As it turned out, in the dimming light of day, Buck spotted white water foaming around large rocks just upstream from their position. Last night, in the dark, they'd not seen them. Now, they could use the largish flat rocks as stepping-stones. He stopped Ezra with a touch on the man's shoulder as Ezra stooped in front of him to help with turning up the leather leggings. "Ez, wait." When those beautiful green eyes looked up at him, Buck's mouth wet dry. He cleared his throat. "We don't have to do that. Look," he pointed at the natural causeway, "we can cross up there."

Ezra rose to his feet, dusting his hands and staring up the waterway. How had they missed that? Of course, neither of us has been thinking too clearly. He cast another glance up at the nearly invisible ruins above them and swallowed. I'll be back.

Turning to Buck, Ezra checked the man's stance, the heavy backpack with their own clothes, the provisions such as they were, and Henry's other possessions, resided on Buck's broad shoulders. He'd been willing to make up a temporary pack and take part of the burden but Buck would have no part of that. Had argued that symptoms from Ezra's concussion would probably still catch him unawares as they moved.

This caring Buck, loving Buck, was beginning to breach Ezra's defenses. He found himself wondering where a relationship with the man might lead. He had to shake himself out of his musings as Wilmington shifted the big pack more comfortably and began picking his way along the eroded dry earth bank that was still crumbling into the small riverbed. Ezra followed, keeping a trained eye on their surroundings. Watching Buck's back.

Water isn't as high as it might be. Buck stopped at the edge of the wider spot, where a tumble of rocks created a possible dry 'bridge' over the fast running water. Mindful of the smooth bottoms of his dress boots, he began to test his footing as he stepped out onto the first rocks of their crossing.

Ezra frowned at the wet glisten of water on the lower rocks. Most probably slick. If only Henry had managed to leave some better footwear, even moccasins would be better than his stylish Italian leather shoes. Centering himself, and with a last suspicious look around at the high grounds and narrow cut, Ezra stepped out on to the rocks that Buck had just vacated. Buck was already halfway across the water.

Ezra placed his feet with care, aware that his balance was still shaky. He tried to concentrate but that only made his head begin to swim and darkness thicken at the edges of his vision. "Buck?"

Wilmington had just reached the far bank and turned swiftly at the hesitant call. "Ezra?" He saw the problem immediately and shrugged out of the big backpack in an instant. Then he was reaching out to grab a hold on the teetering man in front of him. "Got you!"

With a firm yank, Buck pulled Ezra to the bank, where he stumbled slightly. Buck caught him under the arms and steadied him. Looking down closely into Ezra's face, he could see a hint of pain and panic. "Easy, sweetheart, we made it." He gathered the man in against his chest and held on. Ezra melted against him, no resistance this time at all. Buck smiled into Ezra's tousled silky hair. Even now, Ezra smelled wonderfully of musk and sandalwood.

"I'm fine."

Buck hugged the man whose grumble was muffled against his chest. "I know. But Ez, you gotta humor me. Any chance I get, you in my arms is my first choice."

Ezra's head came up and green eyes met his. The serious expression on Ezra's face had Buck nearly faltering before attempting a confident smile down at the man. Guess we're not there yet. Buck hugged a bit tighter, watching those green eyes lower a bit, then he stood back, still holding onto Ezra's arms to make sure he could stand on his own.

We're definitely going to have to get back on track. He flicked hair from his eyes with a toss of his head and slowly released Ezra's arms. Soon as we get past all of this crap with that gang of terrorists. Buck's dark eyes sought out the sky, still blue and empty far above them. Wonder where the boys are now.

"Waaa-hooooo!" Clem couldn't contain that wild scream as he pushed the old lady as fast as her rotors would spin. With the nose tilted slightly down, they were speeding cross-country towards a blinking dot on the boy's computer screen. He leaned over to peer at the small screen. "No problemo, little buddy!"

