Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven belongs to Mirisch Entertainment Inc., with all rights and privileges thereof. This work is a work of fanfiction, for the amusement of the author and fandom who have nothing else to do since they aren’t making any more episodes of the show. No money or other renumeration has exchanged hands, this is just for fun, guys!

 Caroline’s Corner

June of 2002 Denver International Airport

Chris Larabee stood next to the pile of bags and wondered if this was a mistake. It had been a hard year since the 9/11 attacks and most of the Federal agents had been run almost into the ground trying to both fight the war on terrorism and continue to do their original jobs. His team was exhausted, He was exhausted. Stress levels were high and they were sniping at each other, getting angry over little things, and reacting to situations a little more violently than they called for.  Yesterday alone, Buck had spent two whole hours yelling at Vin, he discovered later that it was about a pen.  As Team Leader, he had attempted to have his men take some time off when things started to settle down a bit, but every time they tried, because they stayed in Denver, they kept getting drawn into cases, rarely their own. Judge Travis finally put his foot down after a case that ended up exploding, literally, in the middle of the ATF picnic out at Nettie Wells’s spread. When the invitation came from his parents to bring his team out to the farm in Indiana, Travis had not only rubber-stamped it, he’d made it a direct order.

Chris rubbed his eyes. The farm was a unusual choice for relaxation and he hadn't been home in years, though he remembered the place fondly. He hoped that the ‘boys’ would take to the place, because if they didn’t things could get very uncomfortable. He’d given them fair warning about the farm’s little 'quirks', but somehow he didn’t think they’d believed him. That could be a problem, a real problem. This was probably a mistake...  Pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the stress, he debated it again. Maybe they should have gone to Hawaii or even back to Vegas. No, he thought, not back to Vegas... He didn’t even want to remember the last time they were there.

JD came running at him, Buck in hot pursuit. Both of them had their Federal Badges in open display around their necks, but they didn’t stop behaving like children. Larabee nodded at Security, which was showing some concern about the pair. The nearest guard noted Chris’s own Federal badge and nodded in acknowledgment. He grimaced in return. The chaotic duo were Larabee’s responsibility. Buck was after JD’s ball cap and JD wasn’t about to give it up. Sometimes Chris wondered if he would have been better if he’d gone into teaching high school, like Sarah used to tease him about. The hours couldn’t possibly be longer and the behavior was probably more mature. His six could give any hormonally challenged brat a run for his money. Over towards the Cinnabon he could see Josiah getting something for them to eat. Nathan was with him, obiviously discussing yet another moral point or failing of a team mate. Blessing Josiah, once again, for taking charge of the frequently sanctimonious medic, he considered some strategy.

Nathan was, right now, a continuous problem, like a long term migraine. As much as he liked the man, Jackson just couldn’t seem to stop "trying to help" them be more "moral and upright" men. Because he was the best at keeping the team alive after the firefight, the medic remained on the team, but his bad attitude was getting worse after 9/11, and Chris wasn't sure if he could keep dealing with the damage left in the medic's wake. If the medic's father had been a preacher like Josiah’s had been, the situation might have been understandable. However, Obediah Jackson had been a beat cop and then a lawyer, and Nathan’s own background wasn’t as stellar as the medic would have wanted them to believe. Chris kept it to himself, but Nathan had come to him just before a purge of his department in Kansas City. The tall African-American had very narrowly escaped being tarred with the same brush he used so liberally on their undercover agent.

Alex Welch, the old RMETF coordinator, had warned him that having both men on his team would lead to confrontations. Jackson had a bad history with white undercover agents, he seemed to view them as in need of moral guidance. The man didn’t have the same problem with black undercover agents, but trying to point that out to Nathan was futile. The medic bristled angrily anytime anyone even suggested that he had a racial bias. Chris had met Obediah and the rest of Jackson’s family and knew that the attitude was not something he was brought up with. Obediah had been heavily involved with the Civil Rights movement and didn’t tolerate any disrespect for any person, no matter their background. But Nathan... well the medic had made it his life’s work to ‘correct’ the world as he saw it. He was very intolerant of faults, especially all the little flaws and mistakes in his companions’ characters and right now he was very loud in 'discussing' what they could do to correct them...

Since Ezra had a past that few of them knew anything about and more importantly was a white, and southern, undercover agent, he was the ususal target of Jackson’s bile, especially recently. It had caused a division in the team, was effecting their efficiency, and had caused the already stressed Standish to become "formal" and return to that dreaded 'quiet' behavior from a couple years ago. Ezra had been especially affected by the attacks, and Josiah had some concerns about him. Chris himself was worried that Ezra had lost someone and as he did with all the things that hurt, kept it to himself. Larabee had called a meeting one morning, when Standish was out of the office. But even after the rest of the team had discussed what was going on with the tight lipped southerner, Nathan wouldn't let up. Every one of them had taken the medic aside and tried to talk with him about what he was doing, but he wouldn’t listen, wouldn't acknowledge it. He wouldn't even listen to the pleading of Rain, his girlfriend.

Rain and some of her classmates had recently run into ‘problems’, mostly large and drunk, on campus where she was taking some continuing education credits in specialized craft therapy to fill out her medical degree requirements. Some of her fellow students were Muslim, and recent feeling on campus had been drastically worsened by the addition of members of a 'White Power' group. One afternoon, the students found themselves in shoving match after class. It could have become very ugly. Ezra, strangely, had been on campus that day it exploded, while on a case, and had come to the students' rescue. Holding both groups at bay with only his attitude, he'd defused the situation before it could become a riot. His verbal assault on their tormentors had been heard by most of the rest of the students in the area, leading to an informal award from the communications department and a standing invitation to visit any and all of Rain’s fellow students’ homes for dinner and other things....

Ezra, of course, declined. His undercover agent was a lone wolf, rarely socializing with any one outside of the team and even then, he didn’t join in the activities as much as Chris would have liked. Badly burned in the past, Standish was cautious and cynical, his level of trust could be measured in teaspoonfuls and his past was one dangerous black void. Larabee felt overprotective, mostly because none of the southerner’s past bosses seemed to have given a damn. The phone conversations with Chris's father had helped to foster the idea that he should be watching out for Ezra, maybe more so than most of the rest. It also hadn't helped that he was getting calls from the National Station in D.C. that were mostly excuses to check on Standish's condition.

Still thinking about his agent, Larabee looked around the terminal for him. He finally saw him, coming out of the restroom, slowly limping towards them. Dressed as usual, in an expensive suit, and ignoring the pain of his recently injured leg, Standish presented a picture of calm ‘appropriate’ behavior.

Getting smacked across the arm drew Chris’s attention back to the inappropriate behavior beside him.

"What’d you do that for JD?" Buck growled. Whatever he’d been planning to do to their boss, JD’s action had interrupted.

"Are we really going to the place you grew up, Chris?" JD asked for about the thousandth time.

"Yes, JD." Chris said absently, his attention still on Standish. The southerner had run into Vin, the team’s Texan sharpshooter, and was talking to him as they headed back towards the waiting area. Vin Tanner and the skittish undercover agent had formed a strong friendship, almost as strong as the one he himself shared with the Texan. Whenever he felt Standish slipping out of the team’s circle, he could always count on Vin to bring him back. As the sharpshooter had worked for a while as a bounty hunter, it wasn’t an idle speculation.

"They’re okay, Pard." Buck Wilmington said quietly following Chris’s line of sight. He was unsettled, more so than his boss and oldest friend, over the events of the last couple of months. Standish had secrets, alright, one of which was that he was the third person on Gen. Carpenter’s speed dial and Carpenter was the Commander out at NORAD. Carpenter was on Standish’s speed dial as well, position number 12. Wilmington shuddered a little, he’d figured out that the secret early morning home visits Ez received from old Peter Collier, Standish’s neighbor and the local NSA rep, meant that he didn’t want to dig into Ezra’s background. Buck had been a Navy SEAL and knew when he didn’t want to know more...

JD had been unsettled too, but he was far more curious than the others. He’d tried to trace Ezra’s career, and had been very annoyed when he couldn’t. The southerner had the same social security number as a "Michael Collins" who’d been a Federal agent back in the 60's. At that point, Buck had shut JD’s search down and forbidden him to look further. Wilmington trusted Ezra, and knew that he didn’t want to know, Really didn’t want to know.

The young computer expert had been annoyed with Buck for a day or two. He’d taken it to Chris, who’d told him to knock it off, and later he’d also received a lecture from Peter Collier. Collier was an easy man to overlook, quiet and unassuming, but JD, raised on conspiracy theories and knowing that the man worked for the National Security Agency, paid close attention. Whatever Ez’s past was, it wasn’t something he wanted to ‘disappear’ over. So, he’d turned his attention to researching this little vacation instead...

"So how many ghosts are there on the farm?" JD asked, startling Chris out of his revery. Buck groaned and smacked JD with the baseball cap.

"Thought I told you to quit with that nonsense." He growled. "There ain’t no such thing as a ghost!" Buck wasn’t entirely happy with this trip, the Larabee family had been estranged for a long time, though in the last couple of years they’d been communicating by phone. It wouldn’t be good if they had a repeat of that phone call with Chris’s so called brother after Sarah and Adam were killed. Dragging his attention back to the conversation beside him, he frowned in annoyance. JD was continuing on and on about the ghosts and Buck thought about taking the ‘Kid’ out to get something and have a 'little talk’, but then Chris laughed, the first real laugh in a long while.

"I can't say that there aren't any ghosts, JD. My own experiance says that there are. You'll see what I mean when we get there. The place is very strange. And Very Haunted." He said, watching as Tanner and Standish walked up to the bags. Vin motioned to an empty chair and Ezra raised an elegant eyebrow. The southerner seemed to have about had it with the team’s ‘nursemaid’ routine. "Caroline’s corner is definitely haunted." he repeated.

"The whole town?" JD exclaimed. He was very excited about seeing a ghost.

"No, JD, the farm is Caroline’s corner. The nearest town is Bolton." Chris shook his head, realizing that what was old familiar to him might just be truly strange to his team. He’d grown up at the ‘corner’ and knew it’s ins and outs...

"Caroline? Is that your mother, Chris?" asked Vin. None of them had heard much about Larabee’s family, except Sarah and Adam.

"Hell no!" Chris exclaimed. "My mother’s name is Diana. Caroline was the wife of the guy who settled the place back in the 1850's and she hasn’t decided to leave yet. She’s really very bossy."

"You have a bossy ghost?" Buck asked. Chris looked at him, he hadn't been home in years, but his childhood memories were fresh in his mind.

"Yep. More than one... they’re all bossy, always telling you what not to do..."

"There’s no such thing as ghosts." the newly arrived medic snorted. Josiah stood beside him, passing out pretzels and soft drinks. Chris was grateful that the profiler hadn’t brought coffee. His team was over stimulated as it was.

"I beg to differ, Mr. Jackson." Ezra Standish spoke for the first time in a long while. "There are many things in this life that defy explanation. One must not close one’s mind to the things that science can not account for."

"Should have expected you’d go for something like that. Ghosts."Jackson snorted. "What next? Black Helicopters? Just because you’ve got the rest of this bunch believing in your little fictions, don’t mean I don’t have your number. It’s just another way to cheat and con. That’s what you do isn’t it?" he demanded.

"I make no apologies for the abilities I have and the duties I preform with them. As to fictions... as you will. There are more things in this world than anyone can imagine. It behooves one not to make pronouncements about them without knowledge. That is a dangerous thing for anyone to do. Such decisions tend to come back to ‘haunt’ one." The southerner said softly. Jackson snorted again.

"So I guess you’re going to prove it to me? Gotta spend this whole vacation waiting for your little ghostly tricks! I ain’t putting up with it! You try it and I’ll nail your hide! Got other things to do than to put up with one of your wild bets or be the butt of one of your ‘practical’ jokes." Nathan steamed.

"Rest assured, Mr. Jackson. I have no such bet or intention. You have my word." Ezra said tiredly.

"Your word! What’s the word of a Standish worth?" Nathan spat. The call to Board the plane interrupted the argument. Jackson stormed over to the bag inspection station, as if wanting to distance himself from the others. The rest of the team shrugged and gathered up their gear. As he helped get Ezra’s bag, Chris heard him say.

"What indeed is the word of a Standish worth? What indeed." Ezra seemed a million miles away but Chris was the one who  found himself shuddering.

On the Flight, the team behaved predictably. Buck was disappointed when the pretty female crew members avoided him, leaving his service to the one male steward. JD engrossed himself in a stack of printouts, Chris could tell that they were repetitions of the same old story about the farm. He sighed, his father would have an interesting time with JD Dunne, that was for certain.

Two rows back, Nathan was still fuming, complaining to a very weary Josiah. Sanchez hadn’t said anything about the ghosts and Chris wondered what he thought since the profiler believed in omens and crows. Nearby, Vin sat next to Ezra, across the aisle from Chris. The sharpshooter had talked Standish into taking his meds and the southerner had dropped off into a light doze. Chris knew it was light because they’d learned the agent didn’t sleep deeply unless he was sure of his surroundings. Larabee found himself remembering the team’s reaction to being sent on this vacation, everyone had been a little excited and curious about coming, everyone except Ezra. Standish had given him one startled look and been quiet after that. He’d written it off as the usual loner behavior, but now he wasn’t so sure. It would have been expected for the cynical undercover agent to mock the idea of the farm’s ghosts, but the way he reacted, Chris was now struggling with the previously unforseen idea that Ezra had run into this kind of strange thing before.

