, nor Agent Rowan's team was able to find the weapon Anthony Morris supposedly had in his hand?" Burke's voice was cutting.

"No, I can't," Vin said. "I can only tell you what I saw."

"Was there anything found at the scene that could have been held in his hand, besides a gun?" asked MacNeil.

Vin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "There was a broken Gameboy near the body," he finally admitted. "That's all that was found to my knowledge."

"Gameboy?" asked the chairman, puzzled. He shuffled through his notes.

"A hand held computer game. A toy," clarified Burke.

"Is there any possibility that you could have mistaken the device for a weapon?" asked MacNeil not unkindly.

"Have you seen one of those things?" Vin shot right back. When MacNeil nodded, Vin shook his head with bewilderment. "Then how can you ask me if I thought that was a gun?" There was silence at the table for a moment. "No," Vin said forcefully. "There is no possibility that I mistook that game for a weapon. None."

"Do you have any idea what Anthony Morris was doing at the house?" asked Travis.

"No," Vin said, softer. "He wasn't part of our intel going in. We weren't expecting him to be there."

"Can you think of any reason why he would enter a house that was being raided?" asked Rowan. "Wouldn't it be more prudent for him to have fled instead?"

Vin tried very hard not to show how much he wanted that boy to have done exactly that last Friday instead of coming inside to be killed. "I wish more than anything on this earth that he was here to tell us what he was doing there," he said finally with a hoarse voice. "Because that's a question I don't have an answer for."

*****

Seeking a quick breakfast, or maybe just some juice since they were late, Buck was startled to find his young housemate immersed in a storage cupboard just off the kitchen. The cupboard housed a variety of things but mostly stuff that was no longer in use.

"What are you looking for?" asked Buck as he watched JD methodically and thoroughly rifle through the storage contents. The reply was muffled but just as Buck was about to seek clarification JD emerged from the chaos with something in his hand.

"This!" he told Buck triumphantly.

Buck looked at him with part concern and part irritation. "Are you going to enlighten me on the significance or do I have to guess what fool errand you're on now?"

JD held the item out with his arm at shoulder height and aimed it at Buck. "Does this look like a weapon to you?" he asked seriously.

Buck wondered if maybe the stress of the past week was taking a toll on JD. "Not unless you're planning on playing me to death," he observed and turned away to head to the refrigerator.

"Buck." JD stepped forward to grab his friend's arm. "Look again. Is there any possibility you could mistake this for a gun?"

"It's a Gameboy, JD," Buck said patiently.

"Then how could anyone think that Vin managed to see this as a threat?"

"Do you want my answer or the one given in the official report?" snapped Buck.

JD drew up straight and stepped back from the tone. He looked down at the toy. "I don't think the Gameboy was ever in that kid's hand," he said quietly "Which means that something else was, something that, if not a gun, sure looked a lot like one."

"You're not making a hell of a lot of sense here, JD," Buck said, shaking his head. "Wait, why don't you think it was in the kid's hand?"

"Because it was broken, the screen was smashed," JD said simply. Buck waited for more of an explanation, his expression clearly asking 'So what?'

"Watch," JD instructed. He raised the toy to shoulder height again, holding it as he would a gun and then let it fall. It hit the wooden floor with a loud clatter and bounced a few times to land by Buck's feet. JD bent to retrieve it before Buck could. He held it out for inspection. "Not even a crack. They build these things pretty tough, you know."

JD raised it up again and this time threw the device to the floor with force.

"Are you about done with this little science experiment?" asked Buck, amused.

JD examined the toy.

"Look," he insisted, thrusting it into Buck's hands. "The battery cover broke off but that's it. You can't tell me that thing got busted flying out of that kid's hand when he went down. It's not possible."

Buck turned the device over and looked up at JD sadly. JD didn't even notice; he was lost in thought his brow furled with a frown.

*****

It was finally over and Vin escaped to the elevator grateful that it was empty. He slumped against a back corner and closed his eyes. As the elevator began its descent, binging softly with every floor it passed, Vin loosened his tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt.

When he opened his eyes he saw the stripes of the elevator walls reflected back on the metal of the doors looking very much like bars of a cage. The doors slid open and Vin bolted out, plowing through a tiny crowd waiting to enter.

He didn't stop running until he hit the street.

*****

Chris sorted through a handful of interoffice mail envelopes as he entered the team's area. He looked up, surprised at the quiet around him. Normally, the clatter of keyboards, phones ringing, and a multitude of voices signaled a hive of activity. Today he could hear the muted rattle of the fan in the air system. Buck was on the phone but doing more listening than speaking, with two fingers rubbing absently at his temple. Nathan was focused intently on a floor plan he'd tacked up on the wall. JD was examining some photos and a small plastic object that Chris initially mistook for a walkman but saw was actually a computer game. Josiah wasn't even pretending to work, as he stared out the window with his chin resting on steepled fingers. Ezra, naturally, was absent.

Irrationally, Chris was annoyed with them. That made him suddenly annoyed with himself for becoming irritable for no good reason. He was even angrier to find himself lashing out at the missing agent.

"Where's Ezra?" he barked.

Buck looked up as he replaced the handset of his phone to its base. "He called to say he's checking in with some informants," he told Chris.

Chris almost missed this explanation as he suddenly recognized Nathan's floor plan as being the Brightman house.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Nathan's expression was a little guilty but more wary for his boss's tone. "I, uh..."

"He stepped on it!" JD pronounced unexpectedly, turning all heads in his direction.

Distracted from Nathan, Chris stepped over to JD's desk to see the photos were from Rowan's crime scene report.

"Is anybody actually working today?" he asked with exasperation.

"That's not fair, Chris," Buck said.

Chris shook his head.

"What did you mean, JD?" asked Josiah hoping to diffuse rising tensions.

JD looked reluctant to present his theory. "Well, I've been trying to figure out how the Gameboy got so smashed and I think what happened is that Morris must have landed on it when he came through the window."

"You seem very concerned about that toy," muttered Buck.

Chris frowned and picked up one of the photos. "How do you know it didn't just break when he dropped it?"

"Dropping it wouldn't smash the screen that way," insisted JD standing and picking up his toy as if to demonstrate.

Buck held up a hand to stop him. "Please kid, spare me the experiment in the toughness of technology."

Chris flicked his gaze between the two of them wondering just how long JD had been formulating his theory.

"What about this experiment then, Buck?" challenged JD. He put a piece of paper on the floor and then leapt over the corner of his desk to land with his heel squarely on the sheet. "Don't you think that might crush one of those things?" He gestured back at the device.

Chris took another careful look at the photos. "How do you know the screen was smashed? You can't see how it's broken from this angle."

Taking this as more encouragement than he was getting from Buck JD answered without thinking. "I saw the broken Gameboy in the case file."

Buck covered his face with his hands, shaking his head; Josiah winced and even Nathan took a cautious step back. Chris looked positively murderous but JD was perplexed. What had he said?

"Everyone in my office now!" ground out Chris, leading the way.

After carefully shutting the door behind them Chris walked around to the other side of his desk. JD had the presence of mind to at least keep his mouth shut until he found out what he'd done wrong.

"Are you saying that you got into Rowan's evidence?" Chris asked sounding almost calm.

JD wasn't fooled. He bit his lip nervously. "Yeah, I took a look when Buck dropped off the stuff yesterday."

Chris's glare redirected itself on Buck who immediately went into defensive mode. "Don't look at me like that! I didn't know what he was doing."

"I thought I'd made it very clear that we were not to get in Rowan's way with this thing."

"This 'thing' could mean Vin losing his job!" burst out JD. "He could..."

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT IT MEANS!" roared Chris, giving in to his temper. He leaned on his desk focusing on the neutrality of the papers scattered there in direct avoidance of the shocked expressions of his team.

Buck placed a comforting hand on JD's shoulder. "Kid," he said gently. "We don't want anyone to think we've messed with Rowan's evidence."

"I didn't mess with anything!" protested JD clearly upset. "I just looked at it."

"We know that JD," spoke up Josiah. "But if we find something to help Vin we can't have anyone even suggesting interference."

"If the DA's office knew you'd been poking around in there they could claim you planted something to exonerate Vin," added Nathan.

JD looked so helplessly surprised that anyone would even think such a thing that Chris's anger diffused. He often forgot how innocent JD could be, holding to a strict moral code in the midst of deceit and dishonour. Chris sighed wearily and slowly sat.

"Don't do that again," he said sternly. JD nodded. "Now that we've cleared that up, explain to me about the Gameboy."

JD went through his theory once more to a more attentive audience this time. He concluded, "So Morris couldn't have been holding it. Which means he must have had something else in his hand when Vin shot him."

Buck raised his eyes from the floor to look at Chris's sad face. "It really stretches credibility for Vin to have made that mistake."

"I agree with that," Chris said. "But it doesn't do us much good without an alternative."

"Should we get forensics to check the device to see if they can match the break to the kid's boot?" asked Nathan. "That way we might eliminate one accusation."

Chris thought carefully for a moment. Was it better to remove all doubt about the kid having a game in his hand? Or would this make things worse? At least if Morris held something in his hand then Vin had a tenuous justification. It went down so fast; it was dark... Hell, any which way he looked at it the situation was bad. He finally nodded.