JD looked up at the exuberant cry, trying not to think of another man who would have said much the same thing. God, he couldn't believe the crazy ass things that had happened since he and the guys decided to help out Buck with Ezra. He took a settling breath and refreshed the screen, double checking the tracking device signals. Everything was green. At the speed that Wild Bill here was pushing out, he took a peek at the tachometer to verify things, we'll be over the target in ten minutes.

"Chris!" JD had to yell over the engine noise as he turned in his seat.

Larabee was in a huddle with the rest of the team and Fred, they were poking around in the weapons locker. All except for Nathan who was busy strapping on his knife harness. Whew, haven't seen Nate use that in a long time. He tried again, louder, "CHRIS!"

Chris Larabee snapped his head around to look at JD. "WHAT?"

JD waved his boss closer, hoping to avoid a damaged throat from yelling. Chris leaned back into the team huddle for a moment, then patted Josiah's and Vin's shoulders, checked Nate's progress with a look, gave Fred a nod, and turned away to move up beside his youngest agent.

"Tell me." He spoke loudly but didn't have to shout now.

"Ten minutes to target." JD checked his data and then corrected himself, "Make that about seven."

"Good." Chris clamped an approving hand on Dunne's shoulder and turned to face their pilot. "Clem!"

Fortnight's wide gray eyes looked magnified through the aviator goggles when he swung his head around to face Chris. Larabee moved closer and spoke as clearly as possible. "We need to take a swing around the target zone and drop three men at a good access."

He looked out the front glass shield and took in the hilly dry country below. Not much natural cover growing but the terrain was rough enough to make this work. Clem was still watching him when he looked back over. With a gesture towards the back, Chris continued, "Two of my boys will stay up here with you. And, Mr. CIA, too." Chris liked the nickname and his lips quirked in a stifled grin as he saw Fred look up in the back and make a face at him. Larabee tapped JD's seat. "Josiah is a pilot, has worked these birds before, in 'Nam. He'll sit co-pilot with you."

Clem frowned and opened his mouth to object, but Larabee held up a staying hand. "Just in case. We'll be going into hostile fire, most likely." Chris watched for any resistance but Clem just stared back, so Chris kept going, "Josiah will have a little box up here with him, with presents for all the bad little boys down there." Chris pointed down with a repeated stabbing motion and gave a nasty smile. Clem's face dissolved into a laugh of appreciation.

Chris wasn't finished though. "Vin Tanner is my sharpshooter." He jerked a thumb back into the open deck behind the cockpit seats. "He's strapping himself in on the deck by your port hatch. He'll be needing some good ops for sniping."

"Hell, Chris! I can fly this baby into the ground if we need to, and I sure as hell can get your boys in position to drop the goodies and pong the crap out of the targets." Clem let the Huey drift to the side, noticing the boy's hand signal. They were nearly at the enemy base. "We still covert?"

Chris nodded. "Until my other two men and I drop." He shook JD's shoulder. "Pack it in, JD, and come back. Time to go."

Clem hummed to himself, soon as the first round was fired, he had some music to hit the speakers with. It had been a while. He popped an eight-track into his stereo deck and spat out his stub of a cigar. Time for a new smoke and all that jazz.

Ezra felt as if the world had been passing him by at supersonic speeds lately. Everything was a blur. Up until meeting Henry. A Henry who called himself Tonto and played a wooden flute in ancient Anasazi ruins. I can't get that music out of my head. Ezra tried to concentrate on Buck's tall shape in front of him as they moved up the hill and away from the fording spot on the small river.

Buck chose that moment to stop and twist around so that he could check on Ezra. His open face was ruddy with the fresh air, the dark slashes of mustache and eyebrows and the thatch of near black hair just seemed to emphasize how different they were. Buck is everything real, earthy. And I am - not. Ezra gave Wilmington a small wave so that he'd be reassured and turn back to face forward again.