The Ghost debate continued, without let up on the ride out to the farm, though Ezra didn’t speak again. The drive was enjoyable and Chris was able to point out to his team many of the landmarks of his childhood. He directed Josiah, who was driving, to take a right onto a dirt road. The road went by pastures and fields, but they could see a house and barn. As soon as the rented SUV pulled into the dirt driveway, a green eyed older woman was at the door pounding for them to open up.

"Mom!" Chris said sliding out of the vehicle and grabbing the woman into a hug.

"We were worried that you wouldn’t get through. Het said we were in for a storm! You’d best get in to the house. It’s going to be a big one." she said leaning into Chris’s side. The others, except Ezra, looked up into the open blue sky. Standish grabbed his one suitcase and limped toward the house with alacrity. Chris, still hugging his mom, grabbed his case and led the way.

"You coming, Ladies?" Chris said. The team shuffled around getting their luggage.

"We’re so glad you all could come. I’ve got all the guest rooms set up. Some of you will have to double up, though. Rick and Sandy are here with the mob, and Patsy too. We’ll get everyone sorted and dinner will be on the table in about 20 minutes. Max is friendly and doesn’t bite, but Curtis does. Don’t mind William, he’s in a crotchety mood. And watch out for the teacup!" Chris’s mom led him up onto the porch where Ezra waited for them. She smiled at the uncomfortable southerner, and taking his arm as well as Chris’s drew the two into the house.

"Did she just say to watch out for a teacup?" asked Josiah.

"Yes, that’s what I heard." Buck answered.

"Thank you brother, I thought my hearing was going." The profiler replied. Nathan made a comment under his breath and the ‘kid’ started to bounce. This was going to be an interesting vacation.

Suddenly, the sky turned grey and poured down sheets of rain.

Inside the farmhouse it was nice and cozy. After they had dried off and changed, Chris introduced them around. Max proved to be an old Irish Setter, who after greeting them enthusiastically, settled down beside Ezra’s chair and warmed his feet. Curtis, who bit Josiah, turned out to be Chris’s youngest nephew, his brother Rick’s son. Rick was thinner than Chris, but had the same height and coloring. His wife was Sandy, and they had brought all five of their children. William, an old man in worn overalls, sat in the rocking chair and made irritated faces. Buck Wilmington felt irritated too, he spent some time glaring at Rick Larabee who returned the favor. Their one past contact, the phone call, still made them both angry.

Buck had an even more uncomfortable time when seven-year-old Rick, Jr. came over and climbed into his lap. Memories of another green-eyed little boy choked him for a moment and he realized why Chris didn’t talk much about his family. This child, a living reminder of what Chris’s lost son Adam might have been, would be too much to deal with. The boy looked at him strangely and then climbed out of Buck’s lap. He went over and crawled into Josiah’s lap. Leaning back in relief, Buck’s hand brushed the edge of a china teacup.

Patsy turned out to be Patricia Larabee Harlan, Chris’s little sister, whom Buck had heard of but never met. The two Larabee siblings teased and harassed each other, lightening the mood. There seemed to be distance between Chris and his brother, Rick, but not between him and Patsy. Rick watched his siblings with an irritated expression, but Sandy, his wife, seemed very happy to see Chris and his sister’s connection.

Diana Larabee watched her children and guests with a smile, noting the odd appearances of the china teacup in the group. Where ever the piece landed, the person nearest would either startle or stare. Up to his old tricks, she considered fondly, though she noticed the cup avoided certain people. It was so good to see everyone together, especially Chris. He’d been so far removed from his family since the murder of his wife and child. This team of his had opened him up to a re-connection with them and she wasn't about to waste it. They were family too, these men, she realized looking at them, and would protect her son from all harm. Even if it came from a well meaning sibling. She wished that Rick would get over his disappointment with Chris’s career. He was what he was supposed to be, and apparently it made him happy.

She gave the quiet southerner by the fireplace an extra smile. It surprised her that he seemed so shy of her and of the others. Max, the dog, looked up at his mistress as if to say, don’t worry I’m watching over him. The agent's hand would stroke the dog for a minute or two, and then be still beside him. He seemed very sad to her, and Diana couldn't help remembering a merry little green eyed boy from years ago.  She nodded at the dog and went through the door into the kitchen to check on dinner.  Gathering the dinner things, she was interrupted by Chris who came into the kitchen to help.

"Nice young men," she said.

"They’re good men, when they’re not pretending to be obnoxious teenagers." Chris said with a chuckle hearing Josiah’s booming voice from the living room. The big profiler was describing some obscure place he’d been as a child. In his mind’s eye he could see each of his team’s reactions. "Where’s Dad?"

"He’s up at the base being General Larabee. He’ll be here soon, along with the rest. All he needs to do is glare and they should be back on schedule. The rain should be over soon. Het said it wouldn’t last too long."

The back door was flung open, and four men in Army green stepped into the kitchen. They were dripping wet.

"You should have waited." Diana frowned at the mud they tracked in. " You knew Het said it wouldn’t last."

"A little mud is a small price to pay for the ability to get some peace, much less to see my Eldest son." Said General Larabee. He was as blond as his son, with the same green eyes and at the moment the same hesitant expression. "Christopher... It’s good to see you."

"Dad." Chris said, a little unsure. There had been some harsh words between them, mostly on his side, when Sarah and Adam were murdered. His parents had been posted overseas and couldn’t get back for the funeral because of multiple crises. Now, with a couple of years distance, he could understand why his father couldn’t come. He hadn’t known that his mother had been seriously ill at the time, only finding out when his sister, Patsy tried to help them reconcile. There had been misunderstandings all around and he’d spent so much time drinking to dull the pain. If Buck hadn’t been there, he didn’t know what would have become of him. It had taken time for him to sober up, to come to some terms about his losses. Afterward, he found that a great distance had grown between himself and his family, a distance that had not been helped by the fact that Rick blamed Chris’s job at Denver P.D. for the murders. They’d had a screaming argument, and he’d forbidden any of them, Rick, Sandy, and Patsy, to come to the funeral. He’d been so bitterly angry.

"It’s good to see you, son." The General said gently. He seemed as uncertain as Chris was as to what to do. It was easier on the phone than in person.

"Good to see you too. Thank you for wanting to host the maniacs I brought with me."

"They’re welcome, They’re yours." the General smiled widely. "I know better than to separate a commander and his men. It leads to problems, all the way around." Chris nodded in response and turned to pick up the napkins for the table, and found himself confronted by a china teacup.

"Still at it?" The General laughed. "Can’t stay out of it, eh Jess?" The older two of the three soldiers with him laughed. Chris thought he recognized the two of them, but he couldn't place them.

"You can’t expect that he’s going to stop interfering at this point, do you, Sir?" the taller one, an older Hispanic man with light eyes, the twist on the emphasis on the title told Chris that this was one of his father’s closest friends. His father and the two older men laughed again, but the younger solider, not much older than JD, looked bewildered.

"He’s always been nosy." The other older solider, a handsome African American, laughed teasingly. "And you have guests. He has to meet them all, kind of like Max." The teacup responded by raising up six inches off of the counter and lowering back again. Chris kept trying to place the familiar voice.

"You’re Jah!" Chris exclaimed finally recognizing the man. "You’ve changed."

"So have you" Jah laughed "You’re not twelve anymore, Jalapeño!" He teased using Chris’s old nickname. "Still got the temper, but now you have six men to inflict it on!" Even as Chris laughed with the others, he wondered how Jah knew he had six men on his team. The General must have told him about them.

"Bet you don’t remember me." The Hispanic man teased. He stuck out a massive hand, which Chris took. "Raul, Raul Sanchez" they shook.

"I have a Sanchez on my team," Chris started to say.

"I know. My nephew Josiah, that old idiot’s son. Pardon me. Hezekiah may have been my brother but he was a nut and what he did to those children was inexcusable." He sighed, much like Josiah, and added. "I guess I should renew acquaintances."

"Why don’t you call the mob into dinner?" Diana asked. "I’m ready and Chris and I can get the table set while you do something about the mud." The last had the sting of an annoyed housekeeper about it.

The meal went well, except for the green pea war. Chris’s four year old niece, Lara, had a great aim, and soon peas were zinging around the table. Vin, Buck, and JD got into the spirit and most everyone got hit with at least one. All of them had come to dinner, except the old man, William, who’d refused Josiah’s invitation with a mild snarl. Through out the meal, General Larabee sat serenely at one end of the table, with his wife at the other end ignoring the childish behavior between them. This "Chaos" was the standard behavior at Caroline’s corner that Chris remembered. At the other end of the table, Jah stared at Ezra Standish.

"Pardon, Col. Jackson, Do I have something on my face? You seem inordinately interested in my countenance." Ezra used his napkin to wipe his face but his bright green eyes watched the Colonel with suspicion. Before he could answer, JD, overhearing, said.

"Jackson? I didn’t hear when you were introduced. Are you related to Nathan? Jah’s kind of an odd name, not one you’d forget though..."

"Kid, not everybody of the same surname is related. It’s a thousand to one that there’s a connection between him and Nate. I mean, what are the odds that Chris’s dad would have Josiah’s uncle working for him?" Buck said, continuing to glare at Rick Larabee, who favored him with a cool expression. However, Wilmington’s comment sent the most of the rest of the table into spasms of laughter.

"Young Nathan is my 2nd cousin, Buck. And my given name is Elijah. I just go by Jah. Too many Biblical names running around the family." Jah said. He paused and looked back at Standish "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You just..."

"The past is past. I know whom I resemble, Col. Jackson. It makes no matter in this modern world." Ezra said. He rose and bowed to his hostess. "A truly lovely repast, Ma’dam. I hope you will excuse me if I leave the table before desert. The scrutiny of multiple Jacksons is some what wearing on my stomach." Standish bowed gracefully again and left with the dog, Max in his wake.

"Touchy" JD said worriedly.

"No kidding, Kid." Buck said. Josiah was frowning with concern, but Nathan’s expression was one of anger. It was matched by Jah Jackson’s, but his was directed at the medic and not the departed southerner.

"He has more than enough reason." General Larabee said resting elbows on the table and putting his head on his joined fists. He sighed, looking much more exhausted than he had earlier.

"What have you been doing to that one?" Jah demanded.

"What have I been doing? You don’t know that slimy no account good for nothing Southerner!" Nathan spat the last as a curse. Whatever the angry Colonel would have said in reponse was prevented by the sudden appearance of the china teacup on his plate. Buck stared at it. It was the same one he’d bumped into in the living room. "I don’t know what kind of game you folk are up to with that thing, but It ain’t funny and I’m tired of it. Stop it now." Nathan commanded.

"It’s a nice thing when a Visitor makes demands in his host’s home!" came a soft southern accented voice from behind them. A woman, dressed in a green 19th century riding habit and carrying an unlit lamp, stood near the fireplace. There was no way she could have entered unnoticed.

"Ah, Miss?.." JD said, a little wide eyed. He gathered his courage, but his heart was pounding. "The teacup thing is freaking me out as well. Would you mind, well, not doing it?"

"I would oblige you, John David Dunne, if it were mine to do so. As I do not care for tea, the cup is not mine and you must take it up with the one to whom it belongs, as well as the current master of the house. He may wish to keep his welcome to others, no matter how uncomfortable such makes many of you here." the woman looked pointedly at Rick Larabee who narrowed his eyes. "The storm is blowing out, but the riders have not found what they search for." She told General Larabee.

"Thank you Mrs. Danvers." the General responded sadly. "I was hoping for a different outcome, but that will have to do."

"Very well, but remember that so called outcomes are rarely telling at this stage of the game. There are more hands to draw and the shuffle may upset some well thought out strategies." She gave him a reassuring smile. "It is not yet time, and I have both Duty and Obligation to preform."

"Be safe, Caroline." Diana Larabee responded. The woman gave a gentle laugh.

"I am beyond mortal harm, My dear! The task alone remains." With that the ghost drew a thin reed from a brass can on the mantle and lit her lamp from the fireplace. "Good rest to you, my friends. The morning is wiser than evening."

Nathan snorted and Caroline walked across the room, and handed him his napkin.

"Sounds a dreadful illness coming on, Nathan Edward Jackson, beware it doesn’t leave you blind when you most need your sight." She gave him a melancholy smile and walked through the table, vanishing on the other side, lamp still in hand.

"I believe, I believe," JD muttered. "Now please go away!"

"Easy, Kid." Buck said. He was as startled by the occurrence as the rest of the team, except Chris who seemed to accept it as a matter of course. Around him, the Larabee family continued their meal as if nothing had happened. He glared at his friend.

"I did warn you." Chris said, looking at his men, Nathan in particular. "After all you’ve read, JD, it’s surprising you didn’t believe it." He turned to his father. "I wasn’t expecting Caroline tonight. She used to walk only once a month towards the end. What’s going on? Other than Duty and Obligation?"

"Don’t mock the Duty and Obligation, Christopher. It’s a very serious matter." the General said wearily. "I had hopes of those riders." he looked at his wife. "Caroline Danvers walks almost every night, these days. It’s not like old William, who’s always been a constant. They’re waiting on something. Something I’m supposed to do..."

"Matt, you’ve got to stop beating yourself up over this. It’s never been obvious what they want us to do. Even when we were all together, even when Jess could interpret most of the odd things they do, even then, there was never a clear direction for us to follow." Raul Sanchez said, trying to ease the tension.

"But at least back then, we were together. We’ve paid too high a price for that folly! If I could get my hands around that Bastard’s neck!" Jah hissed angrily, his hands clenched.