"Point them in that direction. Let's see what they find. Could be the damn thing was already broken."

They slowly filed out, JD trailing behind. He turned back, thinking to apologize for his mistake with the evidence but Chris had swung his chair to face the window. In its reflection JD saw his boss had closed his eyes. He shut the door softly as he left.

*****

Ezra grimaced as he got out of his vehicle and walked around the abandoned building towards the tracks. He wished he could have prevailed upon Josiah or Buck to accompany him. Not that he didn't feel confident he could look out for himself. He excelled at that. But both his partners had an imposing presence that came naturally to their large statures.

Ezra wasn't sure they'd approve of his methods when it came to dealing with snitches like Jimmy though. Point of fact, Ezra didn't approve either. However the situation was dire and called for extraordinary measures.

"Jimmy!" he called to the teen as he spotted him crouching with some others in the shelter of an overhang.

Jimmy's head snapped up at his name and for a split second he thought about fleeing. It was plainly written on his face, as was Ezra's expression equally clear. Try it and you're in trouble.

"You owe me!" Ezra continued his advance.

Jimmy stepped away from the curiosity of his mates, who hadn't yet decided whether or not to back him. Ezra didn't look like much of a threat for now.

"I don't owe you shit!" Jimmy threw back.

Ezra smiled grimly. "I disagree my young friend. And I'm here to collect."

Obviously Jimmy's companions weren't all that attached to him because they chose this moment to extricate themselves from the situation. This made Jimmy nervous which suited Ezra just fine.

"What the hell are you doin', man? You want to get me killed?"

"Not at all," Ezra replied smoothly. "It would be an untimely end to our long and fruitful relationship."

"Yeah, whatever. But I come to you not the other way around." Jimmy turned away and with surprising speed Ezra reached out to grab him by the collar.

"We're not finished yet!"

Jimmy stiffened at the manhandling but seemed resigned to stick around.

"I'm looking for some information on Anthony Morris," Ezra said. "You know him?"

"No," Jimmy answered too quickly.

Ezra regarded him patiently. "My friend, you are a deplorable liar. Tell me what you know."

"I don't know nothin'!" Jimmy burst out. Ezra didn't budge. "Well, maybe I heard something."

"Much as I'd like to spend the day guessing, I'd rather you simply told me," Ezra prompted finally.

Jimmy dropped his voice down. "I heard he's dead."

"Incredibly useful information I'm sure, except that I already was aware of his deceased status," Ezra said coldly. "I'm more interested in what he was doing prior to his death."

Jimmy looked offended. "I can't help it if I don't know stuff you want to hear."

"Jimmy." Ezra gave an exaggerated sigh. "I'm tired of playing these infantile games. But if you really want to engage in a contest perhaps I'll let loose your police status to your compatriots and let them have some fun with you."

"I'm too valuable," Jimmy said cockily.

"Not at the moment," Ezra pointed out with a clipped tone.

"I don't know nothin'," Jimmy repeated, scuffing the pavement with one toe.

"Of course you don't," agreed Ezra. "But what have you heard?"

"Tony was running for Company B but BB owed him some meth and hadn't come through."

Ezra pondered this carefully. "He was a courier?" he clarified and Jimmy nodded. "Unpaid," mused Ezra. "Any idea why BB withheld the goods?"

"Dunno." Jimmy shrugged.

"You've been very helpful, my friend," Ezra said still mulling over the information. Jimmy looked skeptical at the praise. "One more thing," Ezra added as if an afterthought. "Did Tony habitually carry a gun?"

Jimmy grinned. "We's just kids, Ez. We don't break the law like that."

Ezra was not amused and yanked Jimmy closer by his shirt. Bringing up his own weapon he stared coldly at the youth's startled face. "A gun?" he asked again. "Just like the one, see? Did Tony have one or not?"

"You won't shoot me," Jimmy challenged but his voice wavered slightly. "You're ATF, man. You're not allowed to just shoot people."

"You don't think so?" Ezra jabbed the gun against Jimmy's ribs. "Your information was a little short on details for you then or you'd know that Tony was killed by an ATF agent."

Jimmy's alarm was quickly masked but just as quickly he spilled his knowledge. "Sure he had a gun! You think Company B would turn him loose without one?"

"Are you telling me that BB provided this weapon to Tony?" Ezra asked, loosening his grip on the rattled teen.

"Yeah, man, 'course he did. But you took care of him so no more guns on the streets, right?" Jimmy gave a shaky laugh.

"I only wish that were so," Ezra said sadly. He stepped back. "Thank you for your time, James. As usual it has been most enlightening."

Then Ezra walked away, ignoring Jimmy's calls for compensation. The complaint died abruptly as Jimmy discovered the crisp bills that hadn't been in his pocket prior to their conversation.

No, his team would undoubtedly be disapproving of his methods but they would most certainly approve of the results.

*****

Vin had been surprised to get an appointment on a Saturday afternoon. Even more unexpected was the location. Sitting in his Jeep on the driveway he checked the address again from the card. This was the place but it sure didn't look like a doctor's office. It looked more like a house.

He was deliberately late, hoping that maybe his tardiness would cancel the appointment. Now his hand hesitated over his ignition key as he considered just driving away. The fact that he really had no better place to be finally decided it for him. He grabbed the keys and went up to the porch.

He almost wondered if he should ring the doorbell but as he approached he saw the door was open. Peering cautiously around it he saw a small entranceway that led to an open waiting area not unlike a living room. Off to the other side was a staircase.

"Mr. Tanner? Come on in," called a voice.

He noticed a receptionist smiling at him from a desk in the waiting area. He entered. "Could you fill this out for me please?" The woman handed him a clipboard which Vin took reluctantly.

"Sure."

He picked up the pen thinking of other forms in other doctors' offices he'd filled out. Forms that wanted to know if he smoked, did he have AIDS, had he ever experienced a seizure, did he suffer from headaches or ulcers or allergies. Vin expected the same kind of questions except for a psychiatrist it was probably going to be did he hear voices in his head or had he ever fantasized about killing his mother.

So he was surprised to find the form only wanted his name, address, and insurance information.

"Thanks!" The woman smiled brightly at him and pointed to a door on her left. "You can go right in."

Vin nodded and muttered his own thanks and stepped through the door.

The room on the other side might have been a den. In fact, that had probably been its purpose at one time in the house's existence. There were several cluttered bookcases, a sofa and a couple of chairs, a coffee table and a footstool. A stereo peeked out from around an enormous leafy plant, one of many plants that were scattered about the space. A large bay window looked out to a secluded private garden where more foliage flourished. And on the wall opposite the door was a modern art print.

Vin hesitated, not seeing the room's other occupant for a second. Then he spotted someone perched precariously on a footstool while reaching to water a trailing vine that hung from the corner of one bookcase.

"Hello!"

Well, it was certainly a day for surprises, Vin thought as he stared at the doctor with astonishment.

"I'm sorry." He took a step back. "Dr. Dawson?"

"That's me." The watering complete the doctor returned to the ground with a thump.

"Dr. E. Dawson?" questioned Vin.

She smiled. "E for Emily, in the flesh. And you must be Mr. Tanner."

"I was...oh...I was...sorry..." Vin placed a hand on the doorknob. Never had retreat seemed so welcome.

"You were expecting a man," Dr. Dawson said bluntly still smiling. "But that's okay. Why don't you take a seat and we'll talk and then if you're still uncomfortable I'll refer you to someone else."

"It's not...it's not that I have anything against women," Vin said quickly, embarrassed. "Or women doctors or anything like that but...I was expecting..."

"I understand completely," she said unoffended. "Have a seat."

It was so obviously not an issue for her that Vin found himself stepping back into the room from the doorway into which he'd withdrawn. He avoided the couch and chose instead one of the chairs, sitting stiffly. She came towards him to sit in the other chair.

"What brings you here to speak to me today, Mr. Tanner?" she asked.

Vin stretched out his fingers and wrapped them unconsciously around the wooden ends of the armrests. He fixed his eyes on a ceramic figure of a bird that was on one of the bookshelves.

"It's kind of complicated," he said finally.

"Well, just start off and we'll try to muddle through it," she suggested.

"You know..." Vin flicked his eyes to hers and away again, not liking being watched so carefully. "You know what I do for a living?"

"You work with the ATF," she said. "Mostly on firearms crimes, right?"

"That's right." Vin's eyes roamed the room, taking in all kinds of details. This was even harder than he'd thought it would be. What was he thinking to come here?

"Mr. Tanner, you should know that anything we talk about here is kept entirely between us. No matter what is said in this room, I cannot and will not divulge the information to anyone."

Vin took a deep breath and tried to smile at her. "Not even the investigating committee?"

Her expression showed concern but not surprise. "Not even. I work for you, Mr. Tanner, not for the ATF or the DA. Besides," she added, matching his light tone, "I don't think any investigating committee would welcome my advice."

She seemed kind, Vin thought. It was her eyes, he decided.

