There is a backstory and a sequel to this. Honest. I just haven't figured out what they are, yet. Also, this is what happens when you listen to 'Colorblind' by Counting Crows too many times.

Chris found the letter on Monday morning. A second later, he threw himself over the phone, only to have a static voice tell him that the number was no longer in use.

Numbly, he slowly stood up and walked out into the bullpen, the single sheet of paper dropping from suddenly unfeeling fingers. It was hard to say how the other five agents knew that something wasn't right when their leader opened his door, but somehow - they all knew.

One by one, they fell silent and turned their faces towards their leader, but Chris didn't quite manage to look at them. Finally, he raised his head, blue eyes meeting green, taking in the many emotions lying just beneath the surface of those emerald orbs, visible to anybody who bothered to look closely enough. And Chris Larabee had never hated himself more than in that moment, for not looking sooner.

Ezra Standish swallowed heavily once, before he was on his feet and running. Running out of the bullpen, ignoring the voices behind him trying to stop him, trying to reach him.

Running, running, running, bypassing the elevator because he simply didn't have the time. Running down eleven flights of stairs, running through the garage, to his car. His fingers fumbled for the keys and as he finally got the door unlocked, he wondered if he'd always felt this cold, because all of a sudden the world seemed freezing.

The downtown morning rush hour was unbearable and the Jaguar couldn't move fast enough, always hindered by red lights, long traffic jams and big trailers. There was no use.

At the next red light, Ezra got out of the car and started running again. Easier to weave his way through the people walking down the pavement than through the cars in the road. Buildings flew by him, people appeared and disappeared from his vision as he ran past, and nobody seemed to spot the broken heart that was within their reach for a split second.

The traffic got lighter and the crowd of people got thinner as he neared his goal, and damn how his lungs were burning. Burning with exhaustion, with sorrow, with heartache, with some indescribable emotion he couldn't quite describe, but almost was willing to call... love?

Finally the building was before him. The big truck standing in front of it was ready to leave. Waving and shouting, Ezra gave the two men closing the back doors of the truck instructions to wait before continuing straight in and up, running, running. The stairs were old and worn, and his footsteps and heavy breathing echoed in the hallway.

And then he was there.

Stopping in front of the apartment, Ezra took a moment to get some of his breath back, his lungs burning from their thorough workout, before he slowly walked in through the open door, taking in what he saw.

The apartment was completely empty, the main room seeming large and dusty in the early morning light. The bare walls seemed peaceful and tired, and the floor creaked once as he walked across it, towards the lone figure standing by the window facing the street.

"What do you want?" Vin asked without turning around.

Ezra could only shake his head slightly. "I..." And damnit, there was something in his eyes, blurring his vision. Blinking the wetness away, Ezra desperately tried to come up with something to say. 'For you to stay.' 'You.' 'My life back.' A million possible things to say, none of which seemed right.

And then the answer came to him.

"To come with you."

Vin turned at that, and his own eyes seemed unnaturally blank. Their gazes met and held, searching each other's souls for a second, an eternity.

Then they were in each other's arms.

Where they belonged.

Home.