"That "Bastard" has been dead for a decade, Jah. There’s no going back. We’ve got too much to do to spend time working over old anger. Yes we were betrayed. Yes we lost both our team and our brothers. That’s never going to stop hurting." The General sighed. "I’m sorry Christopher, this isn’t the vacation you had planned. All of this has been heating up in the last couple of days and I should have warned you."

"It’s okay Dad, I warned them and I’m fine with it. If the ghosties get to be too much, we’ll just go camping out at Decker’s place or up to Rhonda’s."

"That won’t get you away." Patsy said, subdued. "Decker’s been seeing the Indiana regiments drill all week, the Union ones. Rhonda’s ‘little friend’ is back bothering her. She’s Lauren’s grandniece so it’s slightly understandable, but still..."

"It would be nice if you dropped in on Rhonda. She’d like to meet your team, especially young John there." Diana said, beginning to clear the plates.

"Why me?" JD squeaked, he was still unsettled by Caroline’s appearance.

"Rhonda is Lauren’s grandniece and your mother Rachel’s aunt." Diana explained. "Lauren was the sheriff’s daughter, and it’s hard for Rhonda because the rest of the Dunnes won’t have anything to do with her."

"Sheriff? Rest of the Dunnes?" JD asked in confusion.

Diana Larabee laughed and went over to the mantle. Two group photographs held a place of honor in the center. She brought both of them to the table.

"This" she said pointing to the first one, "This was Sheriff Dunne. He was young for the responsibility, but in those days you could be considered a man at 14 on the frontier." JD’s eyes widened and beside him Buck smothered a gasp. The seven men in the photo looked like them! The cowboy Buck even had his mustache.

"I haven’t seen that picture in years," said Chris leaning over to get a good look. He was startled to see that the old familiar thing showed his team. They looked exactly alike, even to the cautiously friendly expression on Vin’s lookalike’s face, and the guarded wary expression on the southerner’s. The intense look on the face of his counterpart had Chris feeling like there was something important he was missing.

"There are always Seven." said Rick "Now you know what you should have, back then." he snapped at his brother. "You were always too busy to listen to the family histories. Heaven forbid you learn enough to avoid Great-Great-Grandfather’s mistakes. What did it matter to you that the Duty and Obligation was coming up for our generation? You’d just go off and play at cops and robbers and not be bothered! You don’t even know enough to stop what’s coming. One hundred and twenty years and Chris Larabee still can’t get it right."

"Richard, That’s enough!" General Larabee yelled. Rick looked mutinous, but stopped. "It’s not One hundred and Twenty years, not quite." he added in a more gentle voice. His younger son just glared at him and left the kitchen.

"I’ll go." Sandy said. "Sounds like you have some things to tell them, sir. Rick will calm down in a little." She left the room taking her children with her. Patsy carrying the youngest, gave her big brother a slight smile and left as well.

"Why do they look like us?" JD asked. "Is it some reincarnation thing?"

"No reincarnation." the General said firmly.  "You are your own selves and must make your own choices. It’s just that for over a hundred years, since the first Seven, we’ve been repeating a kind of...cycle. Whenever there is need enough, a group of seven form. It’s usually accidental but it’s happened too often to be coincidence."

Nathan snorted, but they ignored him. "This was our Seven." General Larabee handed his son the other group picture.

"Did you," Buck began hesitantly, "Did you have my father on your team?"

"No, Buck. I had your uncle, Frank Wilmington. But I knew Thomas, and he wouldn’t have abandoned your mother and you. He was killed by a drunk driver on the way back to marry your mother. He didn’t know about you until that day. Thomas already had the ring and had been looking forward to proposing all through that tour in ‘Nam. It was the only thing that kept him going. He would have been there, Buck." The General added gently. "He would have been there. He loved your mother so."

"And Frank?" Buck asked, he’d lost his mother a couple of years before he’d met Chris and was anxious to connect with ‘family’ as Karen Wilmington never spoke of them.

"Lost Frank later, with Stanhope, back in ‘78. Don’t hear much from Merrill, but I can give you some addresses if you like. Don’t get your hopes up too much though. Frank was the apple of his dad’s eye and when Karen turned out to be pregnant, Merrill took it hard. Frank was overseas with us and couldn’t run interference for his sister."

"I wish she’d come here." Diana said. "We could have put her up, there was always room and welcome."

"Karen felt that she’d be looked down on, no matter where she went around here. That’s why she moved out to Nevada. Wanted a new start, with no one looking down their noses at the ‘Senator’s daughter’ with no husband and a child." he looked at Buck. "She loved you, Her father gave her the choice, but she kept you and lost his love."

"Then I won’t be asking for the addresses." Buck said.

"I have some pictures of your parents if you want to look at them later." The General added nodding. "Some things of all of my team."

"Was my, Was my father part of your team?" JD asked.

"No, Rhonda was our Dunne. I met your father once, a long time ago. I’m afraid I never thought he was good enough for Rachel. They were cousins, both Dunnes. She left the west only to end up marrying kin in New York." General Larabee laughed. "Rachel was something amazing. If I had been younger and unattached, ah well." He looked at Diana who smiled indulgently, this was obviously easy territory. "She should have been a beauty queen, she had the looks and more brains than most people I’ve met. At least she had the sense to get away from Lauren’s poisonous house."

"This Lauren seems to be a very negative person." Josiah added thoughtfully. He’d been amazed at meeting his uncle Raul, whom he’d thought dead for years. He was assimilating all of the information to be pondered on later. Destiny, though, was an incredible thing. One hundred years, he didn’t know anything about his ancestor or the ‘original’ Seven... It would make an interesting research project when they got home.

"Lauren was the Sheriff’s daughter and was affected by the lies she was raised with. Cassandra would never have tolerated them, but with twins and a dead husband, she had to take what help she could get."

"Cassandra?" JD squeaked, his girlfriend back home was Casey.

"Cassandra Wells Dunne, the Sheriff’s wife. Loyal to a fault, even after Sheriff Dunne proved to be too young for the politics he was mired in. Sad situation. If you want to know more, Cousin Matt down in Dolores is Sheriff there and has access to most of the family histories. I’d suggest Richard, who has been studying the family for years, but you’ve seen his attitude." General Larabee sighed.

"Who is that?" Vin Tanner asked softly. The quiet Texan had taken no part in the conversation but had watched them all, weighing their words. He’d almost gone after Ezra earlier, but knew the southerner needed some space, so he’d remained and was glad he had.

General Larabee followed his pointing finger to the picture. "That’s Malone. Malone Tanner, your uncle, Vin." His eyes grew sad and Vin knew that the older Larabee had shared as close a bond with his Tanner as he had with Chris.

"Is that Ez’s Pa?" Vin asked trying to move the conversation away from something painful. He’d find the General alone sometime over the vacation and ask his questions.

"Yes, that’s Jess."

"Ez should see this!" JD said excitedly. "We’ve met his mother but I bet he hasn’t seen this picture of his dad! She's really something, all fancy and with all of those husbands..."

"If you please, Do NOT name that woman in this house." General Larabee said angrily. "I think this is more than enough for tonight, it’s late and you’ve had a long trip." he added more gently taking both photographs and returning them to the mantle. Vin noticed that his gaze lingered on the figures of Malone Tanner and Jess. "Good night."

Recognizing the order, Chris led his team up to the bedrooms. Nathan grumbled as they went up the stairs.

"Something wrong, brother?" Josiah asked, hoping to forestall Jackson making an idiot of himself in General Larabee’s home.

"This is all nonsense," he declared, out of Chris’s hearing. "They’re up to something!"

"A serving General? Someone who’s spent years in the service? His whole family? What could they possibly have to gain by it?"

"Don’t know, but it’s holograms and fake pictures. They did that thing on a computer, the one with all of us in western gear. It’s a fake, Has to be!" the medic stormed into the guest room they were sharing.

Josiah wasn’t sure why Nathan couldn’t accept what they’d seen. No hologram could be corporeal enough to pick up a napkin one minute and to walk through the table the next...

Buck bit his lip to keep from swearing. The teacup sat neatly on the stairs leading to their loft style guest room. JD snickered, in spite of his unease, watching Buck trying to pry the thing off of the stair tread. The little china teacup behaved as if it was glued. After Wilmington gave up, JD leaned over and wasn’t surprised when the cup lifted easily off the stairs.

"Good night, Ghost." JD said. There was some soft laughter in response.

"Good night John David." came a voice out of the air. "Sleep well. Good night Bucklin Thomas." There was a laugh. "It’s good to be teasing a Wilmington again. I hope I haven’t disturbed you...Much."

"Damn" swore Buck, but he laughed as he did so.

Chris walked down the corridor with Vin. The sharpshooter was sharing a room with Ezra, and both of them were a little worried about what the southerner was doing. Trying to be as quiet as he could, Vin swung the door open knowing Standish's usual violent reaction to being awakened. Ezra lay curled up in bed, Max at his feet, deeply asleep. The weary lines of exhaustion  had been smoothed away from the southerner's face. He didn't stir at the door's opening, and was very definately asleep. Max, looked up at them, decided that they were no threat, and closed his eyes.

"Canis Fidelis" said a soft voice behind them. Both turned startled, and saw Caroline Danvers with her lamp behind them.

"Dogs like Ez, Ma’am." Vin said politely. He wasn’t sure about speaking to a ghost, but his ma had taught him manners."I ain’t ever seen one dislike him." She laughed, a light airy laugh.

"Although the beast is faithful as well, it was not to him I referred. The faithful hound, Vincent Richard. It is the badge of the Family Standish and it’s nature. No matter how much others may endeavor to make it otherwise," She frowned. "The nature of a Standish is always the same. Duty and Obligation, hidden in a chamaeleon’s cloak and performed with as much chaos and mayhem as is possible. It will be quite a race that one runs, but his oath will hold him at his end." She looked at Chris who was frowning. "It is no torment, but joy to remain to fulfill the task, and not everyone is granted that work. The only sadness is for those left behind. We are aware of them, but they don’t always remember that there is time beyond life and they will be with us again." Looking more gently at Chris, she added. "Losses are hard to bear, but there will always be gains to balance them. Good night, Christopher Matthew. Good Night Vincent Richard. I must watch the northern road...Morning will come soon enough for talking."

She raised her lantern high and vanished.

The Next Day, Eventually

The first up in the morning was usually Vin Tanner. He was the early riser. Having been a Federal Marshal before he became an ATF agent and being used to chasing criminals as a bounty hunter tended to make him antsy if he didn’t wake with the birds. However on this occasion he remained asleep and the very disgruntled medic was the first to rise.

Nathan Jackson had not enjoyed the "entertainment" last night. The presence of Caroline Danvers had not been something he could come to terms with. There were no such things as ghosts, the scientist in him wouldn’t, couldn’t accept it. Besides the thick southern accent told him that it must be a con, it had to be. But how had she walked through the table? Much less after handing him his napkin?

Leaving Josiah sleeping, Nathan went downstairs and searched the kitchen. There were no obvious holes for cameras or projectors. He’d almost decided that it must be some secret project that the General was involved in, something that for some peculiar reason the man enjoyed springing on unsuspecting guests. Nathan was so involved in his search that it took him several minutes to realize that he was being watched.

Bright blue eyes narrowed as Jackson searched every nook and cranny of the kitchen. Nathan was startled as he noticed the wiry man leaning against the counter sipping a mug of coffee.

"Sorry, I didn’t realize that anyone was up yet." Jackson said in a friendly manner.

"This household goes pretty much 24 hours a day, and that’s not enough" The man said, his faint drawl carrying a tone of gentle reproof. Nathan didn’t register it.

"The General is a Joker, isn’t he?" Jackson said, trying to piece the fragments of the previous night’s activities together. The man spat out his coffee, choking and gagging, and he rubbed his short crew cut hair trying to get control of himself. "Are you alright? Breathe in, that’s it." Nathan’s medical training took over and he carefully helped the man over his coughing jag. "You work for the General?" The medic asked.

"I’m his driver" the man said.

"Oh, I’m Nathan Jackson. I work for Chris Larabee, the General’s son."

"I know."

"I guess everybody does." Nathan grimaced, thinking of Colonel Jah Jackson’s ire. "Does the General do this sort of thing to everyone who visits?"

"What makes you sure it’s a joke?" The man said.

"It’s not real. It can’t be." Nathan said.

"You’re one of those types that has to have proof of every thing in the universe, aren’t you."

Nathan hurumphed and continued his search. The man laughed and resumed drinking his coffee. After a little, the man added. "I’ve got to get to work, I’ll be in the garage. The engine in that old heap needs work. See you." He gave a slight smirk and went out the kitchen door.

Jackson continued his search. He was looking at the paneling on the wall when the General came in. The older man raised an eyebrow, Chris-style, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Malone made it didn’t he?" The General said with a grimace.

"I guess, he went out to fix the car." Nathan said, concentrating on his search. General Larabee gave him a faint smile and continued on with his morning tasks, watching the younger medic with amusement. He washed out his cup and shook his head. Never try to get a scientist to believe in the paranormal....

Diana Larabee came into the kitchen, watched the medic for a moment, and then started breakfast. Very slowly the other members of the household woke and began to drag themselves into the kitchen. The military men were wide awake, but Nathan’s teammates were bleary-eyed and sleep tousled. Apparently each of them had slept deeply, more than they had in months, and it had been difficult to leave the comfort of sleep.

Buck and JD were happily resigned to the stay, Wilmington having gotten over his "haunting by teacup". Chris was ignoring the whole thing and concentrating on re-connecting with his family, annoying Nathan. If the man had known that the General was up to this kind of trick, he should never have brought them here. Josiah looked depressed, and the medic wondered why. Vin Tanner yawned and stretched, seeming completely at ease in this environment.