"I bet if you declared me unfit for work they'd pay attention right quick," he commented sadly.

"And why would I do that, Mr. Tanner?" she asked.

Vin cleared his throat. "I reckon if we're going to do this then you should start calling me Vin. I hardly know who you're talking to with that mister stuff."

"Okay Vin."

Vin took several deep breaths and tried to relax his grip on the chair. Come on, Tanner, you've come to the cliff now you just have to step off.

"A little over a week ago I shot and killed a teenager during a bust," he said softly. He kept his eyes firmly on the floor, not wanting to see her reaction to this admission. "At the time I shot him, I knew that the had a gun and was going to fire. Still, the first thing I thought of when I saw the body was...was that I'd just killed a kid. And that's..." Vin looked up at the ceiling. "That's...wrong," he finished, finally bringing his eyes down to Dr. Dawson.

"Have you ever killed someone in the line of duty before now?" she asked.

"Yeah." Vin looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I killed in the army but that was different." His voice got very soft. "They didn't have any names."

"And as an ATF agent?"

"I've shot at a lot of people," Vin admitted sadly. "And I've killed three of them. Nobody questioned my judgement then."

Vin looked over to the window lost in thought. "Last year I killed a man named Carlo Alvarez who was distributing explosive material. He pulled a weapon during the arrest and aimed it at Chris. So I shot him."

"And what happened?" prompted Dr. Dawson.

Vin gave a half shrug. "Chris thanked me for saving his sorry butt and Carlo's men went to jail."

"So what is different this time?"

"This time the life I took wasn't some soulless scum bastard who made a living off destroying others! He was just a kid who didn't know any better; who'd gotten himself in with the wrong kinda people for the wrong reasons. If all 14 year olds were shot for making bad choices there wouldn't be many kids lasting to 15."

"He made a choice to raise a weapon against you just as Carlo raised his against Chris," Dawson said.

"It's different," insisted Vin. He rubbed his eyes. "You know, I have dreams that...well, nightmares really..." He stopped and looked at her warily. "Is talking about dreams a really weird thing to do? I feel like a clich�."

She smiled. "It's very common for a traumatic experience to revisit itself in our dreams."

"Yeah, okay." He didn't sound convinced. "Well, anyway, in the dream he shoots me." He patted his chest absently, pondering the memory. "What do you think that's supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?" she asked.

Vin looked momentarily annoyed at having his question thrown back at him. "You're the expert, not me," he mumbled. "Maybe better that way."

"Better?" she queried. "If you'd been shot instead of the boy? How would that be better?"

"Well for one thing he wouldn't be dead," Vin said bluntly. "And I wouldn't be guilty of killing him," he added quietly.

"You don't know that," she said. "It's very hard to see what if scenarios objectively because there are so many variables. If you'd been shot instead of the teenager, who's to say another member of your team wouldn't have subsequently killed him? Who's to say he wouldn't have hurt one of them as well as you? Who's to say he wouldn't have suffered greatly from having injured or killed you?"

"You saying he's better off dead?" asked Vin with irritation.

"No. But he is dead, and so we have to move forward from what did happen, not what might have happened," Dawson told him gently.

"I can see it so clearly in here." Vin brought his fingers to his temples. "So clearly. And it seems to take so long. You know how long four seconds can be? There's a lot you can do in four seconds. A lot of decisions can be made in four seconds. And I wonder...why...why did I decide that shooting was the best option? Why didn't I duck back out into the hall and shout another warning? I could've called the team up. I could've fired a warning shot. I could've turned on the goddamn light so I could see what the hell I was doing!" Agitated, Vin rose to his feet to walk towards the window. He paced. "Why didn't I?"

"You reacted in the only way possible at the time. And your doubt about that reaction now is probably because you've been spending too much time thinking about it."

Later, as he climbed into his Jeep, Vin thought that maybe it hadn't been so bad, talking to a stranger. He might just keep that next appointment.

*****

Sunday afternoon 12:48

Chris stared out his kitchen window at the corral of horses. His fingers drummed idly on the side of his coffee mug as he considered options for the afternoon.

He could go riding, which had been his plan. On Friday he'd left a message with Vin, inviting him over on the weekend for exactly that purpose. Maybe a little riding, a little something as far removed from the office as possible would give them both some perspective. He'd purposely not mentioned the investigation. But when he'd arrived home on Friday evening there was a message from Vin thanking him for the invite and declining the offer.

The part that had struck Chris was that Vin had chosen to leave that message at a time when he'd known Chris to be at the office. It was an action that both puzzled and hurt him.

He'd brought home all the files: their case against the Brightmans, the crime scene team's initial survey, Rowan's investigation, and the committee's interviews. He'd spent all day Saturday laying it all out, reading everything over, and over again, and then once more again.

Today he wanted nothing more than to stuff it all in a box and shelve it some place dark and musty. He should go for that ride. It might clear his head.

Chris sighed and dumped out his long cold coffee. Maybe if he looked at it one more time...

*****

When Chris entered the office on Monday, hauling a heavy file box, his dark mood could be sensed by all his team. There was a moment when all of them paused as though caught in the wake of a storm.

"Conference, my office," Chris ordered as he walked past.

He thumped the box down heavily on his desk and swatted it with frustration.

"We have absolutely nothing," he informed them. "Not a single, solitary, goddamned thing!"

There was little joy to offer him from the others whose expressions ranged from uneasy to glum.

"And where the HELL is Ezra?" demanded Chris, noting his agent's continued absence.

No one had an opinion on this either.

Chris clenched his fists and then splayed his fingers on the top of the box as though gathering control. He tapped a quick, impatient beat.

"Dammit, if Anthony Morris hadn't been arrested for shoplifting last year we wouldn't even know his name! What the hell was he doing at that house?"

Chris didn't really expect a response. By now his questions had become almost rhetorical.

"He was probably trying to collect his wages from his employer," drawled Ezra from the doorway.

Four faces turned to him with amazement; the fifth still looked annoyed, although curiosity abounded on all.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Ezra said, yawning widely and moving into the office to collapse ungracefully onto the couch. Buck looked down at him from his perch on the armrest.

"Damn Standish, you look like a cat's been dragging you someplace!"

Ezra gave him a sour look. Buck marvelled at how even in an exhausted and rumpled state Ezra still managed a certain class.

"Anthony Morris was a courier for Company B," Ezra stated flatly. "Word on the street was that BB was in arrears with the payroll and Tony didn't appreciate the situation."

Ezra took a long sip of his coffee and thanked the blessed gods for caffeine.

"Brightman claimed ignorance of Morris," Josiah mused.

"Ignorance is very apt. Very apt indeed," Ezra murmured and nearly giggled. Oh man, he really needed some sleep.

"How reliable is your source?" asked Chris.

"As reliable as you can get with kids who live on the street. But I heard it from more than one mouth and they were all sure of two points. Tony was owed meth and BB had given him a gun."

"Damn," breathed Buck.

"Unfortunately," Ezra rubbed his eyes, "I don't think any of my sources would make good witnesses, even supposing I could con them into the courthouse."

"BB gave him a gun," repeated Chris.

"He was known for carrying it, was quite proud of having it by all accounts," confirmed Ezra.

"Well there you go!" said JD almost cheerfully. Chris glared at him.

"Then where is it?" he asked looking at each of them.

"If Tony was looking to collect his meth that could explain why he was at the house," Nathan said.

"And BB wouldn't be advertising any drug activity in the middle of a firearms arrest," added Josiah.

"If we could get BB to corroborate Ezra's sources, he'd be a credible witness," Buck put in quietly.

"BB's not likely to hand us anything without getting something for himself out of it," Chris said. "But I guess it can't hurt to ask."

Chris pulled the box off his desk to place it near the file cabinet. He sat down.

"Even if we prove Morris usually carried a weapon it doesn't do Vin much good without it."

"One thing at a time, my friend," Buck counseled as he rose.

They filed out slowly leaving only Ezra and Chris facing each other. Ezra appeared to be in a doze, his eyes staring unseeing past Chris out the window.

"Good work Ezra," Chris said quietly. "Now go home and get some sleep before you collapse on me. I'm already down one man, I don't need another out of the picture."

He tried to make it come out as a joke but Ezra appeared not to have heard past the first two words.

"Good work?" Ezra was instantly alert, his eyes snapping to Chris's. "No Mr. Larabee. Had I provided you with his information prior to the bust it would have been good. As it stands now it is merely too little, too late."

"Ez..." Chris hesitated. "You covered a lot of ground in a relatively short period before that went down. It was a quick one. You can't know everything."

"That is my job, is it not?" Ezra smiled grimly. He looked at his empty coffee cup. "It strikes me as somewhat cruel irony that everyone but me knew that Morris was a runner for Company B."

"Even if we had known that before going in it probably wouldn't have changed what happened," Chris said gently.

Ezra thought about that. He disagreed but he wasn't sure it was worth getting into with Chris. If they had known about a potentially armed teenaged accomplice to the Brightman clan... Well, Ezra was damned sure Tanner would have acted differently even if Chris didn't think so.

"There's no point beating yourself up for things beyond your control," Chris told him.

Ezra quickly masked a look of incredulity. Did the man even hear what he was saying? But he nodded slightly and stood.

"No, I suppose you're right." He moved to the door and leaned back in to pull the handle towards him. "I'll leave that to you," he muttered as he closed the door behind him.

*****

Monday afternoon 2:04

Boris Brightman sat with his lawyer in the interrogation room looking surly. Chris eyed him cautiously through the window in the door while he waited for Flynn. BB's expression did not encourage a cooperative session and Chris was pessimistic they would get any useful information from him. Still, Ezra had told him that the Brightmans were not always thinking of the long term plan so perhaps they would be able to trip him up.

The door behind Chris opened and Flynn came bustling through, stuffing a file into his briefcase while wrapping up a call on his cell.

"No, no, no, a thousand times no! Don't do anything until I...okay, get the paper work started but...that won't work...just trust me...okay right...okay. I'll be back in my office after my meeting." Flynn sighed as he disconnected the call and looked wearily at Chris. "Larabee, I gotta say that I think we're pissing up a rope with this."

Chris scowled at him. "If we get BB to admit that Morris had a gun then it puts Vin in a much better position with Rowan's investigation. Not to mention your office," he added under his breath.

"Agreed," Flynn said shortly. "But I can't offer him any incentive to spill his guts so don't hold your breath."

They entered the room with at least the illusion of a determined united front.

"Agent Larabee, what a surprise," Brightman said sarcastically. His lawyer shot him a threatening glare which he carried forward to Chris and Flynn as they sat down.

"Gentlemen, this is intolerable. Mr. Brightman has already given a very detailed statement."

"We just want to clarify something," Flynn said as he pulled a pad from his bag and looked for a pen. Chris finally handed him his own pen, never taking his eyes from Brightman. "In your statement and during questioning you claimed not to know the identity of the, er, youth found on the third floor of your house. Is that correct?"

Brightman smirked. He was watching Chris, not Flynn. "Guess I got rats in my attic."

Flynn flicked an uneasy glance at Chris before continuing. "We have subsequently spoken with several sources who tell us that Anthony Morris was not only known to you, but in your employ."

Brightman feigned shock. "That poor soul was Tony? That's tragic."

"You knew him?" asked Chris.

Brightman's lawyer cleared his throat but his client answered anyway. "Yeah, I knew him. He cut the grass for me. I guess that's where the idea he worked for me must have come from." He smirked again and Chris felt an urge to knock that grin right off his face with a fist.

"So why was your lawn boy prowling around your house so late on a Friday night?" asked Flynn with exaggerated patience.

Brightman shrugged. "You got me. Kids these days... Who knows?"

"You sure he wasn't doing any other work for you beside the gardening?" asked Chris.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Agent Larabee," Brightman said innocently.

Chris kept his tone casual, his expression indifferent. "I don't know. Maybe he ran errands for you. Like, maybe delivering your groceries, or taking letters to the post office. Maybe picking up your dry cleaning?"

Brightman narrowed his eyes trying to gauge how much information Chris already had. Obviously nothing concrete or they wouldn't be here asking.

"Tony may have done the odd thing now and again. No big deal."

"You pay him?" asked Chris swiftly.

Brightman laughed. "You know any teenagers who work just for the goodness of their hearts? 'Course I paid him."

Chris and Flynn both looked at Brightman expectantly.

"What?" he burst out finally.

"How did you pay him?" asked Flynn. "Cash? Cheque? Drugs? Guns?"

Brightman smiled again. Chris could see why Ezra had no respect for him; the man would be a lousy poker player.

"Cash," he told them. "And I'm not responsible for what he spent it on."

"Really this is ridiculous!" Brightman's lawyer interjected. "Mr. Brightman has been more than cooperative."

Flynn looked over at Chris as if to ask whether they were done.

"Can you confirm that Tony Morris carried a gun?" Chris asked Brightman.

"No," Brightman said clearly, with an incredulous expression. 'Do I look that stupid to you, Larabee?'

Chris fixed him with a cold stare. "We're done," he told Flynn shortly and stood.

Flynn collected his materials and thanked them as he hastened to follow Chris.

"Guess your boy's in a little trouble, eh Larabee?" Brightman hooted with laughter as Chris stalked out.

*****

Tuesday afternoon 12:22

Nathan rose to his feet as Cecily approached the table. A broad smile lit his face and was reflected back by her obvious pleasure at seeing him.

"Ms. Williams." Nathan gave her a hug. "It's been too long."

"That it has, Mr. Jackson," she murmured as she kissed his cheek. They sat.

"It's my fault. I feel like a jerk to call you out of the blue after so much time."

She raised an eyebrow at him while placing the napkin on her lap. "Oh please, like I don't have my own phone? Or is it that I misplaced your number?"

Nathan was so astonished he said nothing.

"We're both adults, Nathan. And busy ones. But surely friends don't need to keep tabs on one another. You need no excuse to go for lunch with me."

He relaxed and smiled again. "So, what's new? I heard you got a new job at the coroner's office. How's that going?"

She laughed. "What a question!"

They ordered lunch and chatted easily, comfortable with catching up on each other's lives. Towards the end of the meal they laughed over shared memories.

Nathan turned his coffee cup, studying its contents pensively. Time spent with Cecily was always a joy; her sense of humour and laid back attitude was refreshing after too many tense days.

"Cecily, you know I would never want to use our friendship to pressure you," he began.

"Well, finally," she said with a low tone.

When he looked up sharply at her, she inclined her head. "After no contact for nearly two years, I knew there had to be a reason you invited me to lunch. I've just been trying to figure out what it is."

"One of the guys on my team, well, he's in a lot of trouble right now." Nathan sighed and returned his attention to the cup.

"Agent Tanner?" she guessed.

He nodded.

"What can I do to help?" she asked quietly when he seemed reluctant to speak.

"The coroner's report was pretty quickly done," he said.

"As I recall, it was a very straight forward cause of death," she told him.

"Yeah." He nodded again, remembering his own view of Anthony Morris at the scene. "Yeah, it was. But the reports for the blood and tissue samples haven't been processed yet. There's a backlog..."

"Nathan," she interrupted. "I highly doubt those reports are going to change the cause of death. That boy was killed by Agent Tanner. He died from a single gunshot wound to the heart."

"I know that!" he burst out. She recoiled with surprise. "I know that," he repeated softly. "But right now we're trying to figure out why the boy was even there."

She shook her head, concerned but puzzled. "I'm not sure how that's going to help your friend."

"We now know that Morris usually carried a gun, that he was involved in drugs that Brightman supplied as payment. Vin said he saw a gun in the kid's hand. We're just trying to get as many pieces of the puzzle together as possible."

"Nathan," she started and he seized her hand with both of his.

"Cecily, you must believe me when I say that Vin is the last person to kill a suspect indiscriminately. I don't know what rumours have been flying around the office about him but he's not some kind of violent, power crazed, hothead who gets off hurting people. If he saw a gun then I believe there was one."

Her expression was sympathetic but she was still skeptical. "Our reports can't find a missing gun."

"No," agreed Nathan. "But we'll take anything right now, anything that gives us more information on Morris. Anything that might give Vin some peace of mind. Hey, I don't have to sell the power of forensic evidence to you, do I?" He grinned.

"I'll do whatever I can to help you, you know that."

He squeezed her fingers gently. "Thanks, Cecily. If we could get those reports moved up the pile a bit...maybe get the results a little quicker?"

"I'll see what I can do," she promised and made ready to leave. "But now I have to get back there or nothing will get done."

Nathan stood with her. "You're a true friend, Ms. Williams."

She gave him a parting kiss. "You remember that, Mr. Jackson."

*****

Vin cautiously circled the room, his weapon held at the ready. There was someone here, he knew it. He could sense the other person even if he couldn't see anything except gloomy shadows.

"Clear!" The voices of his team echoed around him but he knew it wasn't really secure. It wouldn't be until he found that hidden danger.

He went to the door but turned back to check one last time. Then he saw movement at the top of the stairs and he realized he'd finally uncovered the threat. So he fired.

The body fell forward instead of back, coming towards him instead of disappearing down the stairs.

He approached with an oppressive sense of dread nearly choking him. On his knees he reached out to touch the blond hair. A gasp which turned into a grown of denial tore from him as the body rolled over to reveal Chris Larabee's sightless eyes.

"No!"

Vin jerked awake, blinking rapidly in the darkness while he tried to sort through what he knew to be true and what was his mind torturing him. Yes, he'd killed someone. No, that someone wasn't Chris.

Vin had an absurd urge to call his friend, the early hour of the day be damned. He settled for the comfort of hearing that voice on his answering machine from the day before.

"Hey Vin, just wanted to keep you in the loop here. Ezra uncovered a connection between Morris and Company B. We're checking out some of the details. Anyway, uh, give me a call when you get a chance."

Vin clicked off the machine and stood staring at it for several long moments. Yes, Chris was very much alive and Morris was dead.

*****

Wednesday afternoon 5:53

Chris waited for the printer to finish spitting out his file with more indifference than patience. The rattle and wheeze of the machine wasn't enough to drown out the murmurs of conversation of his team members so Chris listened to them without a sense of eavesdropping. It wasn't really conversation, he decided with a sigh. It was more like necessary communication.