The one person who had not come to breakfast was the one that Nathan least wanted to see. Everyone on Team Seven knew that Ezra Standish didn’t eat breakfast, if he could get away with it.... For the most part Nathan had no quarrel with how the man took care of his body. Ezra had the best diet of the Seven, except himself, and worked out, though heaven only knew when he did it. However, the mind that inhabited that body...well, Nathan couldn’t find words to describe the disdain he had for Standish’s morality.

Max, the dog, brushed past the medic and went into the living room. Jackson guessed that it must be going to find the undercover agent. For some reason animals and small children flocked to the man, disproving in Nathan’s mind the old adage that they went to the people who’d least cause them harm. That man should be quarantined until he stopped taking advantage of others! Nathan grimaced and sat down next to Josiah for breakfast.

Sanchez watched his friend with some concern. Instinct told him that Jackson had been looking allover the Larabee kitchen for hidden cameras or projectors. He truly hoped the man wouldn’t annoy the General’s family, though the Senior Larabees seemed to be rather unflappable. The one worry in his mind was the young undercover agent. Ezra had been on the outside of their circle since the terrorist attacks and the distance was increasing. It was bad enough that Chris had been getting calls from Washington D.C. about Standish’s condition and status, but with Nathan picking at him and all the rest of the unknown, but heavy, burden the southerner carried, Sanchez wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up much longer. Looking across the table he caught Vin’s slight smile. Since Tanner was closer to Ezra than any other member of the team, excepting perhaps the strange bond he had with Chris, and Vin was rooming with the prickly man, it was good odds that Standish was better than he’d been last night. Josiah snorted, now the man had him thinking in gambling metaphors!

A sudden movement of the table centerpiece, a bowl of fruit, when no one was near to touching it, caught all attention. The Larabees continued eating as if nothing was unusual. Col. Jackson took a moment from his enjoyment of the meal to give his cousin, Nathan, a serious frown. For some reason the members of General Larabee’s Seven were as protective, if not more so, of Ezra than the team he belonged to. Nathan cussed quietly under his breath, manners forbade him from swearing loudly in front of his hostess. As if in answer the centerpiece lifted a full foot off of the table and swung down to land at the medic’s place.

Diane Larabee looked up at her husband and the General responded with the raised eyebrow that Team Seven knew as "I’m not sure and I don’t want to know" in his son’s catalogue of expressions. Continuing to eat, General Larabee talked a little with JD about the history of the old farmhouse, the current state of the nation’s military, the possibility of war, the new types of Coke being brought to market, where to buy the best souvenirs in the area, and how Rhonda Dunne was related to him. JD was his usual self rocketing from topic to topic, but the General clearly followed him through all of them. Raul Sanchez looked at his nephew at the other end of the table. There was much the two of them should discuss, but Raul was uncertain how much he could because of "Classification". Josiah sent him a look that plainly said that he understood.

Richard Larabee, Chris’s younger brother stared, ignoring the gentle imploring expressions of his wife, Sandy. He wasn’t willing to work on his relationship with his brother at all. Josiah sighed, with Nathan and Rick, it was going to be an interesting vacation. Even the children were quiet with the stress. Maybe he’d try to get a vacation from the vacation. Down at the other end of the table, Chris sat quietly next to his father. The usual dark mood seemed to have flown from the mind of the ‘man in black’.

They finished the meal and heaped compliments on the head of Diana Larabee. The older woman just laughed and sent them all out of the kitchen, except her husband who rolled up his sleeves and helped with the dishes. Chris felt a pang, remembering how he’d kept that tradition with Sarah and how surprised she’d been when he had. His parents had always shared the work and he’d never thought anything about it until he’d seen others who didn’t. It was fairly certain that Judge Travis didn’t wash so much as a plate in his house, and Mary had been insulted when Chris had tried to do so after a long party at the Judge’s house. Evie Travis, the Judge’s wife, had had a look that said she’d have welcomed the help, but Mary’s sense of ‘propriety’ wouldn’t allow it. Since Evie rarely used caterers or other assistance around the house, she’d probably ended up cleaning for hours, because Mary always went home because she had to ‘put the paper to bed’. Next time there was a fancy party at the Judge’s, Chris would wait till Mary left and have his whole team pitch in. For some reason Mary Lawrence Travis caused him to lose all connection with who he really was. It was a disturbing thought that he’d think about back in Denver. He’d been gone from Caroline’s corner for far too long.

Chris noticed that Old William, one of the more consistent ghosts, was standing in the corner watching him with approval in his green eyes. He’d never looked at him with anything but annoyance before, and Chris wondered for the first time if the ghosts could read minds...Old William snorted with amusement and tossed his head in the same way Ezra did when he was terribly amused by the childish behavior of his team mates. It stopped Chris dead for a moment. Caroline’s accent and gambling metaphors, Old William’s mannerisms, even the strangely elegant way the old Farmhouse was laid out, everything reminded him of his wily southern agent. His parents obviously knew Ezra’s parents, especially Maude, if the General’s anger was to be correctly interpreted. It was time for Chris to start getting some straight answers about the "Sevens" and especially Standish. This One hundred and twenty years thing his brother kept harping on seemed to hinge on him, but it also brought Ezra to mind every time he thought of it.

Ezra might ‘fulfil his oath’ about the duty and obligation, but Damned if Chris was going to let him do it until he was far older than Josiah’s uncle! He wasn’t going to lose a man. Not now, not one of these men....

As if in answer, Old William’s eyes grew sad and his expression wary, a look that was the twin of the undercover agent’s when he had news his boss wouldn’t like. Chris frowned at him. If he had to follow Standish to Hell and drag him back, he wasn’t going to lose the man!

 <<<7>>>

Nathan had left the kitchen and found the undercover agent siting, with the dog at his feet, in a little area that had to be the General’s reading room.

"You missed Breakfast," He growled.

"I wasn’t hungry". The southerner replied softly. Standish was draped across the chair, looking for all the world like he hadn’t been well for years. One arm hung down over the armrest and occasionally weakly scratched the dog’s head. He was holding a framed picture in the hand that was in his lap.

"You insulted our hostess." Jackson added grinding it in. When was the man going to get it through his head that other people mattered, that their feelings were more important than all of the guilt the southerner must be feeling? If he’d just listen to Nathan, to 'read' him as he did all of the criminals that he worked with, then he’d understand and straighten himself out. He’d get off his selfish kick and get out and help people. Heaven knew, after 9/11 there were too many who needed a hand.

"Mrs. Larabee is hardly likely to have been insulted by familiar behavior, Mr. Jackson." Ezra said tiredly, his southern accent thickening. "As it is, it’s next to impossible for me to keep anything down right now. It would be a terrible crime to partake of the good lady’s delectable cooking and then return it in the most egregious manner. Most deplorable." He rose from the chair wearily. "I feel that this poor canine is in need of some exercise, and since I deplore manual labor, I’ll take him for a ramble. Perhaps then, we will both welcome the noontime repast." Without anymore comment, Standish limped over to a side door, hidden just beyond the bookcase, and left. Max, the Irish setter, paused a moment to give Nathan a strange look, and followed the southerner out to the barnyard.

Nathan sniffed, a little put out that the annoying man had missed the point yet again. He picked up the picture Ezra had been looking at. Jackson was going to put it away when he looked at it clearly. The subject of the photo was a group of people, most prominently placed was a little boy, maybe five or six at most, sitting on the steps of the Farmhouse. Clearly written on the child’s face was a despair that made Nathan’s eyes water. However a closer look made his heart pound almost to bursting, the child was familiar, too familiar...Ezra.

In the background of the photo was a green-eyed man, about thirty, who sat helplessly beside the child, trying to comfort him. Behind him stood Diana Larabee and a man who looked so much like Buck that he had to be Buck’s uncle Frank. Mrs. Larabee looked like she’d been crying and Frank looked on with an expression that Nathan found easy to read. The man was both angry and protectively worried. Buck had that expression on his face when he was afraid for JD, and this man was looking at both the green-eyed man and the child that was Ezra with an expression that promised pain for whoever had hurt them.

Jackson pulled back, his thoughts reeling. Somehow the Standishes knew Larabee’s family, and knew them well enough for the General to have pictures around the house. Chris had pictures of his team, but they were all in one place, on a knickknack stand in the living room. Nowhere else. The General must have been very close to Ezra’s father to have such a picture of his son. Nathan wondered what Ezra was so upset by. Probably didn’t get his way, the medic snapped back from the deeply disturbing picture.

Leaving it on the desk, Nathan walked back into the family room and into the middle of an argument Chris and Rick were facing off and the General was trying to make peace. Buck gave Nathan a tight grin from the sidelines, a wide eyed JD beside him. Chris might get angry but he’d never spoken to any member of his team this way. In the other corner, Josiah, his uncle Raul and Col. Jackson were talking very softly. Nathan was only slightly startled as the teacup sailed through the air and came to rest beside Chris’s right hand.

Looking at it, Rick swallowed what he’d been about to say. In his gut Nathan knew it was something that would have forever damaged any chance of a relationship with Chris. The ‘man in black’ was fuming, the waves of his anger palpable in the sitting room. Nathan didn’t want to see the argument get to the point of a permanent separation, he’d done it himself with his sister, Zipporah and it still caused him a great deal of pain. He hadn’t been right to do what he did, say what he did, but at the time he’d been convinced it was the only way. She wouldn’t give up on the idea that he should be more like their father, Obediah, and Nathan was tired of the comparisons. The medic still felt badly about cutting her off, but he couldn’t bring himself to try to mend the hole in his world. It just wasn’t possible to do so without seeming to be a fool....

The argument increased in strength and each of the members of Team Seven found themselves looking for an exit. Slowly they slipped out, leaving the battling Larabees to each other, even Buck, who couldn’t stand it any longer.

 <<<7>>>

"I hadn’t guessed." Josiah said from his new perch on the railing of the porch. He had come out of sight, but not shouting distance, so as not to disturb the moves toward re-connection but not so far as to be unhelpful if intervention was necessary. Col. Jah Jackson and his uncle Raul Sanchez had followed him out. Jah raised a corner of his mouth and pulled out a bag of checkers and Raul responded by pulling out a checkerboard from behind him with a flourish worthy of Ezra. The two men set up the checker game, and Josiah began to ask questions about the Larabees, at first, and then about Ezra, knowing that these two held some keys that might help him to help the southerner out of his crisis.

Both men were uncomfortable about the discussion, very worried about "Classified" matters, but Josiah was able to get some answers that left him gasping for air. He’d never have guessed the things they told him about the younger man. Oh Son! Josiah found himself grieving over the news and instinctively knew that it was only the tip of the iceberg.

 <<<7>>>

Buck was close to breaking his most important rule. "Never get involved with the family members of a friend". Patricia Larabee Harlan, Chris’s younger sister, was a lot like her brother had been before the car bombing that killed Sarah and Adam. She was on the edge of a bitter divorce and feeling uncertain, something that Buck was very familiar with dealing with Chris’s anxieties. He’d dragged JD with him, on the pretext of getting information about his "Great Aunt" Rhonda Dunne. It amazed and worried Buck that the previous seven had been so closely connected to them and that they’d never met. He didn’t even want to think about that picture, the one of the nineteenth century Seven. That was truly frightening.

JD had come along, knowing that Buck wanted to talk to Patricia. However, Sandy Larabee had brought her five children out of the line of the fire between their father and uncle. The young computer expert had been an only child and relished playing with the kids, having wished for siblings most of his life. He wasn’t sure about all of this, but it was pretty amazing. Tomorrow would be great, he’d get to meet his great aunt Rhonda and find out all about the Dunnes. And maybe he’d be able to get over his shock about Casey. Was he really destined to marry Nettie Wells’s niece? He loved Casey, but he didn’t want to be forced into it. Perhaps if he knew more about the previous JD...a Sheriff, huh....

 <<<7>>>

Nathan had escaped and wandered the large farm’s outbuildings. How the General ever kept up with it all, Jackson couldn’t figure out. Eventually he found his way to the garage and found "Malone" working on the engine of a car. It was obvious that he’d been working on one car, but the pieces of several vehicles were sitting there laid out on sheets.

"Getting too hot in there?" Malone had drawled.

"Way too hot. Can’t seem to straighten it out without yelling." The medic replied, feeling at ease in the shady garage.

"Ah well, some people have to be loud to untangle their messes. Some folks never do. Too proud I guess. Would you hand me that wrench?" Malone said leaning back into the vehicle.

Nathan handed him the tool and suddenly found himself talking, spilling all the things he hadn’t been able to say to his team mates, all the things that he’d kept inside him. Malone just listened, asking for a tool here and there, but listened and closely too.

<<<7>>>

Ezra Standish followed the Irish Setter, Max, as they rambled over old familiar trails, eventually ending up near the cornfield. His head hung low and he was weary. It was too much, being here. There was no way that he’d convince Chris to let him leave for a while, no real escape from Nathan’s constant harangues, no where to go. He’d made his choice and he’d stand by it, no matter how much the medic’s commentary hurt him.

He felt the presences long before they manifested, knowing the feel of them so well.

"Good Afternoon". He said politely. There wasn’t much point in being rude to a ghost, especially these ghosts. They were guardians and he would not, could not trifle with them. They were too important to treat lightly.

"Well, Child?" A thin man, in the dress of the turn of the century, said green eyes blazing.

"Well, What?" Ezra responded in honest confusion. He was tired and the weight of his pain, as well as that of his hopes, made him feel dull in the presence of these guardians. They were so like and yet so different to the ones he was familiar with. Baldwin’s guardians were so very well known to him, but he wasn’t as close to these. Standish wished, not for the first time, that Caroline was here. She’d been a customary and dear companion. These were folk he should know, but as the past had fallen out, he’d had little chance to learn about them....