Finally Buck let out a faint groan as he stood and stretched his back.

"I'm about done in here. How you doing, JD?"

Chris didn't catch all of JD's response except the "if I never see another" part.

"Anyone seen Vin lately?" Buck asked.

Chris nearly dropped his sheaf of papers, cursed his clumsiness, and went back to collating the copies.

"I left a message yesterday," JD offered.

"I tried to get him several times over the weekend but he never answered," Nathan said.

"I saw him on Thursday," Josiah admitted. "He looked...tired."

'Thursday?' wondered Chris. 'Tired?'

"Damn it, that man is avoiding us," Buck stated. "What about you?" he asked as Chris walked past on his way back to his office.

"I saw him just before his interview with the committee," Chris said. "But he'd already left when I went back to see how it went."

"I'm gonna call and invite him to meet us at the saloon," Buck decided. "We need to get away from this place and I bet he needs to see some friendly faces."

"An excellent proposition," murmured Ezra without looking up from his file.

"Yeah?" Buck's expression brightened with the reinforcement. "You think he'll come?" This question was directed at Chris who had nearly made it to his door.

Chris didn't think so, but he also didn't want to say that to Buck. So instead he said bluntly, "It doesn't matter what I think. Call him and let's go."

*****

Vin found the store to be more than a little overwhelming. Along one wall, floor to ceiling, various makes and models of television sets flickered in synch with images from a sports event. Right opposite, in direct competition for his hearing was a multitude of speakers, and stereo amplifiers, CD players, and other equipment. He didn't even glance in the direction of a library of music and film on tapes and disks.

Wandering aimlessly through the computer section, not at all dazzled by the latest in printer and scanner technology, he came finally to a station set up for prospective buyers to try out the cool new games.

Vin had only a passing acquaintance with this world. He used a computer at the office because it was a necessary and useful tool. He'd played some games with JD, or more rarely Buck, but he was no aficionado by any means. He stood behind a boy of about 12 years who was demonstrating his prowess at obliterating enemies to a younger brother.

After a moment of distraction over the graphic reality of the violence in that game he moved around the demo to look at a display cabinet which housed a multi-coloured series of hand held games. He eyed each of them critically, carefully, even getting down on his knees to better see the lower shelves.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Vin jerked to his feet, feeling absurdly guilty. He must look it too, based on the wary expression of the salesperson. 'Good grief, he probably thinks I'm a shoplifter or something,' Vin thought.

"Uh..."

"Is there a particular model you'd like to see?"

Vin thought about the broken Gameboy barely visible in the crime scene photo he'd kept in his pocket. Could he see the model number on that? He pictured the reaction of the salesguy if he suddenly whipped out the photo to ask, 'Excuse me, have you got one like this?' He choked on a grim laugh.

"No, uh, thanks anyway. Just looking around."

The salesperson seemed about to launch into his pitch anyway so Vin nodded abruptly and turned away, heading for the door.

All the racket was giving him a headache.

*****

It wasn't a very cheery group who sat around the worn wooden table. Mugs of beer at various levels of consumption were placed strategically in front of four of the men, Ezra had a martini, and Chris a whiskey. Nobody spoke. Josiah caught Nathan's eye as he'd once more looked over to see who had just entered. They both silently agreed that maybe it was better that Vin had stayed away.

JD shook his head, a frown darkening his youthful features while he carefully studied the amber liquid in his glass. Everything was just so wrong!

"I don't get it," he burst out finally.

His words startled his companions out of their lethargy. Buck took a sip of beer and lowered his mug.

"Don't get what, kid?"

"What's happening?" asked JD, looking at all of them. "We used to work together like a team should. And now it feels like we're just falling apart."

By unspoken consent the others deferred to Chris for a response.

"It's just a rough patch, JD," he said tersely.

JD looked at him with unconcealed amazement. "Just a rough patch? You know, I don't understand you at all! I've seen you fight tooth and nail for causes a lot less important than Vin. But this time you seem content to just throw him to the wolves that want to fire him and prosecute him -- persecute him for defending himself!" JD's voice rose with every word and angry splotches of red marked his cheeks. If he stopped to think about what he was doing he'd have been horrified with himself for speaking to Chris in such a manner. But he wasn't thinking; he was allowing all the worry and frustration that had pent up since the Brightman bust purge itself onto the closest blame for Vin's predicament. "If I didn't know better I'd think that Vin meant nothing to you. That what happens to him isn't important or worth your time. But since I know that isn't true explain to me why you've been behaving like such a monumental jerk!"

The force of JD's verbal attack momentarily stunned Chris. He half expected Buck to quietly admonish the younger man but instead his old friend merely turned to him with a curious expression and took another sip of beer.

"It's important that we not provide IA or the DA with anything damning that could hurt Vin's case," he explained with irritation. Hadn't he already made this clear?

"So we just do nothing? That's bullshit!" snapped JD. "We should be doing something! We should be looking for that gun!"

Chris's expression was cold, his jaw clenched. "Are you 'bout done?" he asked icily.

JD stood abruptly. "Yeah, I'm done. Not quite as finished as Vin but I guess that doesn't matter either." He picked up his mug with such velocity the beer sloshed over his hand and dripped onto his shoes. "'m gonna play some pool," he mumbled, moving away.

The others watched his departure. Buck cleared his throat and looked back at Chris, who surprisingly hadn't spontaneously combusted.

"Kid's gotta point," Buck said calmly, somewhat thankful there was a solid oak table between them. "We should be looking for that gun because without it Vin is up shit creek and no paddle in sight."

Chris said nothing for a moment and then tossed back the last of his whiskey.

"Unless, maybe you don't believe there is a gun for us to look for?" Josiah ventured.

Chris shook his head, not meeting their eyes. "What do you call believing in evidence you can't find?" he asked bitterly.

"Well Chris, I guess I'd call it faith," Josiah told him thoughtfully.

"Or perhaps merely trust," supplied Ezra, lifting his glass as if to toast.

"Loyalty," Buck put in softly.

"Maybe even, unconditional support," Nathan offered.

Chris now looked at all of them with an expression that was part exasperation and part resignation.

"I'd do anything to help Vin, anything to change what happened. But three teams went over that scene, including us. There wasn't any gun." He stood up and tossed some money down on the table. "If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride."

He didn't look back as he maneuvered through the crowd to the door.

*****

Friday morning 9:15

Travis cleared his throat uncomfortably watching Chris pace by the window. Rowan sat with a neutral expression that conveyed more boredom than annoyance as he checked his watch again. A soft knock preceded Vin's head peering around the door.

"Come in." Travis gestured to Vin.

Chris, thankfully, stopped his perpetual motion and hesitated uncharacteristically as though he didn't know quite where to stand to show his displeasure with the task at hand.

"Agent Tanner," Travis said with his gruff manner. "IA has decided to close the investigation into the shooting of Anthony Morris pending the outcome of the grand jury inquiry."

Vin looked over to Chris, noting his friend's barely contained frustration, and then at Rowan, who returned the gaze frankly. Vin brought his attention back to Travis.

"I haven't been informed of the DA's intentions with the grand jury," Vin admitted softly.

"Well, uh," Travis fumbled as his usual articulation failed him. "They haven't formally called for an inquiry but we expect that any time now."

Vin nodded. He took a deep breath. "Okay then." It could be worse. They could have fired him outright.

"Vin," Travis prompted sadly. "It means changing your status from administrative leave to indefinite suspension with pay. I'm going to need your badge and gun."

"Right. Of course," Vin said stupidly as he reached into his pocket for his identification and placed it, with the weapon, on Travis's desk. "Anything else?"

He hoped not. He had to get out of this room. At least Travis had spared him the audience of the rest of his team, although having Chris there was bad enough.

"No, you're free to go," Travis told him. Vin flinched inwardly at the words, feeling more like a criminal being let out on bail than an agent placed on enforced leave.

"See you around then," Vin said without looking at the others and he turned and walked briskly from the room.

He knew Chris would follow him, he expected it even, but all he really wanted to do was to get out of the building. Sensing his friend's footsteps behind him Vin didn't even press the button for the elevator but ducked immediately into the stairwell and hopped down two steps at a time.

"Vin wait!" Chris called, bursting through the door as Vin made it around the landing in between floors.

"Gotta run, Chris. I'll catch you later," he threw over his shoulder as he kept going.

*****

Chris returned to his office feeling torn for not pursuing Vin. But what could he possibly have said to his friend? He hoped Vin had called the attorney.

"Chris." Josiah's voice pulled Chris from his thoughts. "Flynn is looking for you. He's been calling."

"What's up?" Chris asked, trying to focus back on his work. But his mind kept taking him back to the stairwell when he'd hesitated instead of following. "Wait, what did you say?"

Josiah looked patient as he repeated Flynn's message. "The Brightmans have hired a new lawyer. They made bail and are due to be released in less than an hour."

Chris immediately snapped into action, moving for his door while directing Josiah to round everyone up. He was still barking orders even as he dialed Flynn's direct line. "I don't want BB going anywhere without one of us there to see it. He so much as sneezes and we'll be there to offer him a hanky."

Josiah acknowledged his boss with nothing more than a nod, moving quickly to his own phone to rally the rest of the team. Privately he thought it was about time that something fired up Chris Larabee.

*****

Saturday morning 10:35

Dr. E-for-Emily Dawson sighed as she once more looked at the clock and then the open door through which Vin Tanner should have walked 35 minutes ago. While Vin had demonstrated his reluctance to participate in therapy by being consistently late for his appointments he'd never pushed this far. She had to think that his non-appearance today meant he wasn't coming back.

Her keen disappointment at his failure to appear was directed at herself. Tanner was an obviously conflicted man, and deeply hurt by the aftermath of the shooting. But he was also someone clearly used to dealing with things by himself. Taking her help went against his nature and seeking it was even harder for him. She thought that she'd fostered a kind of bond between them that made it easier for him to confide in her. 'Not so well done, Em,' she scolded herself.

She looked over the notes she'd made after each of their meetings to date. Mild post traumatic shock indications, including insomnia and recurrent nightmares. Some possible signs of depression, exacerbated by enforced inactivity. General loss of self-esteem at what was previously a source for confidence, namely his career. A lot of these stresses on his mental health would be easier to cope with if they'd let him get back to work.

She stood up and considered getting a coffee to go with her unscheduled break. What she saw out of her window had her scrambling for the door.

Vin sat on the ground with his back against the tree trunk, brushing his fingertips over the top of the spikey grass. Dr. Dawson approached him as if afraid he might bolt on her, or maybe just disappear like a puff of smoke.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I just couldn't come inside today."

Her stern admonishment died unspoken. She sat next to him, sharing part of the tree as a backrest. "You should have tapped on the window. I would have come out sooner."

He didn't speak for a long time and then confessed, "They've formally suspended me now. Just waiting for permission to indict from the grand jury."

"That might not happen." She tried to be encouraging. "They might not return an indictment."

"They'll do whatever Burke wants, I s'pose," he said with careful indifference. "I got no excuse but my word and that's not worth spit these days."

He was quiet again. Tilting his head back he closed his eyes to the warm sunshine that filtered into the garden and onto his face.

"I shouldn't have come. I don't feel much like talking. But it's nice here. It's peaceful. Do you know Chris?"

She nearly missed the question, tacked on the end of his statements like that.

"No," she told him. She knew whom he meant of course. As Vin's friend, not to mention boss, Chris Larabee had been intertwined in their earlier conversations.

"Oh. I thought maybe you knew him because he's the one who gave me your card." He laughed a little. "But then, Chris ain't the sort to see a lady doctor about his problems. Huh, never thought I was the sort either. I guess we don't ever know people for sure."

"Did something happen with Chris?" she asked when he lapsed into silence once more.

"It's a great thing to have a friend who's always right, 'less of course you don't agree with him," he observed without answering her question. He took a deep breath and hopped suddenly to his feet, startling her with the abruptness of his motion. "I gotta keep moving." He thrust out a hand which she accepted to help herself stand and was surprised when he shook it firmly. "Thanks for your help doc. But I'm going to be a little busy, what with the inquiry and all."

"Vin," she said cautiously, "you don't have to stop..."

"Yeah, I do," he interrupted. He looked around the garden with a sad smile. "It sure is peaceful here. I'll remember that."

"I think you should talk with Chris," she said.

"Chris isn't hearing what I'm saying these days," Vin said. "But I 'ppreciate that you listened. I think maybe Josiah was right about it bein' easier with a stranger than a friend."

"Friendships, even ones that are hard work, are worth the effort," she told him. "If you won't talk to me anymore, talk with Chris."

"Thanks for the advice, doc," he said, walking towards the gate. She had no sense that he was even considering following her counsel. He half turned back towards her and gave her a little smile before leaving.

*****

Sunday morning 11:42

Ray Flynn had a headache. It had started in his temples and worked its way gradually around until it encompassed his entire brain, like a vise applying a constant and increasing pressure. Its name was Chris Larabee.

"Jesus," he muttered, as he got out of his car and made his way over to the surveillance van. "He's not even attempting to be subtle."

He didn't bother knocking, but yanked open the passenger door and climbed in. Whatever else he thought about Larabee and his team, they were efficient and professional. Their evidence was reliable and usually difficult for defensive attorneys to refute. However, this case had pushed some serious buttons for Team Seven and their current behaviour wasn't helping Flynn's chances of an easy trial. Quite the opposite.

"Raymond, nice of you to join us," murmured Chris from behind his binoculars.

Flynn looked over to the scene which placed Buck Wilmington next to Boris Brightman at coffee shop counter. BB seemed agitated, obviously verbally abusing Buck who appeared unconcerned, sipping coffee and reading the sports section of the newspaper.

"Call off your dogs," Flynn said.

"What?" Chris didn't sound as though he was really listening.

"I said, recall your team!" Flynn snapped with annoyance.

Chris lowered the binoculars and regarded Flynn with hostile eyes. "What the hell are you talking about? We're..."

"What you're doing is called harassment," Flynn told him. "And what it is doing is crumbling our case."

"Brightman has other businesses besides the one that we shut down," Chris informed him.

"Yeah, and he's going to lead you right to them. Give me a break, Larabee! The man is not going to do anything with the seven of you in his face. All you are accomplishing is perpetuating the top story of the day on the latest trend of intimidation tactics used by law enforcement."

"Six," Chris said coldly, returning his eyes to the binoculars.

"Six what?" Flynn was exasperated.

"Six of us. There are only six of us, Flynn. In case it has escaped your notice you are prosecuting one of my team members!"

Flynn rubbed his temples. "I'm not prosecuting Tanner. That's Burke's file," he said quietly. "And it is completely unrelated to the case you are so carefully sabotaging as we speak."

"Same office," Larabee said tersely. "And we're not sabotaging anything, we're trying to find his contacts to the drug dealers that..."

"Oh yeah, just like you and Rowan are in the same office?" interrupted Flynn with annoyance. "We are on the SAME side here, Larabee. Or at least, I thought we were. Call them off or we won't even have a weapons conviction let alone a drug trafficking one!"

Flynn had never noticed before how cold Chris Larabee's eyes could be. That must be what was piercing through his skull and pounding on the inside of his head. He sighed and added, "This isn't going to help Tanner. Let's at least be sure that what happened wasn't for nothing. At the end of it all, let's be sure we get our conviction."

Chris picked up his radio handset. "This is Leader. Return to base. Repeat, return to base." He carefully put down the radio, hearing confirmation from the other team members. "You'd better get that conviction, Flynn."

The assistant district attorney nodded. "I'm doing my best. And you know, I'm not saying that drug dealing wouldn't help seal that coffin, but not if he can even remotely suggest entrapment."

Surprisingly this made Chris smile slightly. He shook his head with disbelief. "You have me call them off and then you want the evidence."

"We want the same thing, Larabee. We just disagree on the best method of getting it." Flynn opened the door and stepped out to the sidewalk. JD, the first to return to the van, looked startled by the unexpected presence of the prosecutor. "Hey Dunne, make sure your boss gets some sleep soon, okay? He looks like shit."

JD heard Chris's profane reaction to Flynn's suggestion but he nodded anyway. Chris hadn't left the trail of Brightmans since the brothers had left the courthouse nearly three days ago.

"Change of plans," Chris announced as his team climbed into the back of the van. "Here's how we're going to handle it..."

*****

Monday afternoon 2:37

Vin got out of his Jeep holding the forms in a fist that clenched them tight enough to leave permanent crease marks. He really didn't want to be here, despite Dr. Dawson's advice on the matter. However, he needed Chris's signature on the forms in order to continue his extended health coverage while suspended.

Chris wasn't at the office, where Vin had initially tried. In fact, none of his team were to be found. Travis's assistant had finally informed Vin that they'd spent some serious overtime keeping tabs on the newly sprung Brightman brothers. Most of the team were still on the street, but Chris had gone home.

So Vin followed him back to the ranch. As if confronting his friend wasn't going to be hard enough, now he was doing it after the guy had been working an unexpected 36 hour shift. Chris was either going to be asleep, making Vin feel guilty for disturbing him at home for a work-related problem, or incredibly pissed off.

Vin hoped for the latter really. It matched his own feelings about the situation.

Chris didn't answer his door, responding to neither the bell nor the knock. Vin wandered slowly around to the back. No sign of Chris in the yard area either so he made his way over to the barn.

It was typical, thought Vin as he leaned against the open doorway, that Chris would be unable to sleep when he so clearly needed it. Instead, keyed up by the events of the case, most of which Vin wasn't even aware of anymore, he was tending his horses. As a relaxation technique it was extremely successful, as Vin well knew from experience. Yet despite this Chris didn't look very relaxed.

"Hey," Vin called to get his attention.

Chris whirled with surprise, blinking dumbly at Vin for a moment.

Vin shrugged and waved with his forms. "Remember me?" he asked with an attempt at humour. It fell flat.