"Have you chosen?" The man asked, although his tone was not gentle, he seemed to be as kindly intent as he could be. It took Ezra a couple of minutes to place him, Alexander Forth. The Major’s grandson. He’d been a hard man because he’d lived a hard life, but his actions had always been with care for other people. Ezra didn’t know what to say, he choked on his words.

"What is your choice?"

"It is made, long ago and it will not be altered." Ezra said firmly. He stood his ground, although he was shaking like one of JD's Coke Splatter Specials. The guardians looked at him with great understanding and compassion.

"Are you certain?"

"As Ever, as Always, The choice is mine. I was granted one miracle in this life, one that has given me far more than I could ever have expected or dared hope for." Ezra’s eyes grew distant as he thought of the moment of that miracle. "I Will NOT break faith with it. There is no going back, no choosing another path. I will stand on my vow. I know what will come, and I’m ..." he paused. "Not hesitant, though I fear it! I have to be honest, It terrifies me. I wish it could be other, but I choose the life I have lived. I will not unweave what has been. They are worth everything to me. If what is coming came a dozen times, it would be the same. I chose as the Major did before me." Ezra closed his eyes and swallowed. "Pale Horse, Pale Rider. As Ever, as Always."

The Guardians nodded as if it had been expected, though their eyes told him they’d hoped that he’d chose the easier path, one kinder and more gentle than the damaged fragmented life he’d led. It was required that he’d been given the chance to change his mind, that was duty, but he wasn’t going to alter his decision. Not ever. Seeing Chris alive and living... seeing them all alive, granted the sight of the possibilities for this pack of wild "Brothers" he’d found, It meant everything. And if he had to carry his burden for a thousand years, he would. Knowing Them would be his strength for what would come. Ezra flipped a card in his hand. He looked at it, Seven of Spades...

And they would not be alone...this time. He’d gotten that promise when he’d accepted the charge, so many years ago. They wouldn’t be alone.

Whatever else the guardian ghosts would have said was silenced by the sounding of a loud volley of cannon. Ezra’s face paled to absolute white.

"No. No. NO!" He screamed in denial. "Not another, Please, no..."

"Taver’s folly has sounded it’s guns. The Nation is in distress, but the tragedy has not yet occurred." Old William reminded him. "When there is nothing you can do, when the choice is set in stone, you hear the guns at the moment of Tragedy. This sounding can be altered." The man drew his lips into a thin line. "I’ve heard them often enough to be sure. This sounding can be changed. This can be prevented."

"What are they firing for?" one of the others asked, watching the living man staring at William’s face.

"I do not know."

In that instant, a lathered horse came roaring past, Caroline Danvers on it’s back wild with terror and grief.

"They’ve come. The riders have failed. The fool made his choice! He made it for gain...We must stop them. They’ve come for the General! They will slay them all!" She wailed as she galloped past.

Several ghosts vanished to fulfil their oaths. William looked at Ezra.

"They will have come for you too, to use against them. Christopher will do anything to save you. And not he alone, You Know how far the General will go to protect you. They will risk themselves to save you, take dangerous chances. We must find a way to stop this. This is not the hour, we can not lose them now... We must protect them. You know that." His eyes lost focus for a minute. "Hide, into the corn!" Ezra needed no urging. He dashed into the corn and knelt down, Max beside him.

"I saw him. He was out for a walk. Where the hell did he go?" an unfamiliar voice yelled.

"He can’t have just vanished. Into the corn!" one of the men yelled. There were moments of fruitless searching, but Ezra was not found. The men were armed to the teeth and prepared to use their weapons. One of them came near to Ezra but a sound from elsewhere led them off. William, Ezra realized. Then he smiled. William was a prickly bastard and hard to get around. They’d be off on a merry chase.

What could he do to save the others?

 <<<7>>>

Nathan was in shock, Shock with a capital "S". Malone had shown him some things that left him totally wiped out. He hadn’t realized that Malone was Malone Tanner, Vin’s dead uncle. He should have...What the hell had happened to his brain? The man, the ghost, had listened to all the things he was feeling, all the pain, and all the things he’d thought and felt about Ezra.

He’d listened and then proceeded to turn Nathan’s total view of reality inside out... The things he’d shown him, the facts he’d been MADE to see. It had been a tour of Hell, his own personal hell. But one that was the result of his own Choices. Jackson had made an innocent comment in response to a question that Malone had asked, and then his whole world had come undone. He felt like Scrooge with the three ghosts, he’d only had one, but one he prayed was enough!

Just as he was regaining some balance, some sense of himself, a woman on a horse dashed by, wailing an alarm. It took a moment for his befuddled mind to recognize her, Caroline Danvers.

The General was in Danger, the Whole Larabee family was in Danger...and Ezra, Oh Lord, ...He’d driven the man out of the house. Ezra! What had he done!

 <<<7>>>

Buck and JD were comfortably relaxing with the women and children. Diana Larabee had joined them to check on her daughter. The stress of the argument between her sons had been too much for her to bear. She loved them both and couldn’t handle seeing them tearing at each other. Watching the grandchildren play had almost restored her balance when she was startled by the appearance of Caroline Danvers on a lathered horse.

"Danger!" The ghost screamed startling them all. "Get the children into the hiding place!"

"Danger? Hiding place?" Buck was startled, but the Larabee women were gathering up the children and rushing towards an innocent looking corner of the Farmhouse. Patricia turned something and the whole wall opened. Both agents drew their weapons and took protective positions around the women and children.

"There’s trouble." Nathan called coming to the house at a run. He drew his weapon and joined his team mates in protecting the Larabees. "That lady ghost..."

"We saw her." Buck said shortly, he turned at a noise and was startled to see a man with a crew cut who was a ringer for Vin pull out a machine gun. "Can ghostly weapons hurt people?" he asked Diana who was beside him.

"They work, they don’t do what they would do if they were living weapons, but they do do things. Why?"

"That guy is setting up a machine gun."

"What guy?" Diana asked.

"Malone Tanner." Nathan said.

"Malone’s here?" She asked turning around and around looking for the ghost.

"Right there ma’am, Can’t you see him?"

"No. You don’t get to see the people who were important to you in life... It’s not allowed. Not unless the time has come. It’s not supposed to be time..." She said, clutching one of the grandchildren more closely to her. "I’ll set the booby traps, so don’t come in after us. There’s a bell in the parlor. When it’s safe ring it. The boys will tell you where it is."

"Ma’am, not that I’m not happy you have them, but why do you have booby traps and hiding places?" Buck asked.

"The Standishes were big into the anti slavery movement. There’s a hidden classroom down there and safety." Nathan said.

"Standishes?" JD asked in bewilderment, watching the parameter. "What Standishes!"

"The Danvers were cousins of Ezra’s dad’s family. This was a stop on one of the western routes out of slavery..."

"Malone’s been telling tales again." Patricia said.

"Yes, Ma’am. I’m glad he did." Nathan said, still shaken from what he’d seen. "I’ll ring the bell when it’s safe. You set those traps and hang on. If the bell rings three times, get out the tunnel, cause the house is afire. Okay? Don’t stop, Don’t look back, just get to Rhonda’s? Okay?"

The medic helped the ladies close the wall behind them.

 <<<7>>>

Josiah, Raul and Jah Jackson were in the middle of a killer game of checkers when Caroline Danvers rode up to the porch.

"They’ve come. He chose treason. The General is at risk! They will kill him and all of his family!" She cried struggling with the horse.

Jah overturned the board and pushed both Sanchezes towards the house. Josiah pulled his sidearm and watched as both old men did as well. They were prepared for everything except for Caroline grabbing an old shotgun and covering their retreat.

As they reached the door, Caroline started, blood pouring out over her riding habit.

"Keep going, This is as far as I’m permitted to aid you. The women and children are safe, the others are warned and help is coming but they will be here first. Hold on and you will survive." She sank down against the wooden door frame still clutching the shotgun, and she took aim, obviously intending to keep shielding them as long as she could.

"But..." Josiah began, staring at her.

"That’s where she died, Josiah. It’s where she can make a stand, she did so in life, it’s permitted in death... The rules governing the situation are so complex that I can’t figure why it is but that’s what she can do, all she can do. She’ll keep them occupied for a while though."

<<<7>>>

The argument was going in full force when a dozen men in the clothing of the mid nineteenth century ran through the walls.

"They’ve come!" A hard looking man said, off loading two guns and a rifle.

"Diana, the children!" The General cried.

"In the hiding place." The man replied. "Caroline is holding the porch. Your men," He said to Chris "are in the back."

Outside the sound of Gunfire broke the quiet, startling the animals.

"Larabee, We’ve got your man! Going to kill him if you don’t get out here. Already had to shut his smart mouth, Larabee. You want him alive, you come out. I’ll kill him if you don’t. Borland ain't here to save you, General. Come on outa there!" A voice bellowed from the farmyard.

"Don’t, Chris! They don’t have Ezra!" said a thirtyish man with bright green eyes. He held the china teacup in one hand. "Ezra is safe, don’t fall for the bluff. And Don’t let him fall for it." the man pointed at General Larabee. The General was frightened, Chris noticed. His father was never afraid. The leader of Team Seven thought, This wasn't happening. It wasn’t real to him.

"We have to bargain. We can’t let them kill Ezra!" General Larabee cried.

"They don’t have him." Chris said.

"How do you know?" His father said with some desperation. General Larabee was torn between protecting his family and protecting Ezra.

"He says so." Chris said pointing at the man.

"Chris, there’s only a teacup there!" Josiah said, but all of the rest were relieved by the sight.

"If Jess says it, it’s true." The General said, visibly relaxing. "We’ll get them."

"Why didn’t you hear him?" Chris asked in confusion.

"The people who cross who are close to you can’t show themselves to you, It’s another of those idiot rules." Jah Jackson snapped. "Ask that old hoodwinker about them out there. How many, and where."

"But,..." Chris started to ask in some confusion.

"Just ask."

"Tell them that there are ten of them, heavily armed and most of them have some military training. Not good training, mostly from "Militia" groups." He winced. "But some idea of what they are up to. Rescue is coming, if you can hold on, they'll be here soon."

Chris repeated what he’d said.

"Thanks Jess." The General said with real gratitude.

"Jess?" Chris asked.

"Jesse Allen Standish, at your service." The man reached out and shook Chris’s hand. His flesh was cool but not unpleasant.

"Are you Ezra’s father?"

"I was." Jess said with pain in his expression. "I had that privilege while I was in life. I never thought I’d be lost so soon. That I wouldn’t get to be there with him." Standish frowned. "I’ve watched him every step, every pain-filled step, every moment in Hell. I just wasn’t permitted to be there to protect him from ..." He paused. " The world" He added after a moment. Chris got the idea that he had intended to say something else and ‘Maude’ was his guess.

Before they could say anything else, the men outside made their move.

Caroline’s corner Part 3 A long Afternoon

Vin Tanner had left the Larabee farmhouse in the middle of the argument. It had been hard for him to watch Chris and his brother tear into each other, especially since Chris was never that angry with his men. There was a field over behind the barn, and he could see some horses milling around.

Indiana was interesting, but he was wishing for Colorado and the Larabee Ranch, more specifically for Peso, his horse. A ride on Peso would usually reset his equilibrium. Ezra was a concern right now, as usual. He didn’t know what to do for his grieving friend, except punch Nathan out. However, that wouldn’t make the situation easier. Vin had read the indecision and the fear in Ezra after Chris explained this little jaunt. Standish apparently knew the General, and definitely knew the ghosts... The southerner had spent a whole morning before they left filling Vin in about Caroline and the rest. He’d believed him, after all hadn’t he dealt with more weird stuff ever since Ezra became his partner?

Vin was pretty sure that every ghost in the continental U.S.of A. knew Ezra Standish. He just wished they’d leave the man alone, especially now... It just didn’t seem fair that his partner had to carry so heavy a burden.

He’d tried to redirect people, tried to get the others onto a different track, but damn they were single minded! Only the raging feud between Chris and his brother seemed to distract the others from pecking at the southerner. Lately it appeared that all the ground they’d gained especially with their stubborn medic had been lost. It had been a hard couple of years. Ezra had nearly died twice in the last six months and he’d lost track of how many times it had come that close in the last year... Truthfully there were days when Vin thought Ezra was actively courting it. He sighed. Wasn’t it bad enough for the man to have people trying to murder him, people spying on him, and having to carry the pain of his loss without ever saying anything to the others, because it was "Classified"?

Trying to find some normalcy for himself, he considered the General’s offer, and considered it hard. Vin called himself a fool but the mysteries of his own past still haunted him, just as much as any of Ezra’s guardian ghosts.. After breakfast, Vin had talked to the General, asking his questions, and the older man had given him a packet of things, pictures mostly, but there was one red book, a journal. His uncle’s journal. He wasn’t sure what to do. Malone Tanner had died long before Vin’s birth. Vin had few recollections of his mother and none of this uncle, his grandfather never having talked about him...

Vin put the packet in his jacket pocket, not certain if he wanted to face the memories of a stranger.

One of the horses, a spotted Appaloosa, nuzzled gently against Vin’s arm. He petted the head softly, stroking the long silky mane. As he was considering his options, he heard gunfire from the house.

                                                                                        <<<7>>>

Ezra Standish listened with all of his senses to determine if the men had moved on. He had one chance and only one chance to get help for the others. His team was going to be caught in the crossfire and if he didn’t raise the alarm they’d all be killed. That was something he’d never allow, risk all to prevent.