"What are you doing here?" asked Chris, the question sounding harsher than he'd intended.

Vin stiffened and took a step forward. "Need your John Henry on some bureaucratic bullshit so I can continue enjoying my downtime." He practically spat out the last word.

"You know that we're trying to put all the pieces together," Chris said. "Just because Rowan has closed the file doesn't mean that we've given up."

Vin shook his head with disbelief. "Pieces together? Given up? Are you listening to yourself, Larabee?" Without realizing it, Vin began taking steps towards the other man. "Just what exactly are you doing then? Are you looking for the gun?" Vin asked the question with exaggerated innocence. Seeing Chris's chagrined expression he cocked his head with mock surprise. "No? Well, what a shock."

"You're not being fair," Chris protested.

"Fair?" Vin's brow furled together with anger. "Well, Chris, I'd really like to hear your take on what exactly is fair about this situation. Because from my viewpoint there hasn't been a lot of that happening!"

"We've actually accomplished quite a bit," Chris said, bristling a little. "Ezra connected Morris to Brightman, JD turned forensics onto the Gameboy, and Nathan got the coroner's report. It turns out..." Chris didn't get to finish imparting Nathan's find before Vin interrupted him.

"And what did you accomplish, Chris? Did you find the gun?"

Chris swallowed and said nothing. There was nothing to say. Vin stood toe to toe with his friend now, anger sparking from his normally calm demeanor.

"Hard to find what wasn't there, right cowboy?" The tone was deceptively quiet.

"Nobody blames you for your reaction," Chris said softly. "It was a highly charged situation and..."

"I blame me!" Vin burst out, bringing a fist to his chest. "I blame me and that's just about as much blame as I can handle right now. I don't give a damn about your pardon for my crime."

Chris looked stricken. "I..."

"And I never took you for such a gutless wonder, Larabee, that you wouldn't at least have the courage to admit to me that you don't think Morris had any gun that night." Vin jabbed a finger into Chris's chest, his face plainly displaying disgust.

Then he took a step back, shaking his head and flinging his hands to his sides. The forms fell to the ground, and blew into the corner by a light breeze. "Forget it," he muttered.

But something inside Vin snapped when he turned around, thinking only to get back in his Jeep and drive away, as far away as he could go and maybe never come back. This option was so clearly not possible that he brought a fist up suddenly and smacked it hard across Chris's face. His friend's head snapped to the side sharply with the blow and Chris staggered a bit but maintained his feet. Vin hit him again, throwing him back against the stall gate.

Chris brought up his own fists finally, in an instinctively defensive posture. His head was still reeling from that first unexpected blow and he tasted blood from where his mouth had made forceful contact with his teeth. Vin managed to get in two more hard hits, one to the jaw and another to the stomach, before Chris retaliated. He shoved back at Vin hard enough to cause him to stumble and then knocked him over with a punch to the face.

Vin scrambled quickly to his feet, breathing heavily from both the exertion and the adrenaline. He bellowed with rage as he attacked again, this time kicking Chris hard enough to momentarily wind him. But when he moved closer for another punch Chris delivered a blow beneath the ribs that left Vin gasping.

Vin rammed into Chris with his shoulder, pushing him into the pillar between the stalls. The sudden contact with such an unforgiving barrier behind him caused Chris's head to snap back with a crack on the wood. Vin tried to pin him against the hard beam, limiting his movement and ability to defend himself.

Chris grunted with the effort but broke free of Vin's iron grip and tackled the younger man to the ground. Not allowed room enough to escape the tight grasp Chris now had on his arms, Vin found himself pushed into the hard packed ground of the barn floor by a knee on the middle of his spine. Chris pulled back Vin's right arm hard enough to make him cry out and then used his other hand to smack the back of Vin's head.

Vin groped with his left arm, seeking a way to either dislodge Chris or inflict some damage on him. He tried kicking but found his thighs pinned by Chris's other knee.

It took a moment for Chris to realize the fight had drained right out of Vin, that the body he held immobilized in a painful position was no longer offering resistance. Appalled with himself, Chris sprang off his friend and took several cautious steps back. He half expected Vin to come up fighting but instead he lay quietly for several moments before pushing himself up slowing onto all fours, his head hanging down.

"I'm so sorry, Vin," Chris said. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I wish to God none of this had ever happened."

"Yeah, me too." The words were whispered, almost lost in the tangled mess of hair that hid Vin's expression with his head bowed. A long sigh that ended with a shudder preceded Vin finally getting to his feet. He kept his head lowered. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"I think that we would have found the gun if one had been there," Chris admitted.

Vin lifted his head to look at his friend with sad eyes. "How could anyone else believe me then, when you so obviously didn't? Travis, Rowan, goddamn it, ...Burke... I saw that gun, Chris. I needed you to find it for me and for you to do that I needed you to believe me when I told you it was there."

Vin walked slowly toward the door, the breeze brushing his hair away from his face.

"If you think about it a little," Chris started.

"I've done a lot of thinking!" Vin snapped. "I got nothing but time to think these days." His tone softened slightly and he looked away. "Facts are pretty plain. I killed that kid. If I hadn't he would've probably killed me. I don't know how well I'll deal with the guilt of that. Maybe I won't ever be finished with it. I do know that I can't handle your lack of faith as well. It's too much."

Vin took a deep breath and continued, "I made a choice that my life, that your life, was worth more than the life of the person holding that weapon. I didn't have any doubts about my instincts when I fired. All my doubts came later." He looked over at Chris. "They came from you."

Chris didn't know what to say. He hated feeling this out of control and he was angry with himself for both the truth of Vin's words and for his poor handling of the situation.

"What can I do to fix this?" he asked.

Vin gave a snort of disbelief. "If you don't know then I'd say it's well and truly broken."

Chris opened his mouth but didn't get any words out before Vin stepped back towards him. Chris involuntarily pulled away, wondering if fists were going to fly again. But when Vin raised his hand it was to jab his index finger in Chris's direction.

"Don't do me any favours, Larabee. I've had more than enough of your help so far. Just sign the damn papers and file them with HR. Can you handle that?"

"Consider it done," Chris said coldly.

"Thanks, you're a real pal." Vin strode away without looking back.

Chris sagged against the pillar he'd hit earlier, feeling every bit of the bruise on his back as he did so. Giving in to his rage for a moment, he cursed and pushed back on the wood again, every ache and pain a penance.

*****

Tuesday morning 11:06

Stephen Rowan was flipping through a stack of photos and chewing on a Tums when the tornado exploded through his office door.

"Larabee! For Christ's sake..." he blustered coming to his feet.

"I want you to reopen Vin's investigation," Chris interrupted without preamble.

"You've got to be joking!" Rowan looked from the intense expression on Chris's face to the somber one on Buck's. Buck remained at the door while Chris leaned over the desk to get right in Rowan's space.

"Reopen the case," Chris repeated.

"And why the hell would I do that?"

Chris drew up straight. "Ezra Standish confirmed on the street that BB gave Morris a gun," he began.

"Which Brightman denied," cut in Rowan.

"'Course he did! In the presence of his lawyer and the assistant DA. But when I arrested him this morning on drug trafficking charges BB confessed to me that he gave the boy a gun, and that Morris always had it on him."

"Larabee..." Rowan's irritation gave way to a sigh. "We've been over this. You didn't find it, we didn't find it. What makes you think you'll find anything just because BB owned up to giving the kid a gun?"

For a moment Chris didn't say anything, his mouth a grim line, his eyes firmly fixed on a building blueprint tacked to Rowan's corkboard. When he finally spoke, the words were clipped.

"I'm willing to admit I didn't look as carefully as I should have." His cold determined eyes locked onto Rowan's. "Are you?"

Rowan pondered the possibility that Chris would let the matter drop and rejected it. It was easier to capitulate, that would at least remove Larabee from his office.

"Bobby!" he called over Chris's shoulder.

Matthews' face appeared at the door. He nodded briefly at Buck.

"Could you accompany these two over to the Brightman house. We're doing another search for that weapon."

Matthews looked surprised but if he had doubts as to the wisdom of such a venture he kept them to himself. "Sure boss."

"You have the rest of the day, Larabee. After that, the case is back with the DA's office. The grand jury meets tomorrow."

Chris nodded curtly and withdrew as quickly as he'd entered. "Let's get moving."

*****

Bobby Matthews only knew Chris Larabee by reputation and was amazed to discover that most of what was said was true. He'd never seen a more determined, thorough search of a building in his tenure in law enforcement.

They started in the room where the shooting took place. Chris demolished the couch, cutting into the dilapidated cushions and ripping open the remaining upholstery to ensure nothing larger than a dime could possibly be hidden there. He and Buck then pulled up several floorboards and cut out a section of rotting drywall. They tapped and rapped and knocked on every square inch of the walls and the floor.

When they'd exhausted all possible nooks and crannies of the room Chris moved them down to the second floor. When finished there, they went over the first floor.

Bobby was just thankful the house had so little in it. Its sparseness made for few hiding places besides the basic structure of the building. Bobby had been a part of the original search yet he was seeing parts of the house he hadn't known about. Chris crawled into the kitchen cupboards and squeezed himself into the crawl space. Buck carefully pried up wooden slats in the floors, removed doors, and felt into dark places where his flashlight couldn't shine.