No one was nearby so Standish ran, ran as fast as his injured leg would allow him to go. He dragged himself through the corn and other crops, listening for pursuit. There was none, but he went cautiously. If he were caught, there was a chance that he could be used against the Larabees, both the General and Chris. That had to be prevented, at all costs. General Larabee was far too valuable to the Military, to the Nation, to him... And Chris...There had to be a reason that they’d been attacked now, especially when Chris was here with a highly trained team of ATF agents. They probably wanted them both. A disturbing thought, which meant that someone knew what he was as well. Such highly classified information required a high level of access, something these Militia misfits certainly didn’t have....

Grimacing slightly against the pain in his leg, he looked back to determine his position. Decker’s place was just over the small artificial hill the Danvers had created as part of one of the escape systems. If he could get to Decker’s then he could get help from both the living Military and the police and the dead Indiana Regiments. He just had to get there!

Turning toward Decker’s, Ezra saw a familiar dark hollow ahead of him. For a moment he hesitated, panic gripping him making him gasp for air. No, he told himself, he had to make it to Decker’s, had to get help. No matter what had happened in this place, he couldn’t let it overwhelm him. His Team, his brothers, they needed rescue! Max quietly leaned in against Ezra’s thigh, the Irish Setter offering what comfort he could. Ezra shut his eyes to the memory of pain and pushed ahead grasping Max’s collar. The dog led him as he tried to ignore the insistent memory of his mother’s voice whispering ugly threats. That was then, this is now he told himself. She’s not here.

                                                                                <<<7>>>

Chris ducked as his mother’s china cabinet took a volley of hits, spraying glass and porcelain fragments all over the defenders. The Ghost of Ezra’s father tried to shield him against the shrapnel, but there was only so much protection he could afford. Looking around Chris could see the others had ghosts looking out for them. Screaming obscenities, the men outside fired volley after volley into the house. Jah Jackson had been hit in the arm, Josiah cut with flying glass from one of the windows, and the General had been scratched by a round that nearly missed his thigh. Help couldn’t come too soon for Chris. He’d tried his cell-phone but the reception had been too poor. None of the others could get a signal. Obviously their attackers had brought something to jam signals with, and they’d cut the normal telephone lines.

A trap door in the middle of the kitchen floor lifted up. Chris took aim without thinking.

"For Mercy’s sake, Hold your Fire!" Jesse screamed into his ear. Chris didn’t fire and in a second was shocked to see a dusty and grimy JD Dunne grinning at him.

"Exits from the last stand, anyone?" JD quipped.

"Knock it off, Kid. We want to get into the house not out of it!" Buck grumbled. JD grinned a little more, and led Buck and Nathan into the House. Nathan automatically grabbed his bright orange medical duffle from beside the stairwell and began treating the injured.

"How long should we hold out in here?"Chris asked the ghost of Jesse Standish. "Shouldn’t we go out the trap door?" The ghost listened for a moment and then shook his head.

"If you can hold it together a little longer, help is coming. I can hear them. If you leave the house too soon, you will play into your attackers’ hands." Jesse looked troubled for a moment and then turned his attention back to Chris. Chris was too familiar with Ezra’s facial expressions to be fooled.

"What is it? Is Ezra okay?"

"Ezra is...Fine." Jesse said grimly.

"Fine or Fine?" Chris demanded in return, knowing that word oh so well.

"Ezra is free, they have not found him. However this place has a hazzard of memories..." He looked at Chris with sorrowfully wide green eyes. "I wish..."

Not sure how to comfort a ghost, Chris looked over at his men, assessing their conditions. Buck gave him the old familiar grin. Team Seven’s Rogue seemed ready for anything. He was keeping an eye on JD, but Chris could tell that no matter how exuberant the "Kid" was, he was also ready for anything. Sometimes, Chris thought, they discounted JD’s training and background. They shouldn’t. The "Kid" was twenty-six years old, even if he didn’t look a day over seventeen, and had worked the streets of New York City for three and a half years. JD gave him a considering look and then flashed him one of his biggest grins.

Don’t get cocky, kid. Larabee glared at him. Now was not the time or place. At least Vin wasn’t in here, the claustrophobia would be driving him to extremes. The ghosts had said that Tanner was safe where he wouldn’t be found. He found himself trusting that statement. Another volley of bullets struck various points in the wall. JD took cover well. Chris turned to see where the rest of his team was. Nathan was putting butterfly bandages on one of Josiah’s cuts. Whatever the medic was saying to the older man caused him to laugh slightly. The ‘man in black’ looked at them with no little confusion. Jackson had been a royal pain, a truly royal pain, for quite a while. Josiah had had to deal with him and there had been precious little that the medic had said that made anyone laugh. As if he’d heard his leader’s thoughts, Nathan looked at Chris and gave him a large sheepish grin. Shuddering slightly, Chris turned to see what the ‘old timers’ were up to.

His father and the two survivors of his ‘seven’ were as actively involved in the defense of the house as Chris’s team. Hell, even Rick was laying fire as if he were trained. The General looked at his son with a curious expression.

"Of course he’s trained," Old William snorted in Chris’s ear. "Ever known a Larabee to be unprepared?"

"Yes," Chris snapped. "Me, all the time!"

Both Ghosts laughed, Old William with a full throated chuckle that Chris would never have believed of the man, and Jesse with a laugh that sounded so much like Ezra.

"The lad is on the way back from Decker’s." Old William said. "And that other one of yours is getting ready for something. Not sure what, but knowing that it’s a Tanner, it’s sure to be creative."

"I thought you said Vin was safe!" Chris cursed.

"He is, they aren’t gonna find him, Boy."Old William snapped back. "They could look for years and never find him. What he’s gonna do to them, well, that’s another story. A Hunter he is and Hunters have their own ideas of what’s proper doings."

"Hunter?" Chris was baffled.

"You were there remember? Oh yes, I forgot. You thought all that Native American Nonsense didn’t really mean anything. Just a ceremony for Vin’s peace of mind. Lord, Boy, sometimes you are the most dense person I’ve ever met." Old William shook his head. "You’re gonna have some problems with this one, Jess-lad." He added shaking his head. Then the curmudgeonly ghost vanished.

"What did he mean? Trouble with me?" Chris hissed. "And why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with Ezra?" He lashed out at Jesse from worried anger. The ghost just looked at him sadly.

"I can’t be. I can see him. I can walk beside him. I can’t do anything else." Jesse looked at Chris with an expression of grief so heavy that Larabee almost choked back the rest of his angry complaint, almost.

"I’d give anything to be with Adam, even just to walk beside him. Just to see him, to let him know that I love him."

"I can’t even tell Ezra that." Jesse said so softly that Chris almost missed it.

"Why? He’s the one who can see all of the ghosts around here! Hell, Caroline’s like an old friend to him. Why can’t you be there and tell him anything, everything." Chris cursed. "That mother of his is just about useless."

"I wouldn’t call her useless, I’d call her Evil, Christopher Matthew. It’s not permitted for Ezra to see me right now. He will, eventually."

"Why not now? This seems like a crisis point in his life." Larabee snapped as he fired out at their attackers.

"It’s not allowed."

"I’d face any punishment to be with my son. Anything." Chris yelled at him. He could see that Jesse Standish had the same temperament as his own Standish. Larabee had pushed him to the edge of his anger.

"Ezra will see me again..." Jesse bit out in a voice colder than the Arctic. "He will see me in the last few hours of his life. Then and only then. It’s not an event I wish to rush." Chris looked at him incredulously. Jesse’s face was as blank a mask as the one Ezra often wore. Another volley of gunfire kicked up more shrapnel and Jess again shielded Chris as much as he could. "This is not a crisis point in his life."

"I wouldn’t say that. He’s grieving, hurt... and we can’t reach him. I’m losing him and I don’t have clue one about what to do."

"Ezra is grieving, yes. That only time can heal. As for the rest, it’s moving to a resolution." Jesse threw a tight grin at the medic. "The person going to reach a crisis point, this day, is you, Christopher Matthew Larabee. That’s why I’m here, Stuck here listening to you carp about things that you don’t understand." The ghost looked through the shattered window with expression of grief woven with anger. "I have to try to reach you, that’s why I’m here. Stuck here. Listening to Richard James making a fool of himself because he won’t see what is actually happening. Watching people my son loves make Asses of themselves without even the slightest clue what is going on, or what he needs. I can’t be with him, giving him what limited comfort and support I am permitted. I can’t be with him because I have to be here with you. You know my son so well, do you? You know that he’s hurting, heartsick... When did you bother to ask Ezra why he was hurting? Vin knows, he was there when he was needed... You seem to think that Ezra is supposed to bring his secrets to you, throw them all in your lap and walk away happy and whole. Tell me, Christopher, just when did you become divine?" He turned back to Chris with a face colder than he’d ever seen. "If you are so able to solve Ezra’s problems, why don’t you know what they are? All of your men have secrets, many more than even they know. Many of them are as dangerous and damaging as my son’s. Why don’t you know them if you are so clued in...so wise?" He was twisting the china teacup in his hand.

"I never thought that I was God, Standish. Damn you are enough to drive a man to drink."

"You’ve never needed an excuse for that." Jesse hit back.

"That was low." Chris growled.

"Apparently not low enough. There are more lives riding on your judgement than just yours... more than just your team’s. If you don’t get a clue, as the current idiom goes, you are going to get a lot of people killed without knowing that you could have saved them... Dash right in and fix a few things, get buried in your own trauma, ignore, fight or feud with your team and lose. It’s a Larabee for sure." Jesse looked around. "They shouldn’t have given this task to me. I can’t make you understand. They are all going to die, not today not in this nonsense, but in the greater trial to come. One hundred and twenty years. Almost over and we didn’t change a thing. I’m out of my depth with this one! I’m no Fate, I can’t give you choices... I’m not even in life to save those who will fall because I can’t make you understand.." He ran a hand through his auburn hair. Chris’s blood ran cold. The ghost continued despairingly."They are going to die, Ezra’s going to die, and all I can do is argue with you."

"Ezra is not going to die. If I have to ride into Hell and drag his ass back here. I’m not going to let him go."

"That’s good Christopher, I almost believe you." Jesse looked at him. "How are you going to stop it when you don’t know what ‘it’ is? Had you considered that? Just because Richard James is acting like an idiot doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a point or two to make. The other Christopher Larabee couldn’t wait to rush in, couldn’t get his information straight, couldn’t find it in himself to reach out to his men until it was too late. He buried himself in his own pain until he had to bury his men. That Seven broke and all Sevens that follow will fall for the same reasons...My son’s death will seal that cycle. The Major sacrificed his life believing in the men he served with, in the man that he followed. Ezra knew the instant he saw you in Atlanta that going with you six was to be his death, but he chose you. He would rather have had the time, even on the edge of this family of yours, this family of misfits. He would rather have had the time with the six of you than any earthly thing."

"We’re not...Ezra’s not..." Chris gaped with the idea that Ezra would die because of them.

"You are the last people in my son’s life that he will call family. The only people that he will ever allow that close to him. There are others that he cares for, but none will ever reach his heart as deeply. He’s been too damaged. Too systematically damaged for that. None of us could even believe that he’d reach out for you, believe in you. He shouldn’t be able to do that, to trust you or anyone. She did that to him, My failure did that to him, and She made it permanent. After all he’s suffered, none of us had the hope to believe that he could bring himself to reach out to you. We all thought it would end up a pale imitation of what happened back then, but we were wrong. He did reach out for you, and made the choice. It was a miracle...." Jesse’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. "The last chance, I can’t reach you, I’m speaking Greek to you." Another volley of gunfire dusted them with splinters.

"I’ll learn Greek then." Larabee growled. "If it was a miracle that he reached for us, I’m not about to let him go. What the hell are you trying to tell me? Somehow I get the feeling that it has to happen in the middle of a gunfight."

"Some things just do." Jesse gave a half-hearted attempt at a laugh.

"Okay. So you’ve got my attention. I’ve been ignoring the problems with my men, avoiding Ezra’s past, trying to keep it all together. I lost my wife and child and I really am never going to get over that. However, these men are my family and I’m not going to lose one, not any of them. I nearly lost Ezra last year. You know about that?" Chris looked at the ghost.

"I was there. Every moment." Jesse looked at him. "You do care, but you are uncommitted and distracted. There was something alarmingly wrong with your medic but you chose not to see it. Your best friend has been at risk from an old enemy. You almost lost him through neglect of your Bureau’s politics. Your Hunter came through his personal Hell with only my son at his side instead of all of you. He survived but shouldn’t you have been there? The "Kid" is being slowly led away from your circle, dangerously so. Hezekiah’s son has a heavier burden than you know, but you should. And my son... that you’ve known and avoided considering. All of these things that have happened are connected and you’ve ignored the threat. Ezra has been walking the knife point, as you so often say, but you’ve done little to bring him in from the edge. You’ve feared losing him, feared a connection to him, feared his "Dark" past, feared pushing or pulling him. Christopher, why are you afraid of my son?"

"I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’m afraid. It’s hard to put into words." Chris said, knowing that he had to be honest now or never. The very thought of losing any of his men filled him with terror. But hearing Jesse recite a list of things that had happened or almost happened gave him chills beyond the terror. He had to find a way. Ezra wasn’t going to die, and certainly not because of them. "I don’t know why. It’s a shadow. Something half remembered. All I know is that sometimes he scares me. Whether it’s the power he has, or something else, I’m not sure. Yes I can tell that he’s "gifted". There were a couple of people with ‘gifts’ back in the Navy and let me tell you, it wasn’t worth it. They suffered so much because of those ‘gifts’, I couldn’t see anything worthwhile about them. Vin’s ‘gifted’ too. I was hoping that it was just a phase, that it’d go away. I can’t stand to see them hurt so much. It just doesn’t seem worth it to me."

"It was their choice." Jesse said.

"I guess. The ones I knew in the service, they suffered so much, then they died. I didn’t want that for my men. I wanted to convince myself that it wasn’t real."

"Christopher. You grew up here. Among ghosts. Lots of ghosts. Don’t you think it’s odd that you can’t deal with living people having ‘gifts’ but you can deal with any number of ghosts? Guardian ghosts at that?"

"I guess it is kind of stupid." Chris dove for more shelter as another, heavier volley of bullets tore thought the room. "They’ve got lots of ammo, but lousy aim."

"They’ve got other problems too." Jesse gave him a grin. Slowly Chris could hear the roar of a machine gun, echoing strangely. As the machine gun opened fire, he could hear cursing and explosions.

"Vin?"

Jesse looked at him startled then grinned.  "Well it’s a Tanner. Vin’s up to something else."

"Please don’t let him kill himself doing it."

"No, Het’s watching him. He’s watching Het so I guess they’re both on the way to a resolution. Can you hear the gun?" Jesse asked curiously.

"Yes. Doesn’t sound right to me. And there something in the distance. A bugle?" Chris looked at Jesse in confusion. "Bugle, right."

Jesse laughed. "Yes Christopher. It’s a bugle. The cavalry is coming." A stray bullet brushed past Chris’s ear.

"Now it’s time to move to safer ground. Vin Tanner has taken out the guards that would have caught you and their back up is involved with the ‘machine gun’. We need to get out and meet the cavalry."

Chris started herding his men and the old timers to the trapdoor. He and Rick were the last to leave. For a moment Chris could see pride in his brother’s expression, pride followed by embarrassment. Giving Rick’s biceps a squeeze he told himself that they would work things out. Somehow.

Following Jesse’s lead into the darkness, they started to go through the tunnels the Danvers had dug back in 1850.

                                                                               <<<7>>>

Vin Tanner tried to hide his surprise at being ‘jumped’ by an Indian. An old fashioned warrior if the state of his clothing was to be believed. He was dragged into one of the outbuildings. But he didn’t struggle with his attacker. Instinctively he knew that the man was on his side. His senses told him it was a ghost.

The man gestured to himself, "Het" he said. "Short name" Vin understood it to mean "nickname" and that the man wouldn’t give him his full real name. He nodded in return. Giving a wide smile that was almost as feral as a "Tanner Grin" the warrior pointed to something half hidden under a tarp. What was there caused Vin to return the ghost’s look with a true "Tanner Grin".

                                                                              <<<7>>>

"Damn." Chris said, bumping his head for the fourth time. "No one thought to bring a flashlight." The escapees from the house were slowly feeling their way along the tunnel. How JD had led Buck and Nathan through to the house, Chris was sure he’d never know... Each man held on to some portion of the man in front of him. The pale form of Jesse Standish was the only light, and that more by sense than sight. Finding himself at the end of the line, Chris felt the darkness encroaching on all of his senses.

Within a couple of minutes he’d lost hold of Buck who had been in front of him and found himself lost.

"How the hell did they see down here when they used the damn tunnels!" Chris snarled.

"Darkness can sometimes be boon and sometimes bane." Caroline Danvers’s voice echoed in his head. "Morning is wiser than evening, Christopher Matthew, hold fast."

"He can’t." Another voice whispered. "He’s unwilling to choose."

"Unwilling or unable? I never believed that he would be the one with the courage, much less the convictions." Another voice hissed in Chris’s ear. Chris felt that he was in a room full of people, people that he couldn’t see and it annoyed him. He’d always felt this way when the ghosts tried something like this. That was part of the reason he left in the first place.

"Courage is being scared and doing the right thing anyway."

"He’s too Smart to listen to platitudes." One of the voices hissed. "Too wise to bother with what is coming. Bah! Let him wander where his "Smarts" led him to. This one is no use."

"He’s loyal to his men." The voices multiplied, whispering all around him.

"Loyal but unwilling to risk himself, to risk hurt."

"He risked hurting, risked grieving, Last year. He didn’t have to care for his dying team-mate."

"But the boy didn’t die. It was a trick from that bitch of a mother."

"Does that change what he is or has done? The two things are not connected."

"He threw away the chance. Not of any use! He bears the potential of great gifts, but refuses to use them. To chance them!" One of the voices raged.

"He doesn’t understand. All he’s ever seen was the pain. Never the hope!"

"It’s too late."

"Too Late."

"He’s made his choice." The voices all agreed. Chris cursed silently. What the hell did they want of him and who were they to judge him?

"I haven’t made any Damn choice. I don’t have a frigging clue what the hell you are babbling about. My men are under attack. Could you go somewhere and whisper and I’ll get back to you when I have a moment."

"There is only the moment, Now. This is it. Your choice, Christopher Matthew Larabee."

Chris smacked his forehead against a support. Rubbing the lump, he replied to the voices.

"I’m not sure what I’m choosing here. You all seem to be accusing me of something. I’m not sure what. In a Trial the accused at least gets council from someone who knows the law."

"Very well, not that it will change matters." One voice said with feigned fatigue.

"He must chose a councilor, Jesse can not reach him ."

"Who will help?"

"I will." Said one voice. It was bright and sounded young.

"I will" Replied another, dripping with sarcasm.

"I will." A third cried, snide and arrogant.

"I will." Said a fourth, a voice heavy with weariness.

" I will." Said a fifth, strangely manic.

Chris’s gut clenched. He’d always avoided this sort of thing as a child, telling the ghosts that they were too bossy or taking off to avoid listening to their lectures. This was different, he was no child now and the lives of his men and those of his family were at risk. Jesse had said that none of them would die this day, but he hadn’t said that they’d make it through unchanged. It hadn’t been so long a time away from the Corner for him not to remember how bad "Changes" could be. He tripped in the darkness, cursing.

A rough hand reached for his and helped him right himself.

"I don’t want..."Chris began but the hand clasped his mouth.

"Watch it, not to choose is considered a choice. Tell them you are thinking. If you are considering, they’ll let you be." The weary voice said in his ear. It had a smoky, earthy feel. Quickly the hand released him.

"I’m thinking." Chris said aloud to the waiting Darkness. In response he could suddenly see the edge of the barnyard where Ezra Standish stood. He seemed alone at first, but Chris blinked and saw not only the Irish setter, Max, beside him but dozens of men. Standish stood up raising an arm. Wanting to shriek at the man to take cover, Chris could see the danger he was in, he pleaded and pleaded with the voices. Ezra’s arm came down in a quick swing and Chris could hear the roar of Cannon.

He could feel them too as the tunnel reacted to the volley. The Militia men were crying out, screaming more and more obscenities. They returned fire and Standish, like an idiot, was a visible target.

"Ezra!" Chris cried out in fear for the man.

"You must make your choice. There is no time." The voices whispered.

"You need to pay attention." The bright childish voice said. "Listen to us. There are rules and they are the only things that matter right now." Although it was bright, that childish voice put shivers up Chris’s back. There was a danger in blindly following rules of any sort.

The other voices echoed the childish voice’s complaint.

Chris ignored all of the voices, focused on the image of Ezra Standish openly risking himself in the gunfight.

"He’s alright. The man has more lives than a damn cat and they ain’t run out yet." The weary voice told him softly. A brush of a gentle hand on his shoulder gave Chris a little comfort. Again the other voices rose to demand his attention. They started arguing amongst themselves. The childish voice pleading for them to follow the rules, the snide voice proclaiming it’s own self-righteousness, the sarcastic voice whispering proverbs, the manic voice began singing insanely.

"If I have to choose a councilor blindly, I choose you." Chris said to where he thought the weary voice was.. He could feel the spirit beside him start. The owner of the voice seemed more corporeal than before. Chris could almost swear that he could feel the man standing next to him.

"There are others that are wiser than I am and I ain’t real pretty to look at. Why choose me?"

"My men are at risk of their lives and you were the only one who thought of giving me any comfort."

"I made a lot of mistakes, Kid. Still make em"

"So do I." Chris answered bitterly. "Jesse Standish pointed out quite a few of them earlier."

"He just wanted your attention. To get you to think."

"Why isn’t he the one stuck answering my idiot questions?" Chris asked. "He wasn’t getting through, wasn’t able to teach me enough Greek? Right?"

"No, this would have happened any way." The voice replied. "You have to be free, uninfluenced by your friendship."

"Jesse Standish wasn’t a friend of mine."

"His son is."

"Alright," Chris said, losing patience. "They want me to choose. What are they wanting me to choose from? Since they were annoyed with me about ‘gifts’ earlier, that’s what I’m guessing. Am I right?"

"Yes." The voice said in his ear. "It is about ‘gifts’, but you’ve got to choose from something other than your prejudice. You’ve seen the price that some are called to pay because of them, but you’ve missed the fact that those who paid it felt it was worth it. You said it wasn’t worth it earlier. Too much pain.

Kid, why do people choose to have ‘gifts’ if all that they are is pain?"

"I’ve never thought about it."

"That’s obvious, Kid."

"I’m not a kid."

"To me you are and quit trying to shift the conversation. I know the idea scares you spitless. Did me."

"You were offered one of this so called ‘gifts’? Did you refuse?"

"Nope. I was almost there, almost at the point to choose for myself when something interfered."

"What could interfere? I thought this whole process had a ‘higher connection’. That’s what Dad always says."

"Death did."

Chris was startled. "Sorry. I wasn’t thinking that way. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you people are dead. You’re too lively sometimes for me to believe it."

"Wasn’t my death, but death destroyed things all the same." The voice continued, somehow conveying a weight of sorrow.

"I..."

The voice cut him off. "Now, listen to me, Kid. There isn’t a lot of time left in this moment. I failed to appreciate the idea of the ‘gift’ and failed to understand. You’re on the verge of making the same mistake. I was too involved in my own pain to see that there were things going on, things I could have stopped."

"Like this one-hundred-and-twenty year cycle thing? I’m not going to let Ezra go. Will this ‘gift’ stop that?"

"Maybe so, maybe no. It’s hard to say. Everything in the world is dependant on choices. Because of who you are, what you’ve chosen to do...You are being offered an opportunity to do more. The ‘gifts’ exist to help people. To protect, to heal, to strengthen, to sustain, to give justice to those who can’t get it on their own."

"You make it sound like it’s all so helpful. There’s a lot of pain involved, both in using the ‘gift’ and in the fact that everyone I’ve ever seen with one dies because of it."

"Not everyone is asked to make that sacrifice, Kid. Hundreds have lived with ‘gifts’ and not died of them. I ain’t going to promise you that if you take the ‘gift’ it’s going to save your men. I am going to tell you that if you take it, you’re going to save a lot of lives before you’re done. Won’t say you’re going to get through without hurtin’, or maybe even dyin’ but you’ve already signed on to do that, haven’t you?" The voice was followed by the rustle of cloth and leather. It’s owner seemed to balance strangely. Chris was certain he could hear the voice dragging something as it moved slightly. "You swore an oath to protect and serve. Everything you’ve done in this life has been predicated on it. Balanced on it. Even when you were drinking too much, you still looked out for the people around you. Never let them get too close, but you still watched out for ‘em. All that’s being asked of you is to take on more responsibility for others, to be willing to help. The ‘gift’ will allow you to help more, reach more, save more than you could ever do without it. Isn’t that worth both pain and risk?" The voice hesitated. "Please Kid, ...It’s worth it. You’ve got to trust me on that."

"Blind trust?" Chris snorted.

"Faith more like." The voice replied. "I didn’t have enough when it counted. Wasn’t payin’ attention."

"What do I do?" Chris said. A thousand things, memories and wishes long forgotten played though his head. Overwhelmed he nodded, feeling defeated.

"You can’t choose from defeat, kid. No one wants to force this on you, but this is the moment. The one opportunity. Do you choose to accept a ‘gift’ that will help others, freely and in the knowledge that you may be called on to sacrifice? Perhaps even your own life?"

"My life, yes, I would. Not my Men. Not Vin, Not Ezra, Not Nathan, Not Josiah, Not Buck, Not JD. Not anyone’s life but mine."

"That’s the way it works, kid. You can’t make their choices for them. Only they can. Two have chosen to accept the ‘gifts’ that were offered, balancing the pain of their lives, their pasts, with the ability to help others, to spare them the same nightmares. Are you willing to stand up for Justice when no one else will? To ensure that the victims, the survivors, receive the answers that they need?"

Chris felt a moment of Deja vu, Wiley Redd, the Senator who set up the RMETFs had asked him the same question, offered the same solution. Find Justice for those who didn’t get it, ensure that the families knew, not spending their lives wondering as he did about Sarah and Adam’s deaths. To help people find peace. That was what the man had asked of him, what had brought him back from the brink. He’d been so ready to give up that night. One whisper in the darkness had stopped him from ending it...one offer had given him a life-line to hold onto. It had brought him these men, this family.

Come about and live. The whisper had said. Choose, Choose to go or come about and live. There are no other options. It floored him, pushing him down against the wall of the tunnel. The whole of his life echoed this statement. When he was nine-years-old and nearly died, when he joined the Navy, when he built a family with Sarah, the promises he’d made to himself when Adam was born, everything that followed. His whole life led to this choice, he felt it in everything inside him, every fiber of his being, every shred of who he was. This choice was his, and his alone. Could he stand knowing that he could have helped and did not? Could he stand knowing that a family that had suffered as he had when that car bombing destroyed his life... Could he stand knowing that he could have helped them, had he not been selfish and not refused the ‘gift’?... No, he couldn’t stand that, he wasn’t that kind of man.