They searched the grounds outside, covering areas that defied laws of physics for the gun to be. Bobby said nothing about the likelihood of success. He carefully dug up the overgrown garden next to the two men and continued to silence his doubt.

Around dinnertime Flynn arrived with a bag of food and a couple of files. Chris eyed him suspiciously when Flynn handed over the dinner like a peace offering.

"Rowan told me you'd be here," the assistant DA said. "Let's just say I'll be happy too when that gun is found."

They'd all but torn the building down. Eventually, after hours of scouring the hovel, in vain Bobby believed, they returned to the scene of the crime.

Chris paced near the window, his feet treading lightly over the chalk outline of Morris's body.

"Okay, Buck, you go over by the door. You're Vin," Chris instructed. "I'm Morris." He stood near the chalk traces of the feet and raised his gun at the door. "Shoot me."

Bobby was slightly alarmed but Flynn continued chewing his sandwich and reading his file. He was perched casually on the back of the destroyed couch.

Buck obliged Chris by dropping to his knees and shooting with his fingers at Chris. Chris fell over, sprawling in an approximation of the outline. His gun flew from his hand and skittered across the floor to rest in the corner. He sat up and looked at it with frustration. He went over to pick it up and examined the area again.

"We're going to lose our light soon," Bobby commented. No one said anything to that. Bobby wondered exactly how Larabee was going to interpret Rowan's "end of the day." He sighed, suspecting they'd be there until at least midnight.

"Let's try again, Buck," Chris said quietly.

This time Chris opened the window first and sat on the sill, launching himself into the room. Again when his gun left his hand it went into the corner. Chris crouched next to it, his eyes travelling over every nail in the floor, every crack in the wall, every scratch and scuff mark, every glob of paint.

"Don't forget that he stepped forward after coming through the window," Flynn offered, without looking up.

Chris caught Buck's eye. His old friend nodded and they tried again. Nearly the same result, except this time the gun was a few feet over and not quite in the corner.

"You're taller than the kid and I'm bigger than Vin," Buck pointed out.

"How tall was he?" Chris asked Flynn who consulted the file for the information.

"You've got a good six inches on him, Larabee."

Had he not spent the entire afternoon immersed in the serious, single mindedness of their search Bobby might have been amused by the attempts at a reenactment. Flynn however, having only recently arrived, didn't bother to disguise his grin when Chris went through the motions again. This time he tried to make himself smaller but the result was the same.

Chris bent over with his hands on his knees, staring resentfully at his gun.

"Wait a second!" Flynn flipped through the file. Suddenly he yanked a page out. "That's right! Morris was left handed. Tanner told the committee the gun was in his left hand."

Chris straightened, picking up his weapon quickly, and he returned to the chalk outline. He raised his gun in his left hand to his shoulder and then lowered it a half a foot. His knees buckled and he staggered back, throwing the weapon gently behind him. It cracked on the windowsill and fell to the floor.

The four men looked at it silently without moving for a second. Then Buck stood from the door and stepped forward as Chris raised the window as high as it would go and leaned out.

There was nothing on the deck but splintered wood and moss. Nothing that a gun could hide in or behind or underneath. It was completely bare.

Chris swung a leg over the sill only to have Buck pull him back into the room.

"Are you crazy? You'll kill yourself falling from this height!"

Bobby nodded slowly with agreement. "None of the support beams are still fully intact. A good wind would blow it over."

Chris contented himself with leaning out again to examine the deck. With a deceptively casual motion he tossed his gun onto the slick surface and watched as it slid down the listing side and disappeared over the edge.

Chris led the stampede to the back yard.

He found his own weapon easily enough; it was visible on the grass. Standing in the spot where it fell he looked up to the sagging underside of the deck. He noted the second floor window from where they suspected Tony had gained access to the third floor. The kid must have been part monkey to have maneuvered up from there. A monkey jacked up on speed no less, mused Chris.

In the space directly under the deck was an assortment of garden paraphernalia, some firewood, an old table, the remains of a tarp, a camping cook stove that could have been an antique, and a rusting lawn mower. Chris doubted Tony Morris had ever used it while in the employ of Boris Brightman.

They had already been over this stuff earlier with no luck but they went through it all again now until there was nothing left but dirt and concrete.

Chris shone his flashlight up the broken and rotted beams that used to support the deck, looking for holes or anything large enough and strong enough to snag a handgun.

"Buck," he said calmly, fixing the light just where a beam and the deck met the outside wall of the house. "Can you see that?"

Buck added his own light. He looked sharply at Chris. "You're not imagining it."

"Matthews!" Chris called.

"Yeah. I see it too," Bobby answered with awe.

*****

"Are you shitting me?" Rowan nearly choked on his morning coffee when Matthews dropped the evidence bag with a gun in it on his desk.

Bobby shook his head. "It was the most amazing thing, boss. I've never seen the like. Larabee was up half the night getting it tested at the lab. He's just made a beeline for Travis's office."

Rowan gestured at his copy of the lab report. "What's this going to tell me?"

"Only fingerprints are Morris's and the estimated exposure time fits right in with the gun being lost the night he was killed."

"Convenient," muttered Rowan.

Bobby shook his head again. "Boss, you're not going to find anyone to testify that gun was there longer than 18 days. They were very clear on that. It was protected by the overhang."

"Goddamn," breathed Rowan as he read the report for himself.

"Flynn was there when we found it," Bobby told him. "So you can be sure a copy is on Burke's desk this morning."

"I'm sure I'll hear from him shortly," Rowan said with a grimace.

Bobby made his way to the door and turned back. "I don't get it, boss. How did he find it when all of us missed it?"

Rowan found himself smiling as he thought about Larabee demanding the file be reopened.

"Because he believed it was there and we didn't," he said. "Sometimes you only see what you think you're going to find."

*****

Wednesday afternoon 3:27

Long after Burke left him Vin remained sitting on the bench outside the grand jury room. It was the same bench he'd sat on with his lawyer before entering to give his account, leaving the lawyer seated outside the room. It was where he'd been seated awaiting either word of the outcome or postponement when Burke approached.

"Mr. Tanner, due to mitigating circumstances, I've instructed the grand jury that I'm withdrawing this petition."

Vin had merely blinked at him, slightly dazed and far too relieved to even ask what had changed the assistant DA's mind. Unable to get his head around the idea that the worst case had not come to pass, he remained on the bench and wondered what to do next.

The grand jury members, having finished for the day, filed out of the room and walked past him without comment. There wasn't a lot of traffic down at this end of the court house and soon the only sounds he heard were the whistling of the air conditioning, and the faint echo of voices in the main hall off the corridor. He sensed more than heard soft footsteps approaching and looked up to see Chris standing watching him. Usually he could tell what Chris was thinking but this time the man was unreadable.

Vin inclined his head to the open door of the grand jury room. "They've all left. Burke withdrew."

Chris nodded. "Yeah, I know." He stepped cautiously forward and sat next to Vin, as though unsure of his welcome.

"You know the mitigating circumstances too?" asked Vin.

"I don't know how Burke worded it to the grand jury, but I suspect it had something to do with us finding Morris's gun."

Vin inhaled sharply, staring at his friend with disbelief. Chris looked at the carpet. "Sorry it took so long," he said softly.

"When?" asked Vin. "How? What happened?"

Chris raised his head, allowing a small smile of satisfaction to appear as he thought of the whirlwind of chaos he'd created. "Last night. Buck and I about tore that house down, but we found it."

"Last night?"

Chris looked apologetic. "I would have called you but I was trying to get the lab boys on it quick and then I had to meet with Travis and by the time all the damn tape was sorted out you were already here."

Vin hadn't meant the question as an accusation; he was more amazed that Chris had been able to accomplish so much in so little time. And yet, when he thought about it, not so amazed.

Chris reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out Vin's ATF identification. He held it out. "Since Rowan's investigation is closed and the grand jury petition withdrawn, Travis has reinstated you. You've had more than the minimum leave time and gone to counseling so all that's left is some paperwork and that's on my desk not yours."

Vin hesitantly took the badge from Chris. He looked down on it. "That's not all that's left," he said quietly.

"Vin, I...I can't tell you how sorry I am about the way this went down. I was wrong to doubt you. I was...I was wrong," Chris repeated. "I wouldn't blame you for wanting to take another swing at me."

Vin grinned but looked embarrassed at the memory of their fight. Then his expression grew thoughtful. "Larabee, I can't forgive you that easily. I wish I could."

"Then it's well and truly broken," Chris whispered.

"Maybe," Vin admitted. "Or maybe it'll just take some time. And I reckon we've got a bit of that yet." He put the identification in his pocket and stood. "Let's get outta here. You think the boys would be into going for a drink? I know I could sure use one 'bout now."

"It's a bit early," Chris said wryly but with a slight grin. "But I'm betting they won't turn you down."

"Well, rally the troops then because I reckon you owe me one, cowboy." Vin started walking towards the main hall.

"Yeah," Chris agreed. "I do."

The End!

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