Squaring his shoulders, just like he had back in the Navy, Chris stood up and faced where he thought the voices might be.

"I choose the ‘gift’ freely, understanding that I may be asked to die for others, to sacrifice for others, and that this gift will not ensure the safety of my men, but in the hope that it will help me to protect and support them as well as all those who have need of what is granted me to hold." Chris was rarely so formal but the words felt right. A gentle hand gripped his shoulder.

"You have chosen, Kid." The voice said as if a small portion of it’s weariness were lightened. "It’s the right one. I know it is. I don’t think you could have lived with yourself in the long run if you hadn’t. You’re not that kind of man."

"Thank you for the help. The counsel. " Chris said as he got his breath back. " I wish that I could help you. I know the ghosts around here are guardians but I don’t get the idea that you’re one of them." He tilted his head as a full tide of strange information rushed into his mind. "I’m not sure about what gift I’ve got, but my gut tells me that, and all of this stuff I’m feeling says so too. Can I help you get to some resolution? To find your rest? It’s little enough reward for helping me..." The tunnel rocked throwing both Chris and the ghost against the wall. "What the Hell?"

Beside him the voice began chuckling that soon became a full throated roar of laughter.

"Kid, You’ve got a Standish who taught a Tanner all that anyone can ever know about things that go Boom. It’s bad enough when we had guns and dynamite, but with the stuff you boys have got to play with, well, I ain’t sure I want to know." Chris could hear the man beside him limping as they reached the end of the tunnel.

"Are you hurt?" Chris asked incredulously.

"Ain’t nothing that you can do about it, Kid." The man replied. There was light around the door that was exit to the tunnel. "Your boys are fine, the Militia men aren’t, but somebody stupid enough to attack This place has got to be out of his mind." He gave another dry chuckle.

Chris threw open the door of the tunnel and stepped out into the light. The man who had been his councilor resolved into a black shape that slouched as he dragged a stiff leg behind him.

"I promise, I will help you somehow." Chris told the ghost. The light was bright and he was having a hard time focusing. "Where are we? I can’t see."

Chris turned back to his councilor who was awkwardly standing with his back to him.

"We ain’t quite finished." The man replied still with his back to Chris. "You’ve made your choice. You’ve accepted the ‘gift’. It should be obvious, but you are what these folk call a "Justikar". It means that all of your abilities are bound up with bringing Justice to the people. Now every ‘gift’ has a positive and a negative. If you go out there, unprepared, you are going to be one dead Justikar."

"Justikar?" Chris asked, wanting to get this over and get back to his men. "What else do I need to know?"

"Every strength can be a weakness. Every weakness can be a strength. Depends on what you do with ‘em."

"Okay." Chris said slowly. Experience told him that there was no rushing the ghosts, but he wanted to get to his men. Especially Ezra. The fool was going to get himself killed. "So what’s the weakness?"

"Balance." The ghost said keeping his back to Chris. "Justikars have a problem with balance."

"Like on a beam or walking a straight line?" Chris said trying to get this over with. He was becoming very frantic about his men. Jesse had said they wouldn’t die, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be harmed...

"No Kid. Balance. In your mind. Judgement swings between Justice and Mercy. Neither can rob the other, but both must be used. Many a Justikar has become a monster because he stuck to the letter of the law and failed to show any compassion for those around him. It’s real easy to get stuck on Vengeance and forget that there is more than you involved."

"Okay." Chris said recognizing the truth of that statement. He remembered what he’d been like after Sarah and Adam died. Only Buck had prevented him from becoming a Monster, and Buck had paid dearly for it.

"You need to take someone as your balance."

"I’m not going to just grab someone and marry them!" Chris was infuriated.

"Calm down Kid! Damn, you’re almost as bad as I was!" The ghost said. "A balance ain’t required to be a spouse, or anything like that. Can be but it depends on the folks involved. A balance is someone whose physical and mental well being are more important to you than your own."

"Only one?" Chris was floored.

"Six men’s minds might be a bit much for anybody to keep track of. Drive you mad right quick." the ghost said with a slightly bitter laugh. "Don’t mean that you ain’t as close with the others, just one who needs you. Someone who is in need of your protection and your gifts. Someone who needs a person who ain’t going to betray them. No matter what."

"Ezra" Chris whispered.

"Kid,... You sure?"There was an uneasy pause. "That one has a hard way to go. He’s a Standish and the cycle is going to end one way or the other. It ain’t going to be kind." There was a grim resolution in the ghost’s voice.

"I said I wasn’t going to let him go before. I’m not going to abandon him to this ‘cycle’. I don’t care. Ezra is not going to die." Chris said with determination. All of his anger was now channeled into this cause. "Ezra is not going to die."

"All men die, Kid." The ghost said gently. "Some just know their fate early on."

"Fate can change. You said it yourself. Choice is what makes the world alter."

"And some Choices can’t be unmade." The ghost said with compassion. "It ain’t your choice if he lives or dies. It’s his, Kid. You can’t unmake his life. Only he can and he won’t. He knew that choosing as he did would lead him to that end. The things that he’s done, the choices that he’s made will not be unmade."

"If I have to walk into Hell and drag his Ass back here. I will. I don’t give a damn about your one hundred and twenty year cycles. I am not going to lose Ezra." Chris was getting desperate. He could hear the sound of gunfire now and that redoubled his fear for his men. "Is there something else I need to know? If not I’d like out of the fun-house now."

"No Kid. You’ve made your choices. You have your direction."The ghost paused and opened a hidden door to the outside farmyard. "I just hope you have better luck than I did." Slowly the ghost turned to face him. Chris was stunned. The face was his own. Lined with pain and wooden on the left side, but his face. The clothing was from the nineteenth century but it was his face. He could see a mangled arm and the dead dragging leg. The ghost led Chris out the door. "Your men are here. Keep ‘em close. I failed to. Please don’t follow me. If you can find a way not to end up this way, DO IT!"

Out in the bright light of the farmyard, Chris could see the pale forms of the voices who had argued so. JD, Nathan, Josiah, and Buck. His mind screamed that he should take cover, find out where the Militia fighters were, but he was strangely unable to. The ghosts before him were wildly altered from the men he knew and yet they were so like.

JD’s face was hard, determined to keep within the rules, to advance. There was no mercy for failure, from himself or from others. Chris shivered. This was where JD’s dogged determination to keep regulations went. What happened to the compassionate and naively trusting young man who’d bound their team up with enthusiasm?

Nathan’s face was self -righteous and contemptuous. It frightened Chris. This is what Nathan’s need to always be right could lead to. People didn’t matter only a rigid code of ethics and an ideal that no one could live up to, not even Nathan. He’d seen the roots of this in the medic’s treatment of Ezra and hadn’t put a stop to it. Where had the giving soul under there gone?

Josiah was a study in grief. Platitudes instead of action. The ghost wouldn’t look Chris in the eye. Somehow Josiah had done something that no amount of Penance would ever put right. His burden was so heavy that it looked like the ghost’s back would break under it. Where was the forgiveness that the man showered on others?

Buck actually terrified him. The wild manic expression screamed madness. The huge grin was not based in humor but in insanity. Chris couldn’t imagine what had brought the man to this. He looked at his own double, but the ghost of the previous Chris Larabee wouldn’t look at him. Shame and guilt bound the man here, that he could tell...but for what?

An explosion caught him off guard and he was startled to see three men, his Vin, an old Indian who winked at him as he went by, and another Vin, a transparent one, rush by carrying homemade explosives. The ghostly Vin turned to look at him, one side of his face horribly disfigured and his whole expression full of bitterness. Saluting Chris gravely, the ghost raced by intent on protecting the living man with him.

Despair gripped Chris, what was this? Were they fated to become these things? Chris, a sound mind bound in a damaged body, tortured by guilt, Vin mangled and full of bitterness, JD intolerant and merciless, Nathan self-righteous and uncaring, Josiah burdened by shame and regret, Buck wildly insane and dangerous...Ezra? Where was the ghost of Ezra?

As if in answer to his question Chris saw a rider in the distance, silver grey and too bright to look on. The ghostly Vin reached out towards him as did his own phantom twin. The other ghosts looked at the rider with varying unpleasant expressions. The rider raised a hand in salute but there seemed to be a barrier between him and the others.

"We are not going to end up this way. Even if I have to unravel the world. This is not how we end." Chris swore. "If I have a Choice, then this is it. We are not going to end this way!" He could swear the unholy foursome laughed at him but that only made him more determined.

One of the homemade explosives went off scattering militiamen and throwing Chris to the ground. Reeling from the aftershock, Chris saw the phantom forms of the Indiana Regiments opening fire on the militiamen. Ezra was just in front of them directing the fire. Chris shook himself off and stumbled toward the southerner.

His double ran with him, supporting and shielding him from the explosions. Chris had a strange feeling of disorientation when he looked at Ezra. The southerner seemed encircled by waves of energy. This Chris could tell were the signs of Ezra’s own gift. Whatever it was it was damn powerful, but Ezra, he could tell was fading. He caught hold of Ezra, slightly startling the man but being startled in return when a second pair of hands helped to pull them both to shelter. Vin, his Vin, gave him a lopsided smirk just as Chris’s newly woken powers bound him to his Balance...and to his Hunter.

Vin just smirked harder at Chris’s discomfiture. Was this what his ‘gift’ was supposed to do? It was suddenly quiet he noticed, looking around. The militiamen had stopped shooting because most of them were down from the assault against them. Ghosts in uniform wandered all over the farm. One Colonel in the Indiana Regiment looked at the three men sheltering by the barn gravely. He tipped his hat to them and wheeled his horse to begin rounding up his ghostly men.

"Interesting twist there, Kid." The ghost of the other Chris Larabee whispered in his ear. Chris felt a cool metal object being pressed into his palm. "A gift, for a gift. Don’t show it, don’t lend it, and above all don’t lose it! Remember. This choice was the last one you have to make blind. All answers are open to you if you ask, and Time, well, Time in the Right place don’t mean nothing...Take care of them, and that promise of yours. Don’t end up this way!" The ghost faded leaving only the sound of groaning wounded militiamen and the wail of sirens in the distance.

Chris looked down into his hand and found that the object he’d been given was a key. Remembering his previous experiences with the Corner’s ghosts, he knew better than to laugh it off. He carefully slid it into his pocket.

"We aren’t going to end up that way, and I haven’t forgotten that I promised to help you. Somehow I will." Chris whispered back to the ghost. " I WILL." He found Vin’s curious eyes on him and grinned back at the man. Accepting the gift made him feel a little of the peace he’d been wanting since his family’s murder. He looked down at the face of his undercover agent, now his "Balance". Ezra looked bewildered, frightened even. He’d never seen the man so openly confused before.

"Don’t worry, It’ll work out."

"But..."

"Don’t worry. Somehow it’s all going to work." Chris whispered. "Let’s find the others. We’ve got a lot to figure out." He said in a regular voice. Vin grinned again.

"Hang on Ez, when the Cowboy’s got his teeth into somethin’, he don’t let up." Vin teased.

Chris shot him a warning look. Ezra staggered slightly causing both to tighten their grips on him.

"Easy, It’ll work out. We’ve got you."Chris squeezed his arm comfortingly.

One of the Sheriff’s deputies came running over to check on them about the same time the other members of Team Seven came flying up. They must have looked like Hell because the Deputy took off calling for a medic. The men of Team Seven looked at each other in extreme discomfort.

"Chris?" Buck was uncertain. Chris gave him a grin and eased up his grip on Ezra, letting Vin help the southerner. His old friend was apprehensive, fearful even.

"We’re okay. We’re going to be fine." Chris told him. He took a step towards the house and gave Buck an encouraging look. JD was shivering beside him, Buck pulled the "Kid" to him despite his own fears.

"Chris, we saw...." JD started, plain terror in his eyes. Behind him Josiah looked worried and Nathan looked like a man who has seen Hell.

"We aren’t going to end up that way, boys." Chris declared. "We aren’t going to end up that way."

The Sheriff and his men, along with a rather large contingent of Military personnel carted off the militiamen. Chris looked around his devastated parents’s home and sighed. Team Seven was going to be doing some repair work. Grinning at Buck and JD he tried to comfort them knowing what they’d seen. Nathan seemed to be handling it with a determination not to be the man he’d seen. Josiah was overwhelmed with it all. Jah Jackson, Raul Sanchez, and the General were discussing things with the senior Major from the "Rescue party". His mother and the kids were probably half way back from Rhonda’s place by now...

Rick sat on the remains of the porch and stared across the farmyard at the two remaining agents. There was something very sad in his expression. Chris looked back over to where Vin and Ezra were standing talking to someone from the Sheriff’s office. The battered southerner leaned on Tanner but wouldn’t let the deputy touch him. As Chris watched, the man handed Ezra a box, thin like a jewel box, but longer. Standish opened it with an expression that bordered on awe. Inside was a leather glove, heavily decorated.

"About Seventeenth century, I think, Early Seventeenth Century." Josiah said following his gaze. Seeing the others staring at him with little comprehension, he continued. "In the Sixteenth and Seventeenth centuries the giving of a glove meant a lot of different things. It could be a favor of love, the token of a binding contract, it could even mean the passing on of a duty or an obligation."

Chris’s blood ran cold as Ezra raised the glove to his forehead in a gesture of honor and acceptance.