Then Ezra's hands crept up his arms and he rubbed them at a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the climate. What is wrong with me? And why is Buck interested in me? Ezra's mind returned to that night, was it only last night? When he'd been stood up, again, by Greg. And then Buck had arrived, like a white knight, ready to sweep him off his feet. Greg made perfect sense. Greg had already done that to him before and had been showing signs of restlessness. But Buck? Just then Buck dropped to his belly up ahead of Ezra, one arm out and back, making a quick downward motion.

Ezra shook his head as if to clear it of his unhappy thoughts and quickly hit the ground, edging to one side, away from a direct line of fire with Wilmington's form. Trust. That has to be part of any equation. His brain was NOT going to let this go, he thought resentfully, eyes flicking from spot to spot along the crest of the hill in front of them. Something had alerted Buck. And he did trust Buck. Ezra bit his lip hard. Pay attention!

Buck rolled clear of the bulky backpack. Even though it was a dark color, it would show up as a silhouette against the late afternoon sky if he kept it on as he crawled up the rest of the way to the top of the hill. Having disposed of the pack, he spared a look for Ezra who had moved to the side and was coming up, nearly even with him already. Buck gave him a nod and turned back to the top of the hill. The noises that had him playing soldier-boy were louder now. Sounded like at least two, maybe more, people climbing the far slope of the hill. That would have been their track, near straight line back to the camp they'd escaped from last night. He raised his head slightly as he realized that the sounds were moving closer but to his right, towards Ezra's position.

From a distance, a faint sound of a helicopter could be heard briefly. Ezra hugged the ground, confident that the buckskins they were wearing were good camouflage. He could hear someone, correction, several someones coming towards them up the other side of their hill. Then a radio crackled and a loud voice acknowledged, in Arabic, an incoming message. Ezra tipped his head to listen and concentrate, he hadn't used Arabic in years.

Buck grew alarmed when he saw Ezra's head lower and his eyes close. What the hell? He moved swiftly up the hillside now, half-crawling, half-crouching, suddenly desperate to intercept the incoming bad guys. He knew they were trouble, heard the foreign lingo now as someone started using a radio interface. Shit, Ezra! They sounded like they were heading right for him. Buck's small hideout gun was in one fist, the wood carving knife from Henry's pack in his other.

He reached the rocky top of the broken hill, keeping low, the buckskins the same color as the rocks and dirt around him. Three men. He counted the dark heads bobbing up the hill at an angle to him, one man was concentrating on a small box, likely tracking those bugs they'd gotten rid of. Damn. Must be the closest way to get to the river from that camp. So much for throwing them off the scent. The second man was watching the first and the last one was looking around casually, talking into a portable radio transmitter. At least they aren't too alert yet, must figure we're still a ways ahead from the tracer signals. Buck's leg muscles tensed as he prepared to charge out at their flank. He fought off fear for Ezra, right in their line of movement. If anyone could handle them, it was Ezra. And he wouldn't be doing it alone. Buck's hands unconsciously gripped his small weapons tighter and he began to move.

Chris dropped to the ground, the sounds of JD and Nathan dropping behind him quiet, firm thumps. He spun to check them as Clem's chopper lifted back off the ground so quickly that observers might not have realized he'd even touched down or that any passengers had left. He spotted a feisty Fred Hernandez, hanging from a harness next to the opening, an automatic rifle held capably in his hands and then he raised one to wave at Larabee, gone in a moment with the swinging rise of the Huey.

With a quick nod to Nate and JD, Chris faded off to the perimeter of the camp, JD would take the immediate lookout post they'd spotted, Nate would head northwest around the far side. Chris had decided their youngest would do better with immediate action. Jackson was good at rough terrain surveillance and offensive action under covert conditions. The man, with his knives, was a potent force in these conditions. Chris figured that Nate would probably take out two to every one he or JD got. He dropped his thoughts as he saw signs of the camp ahead, his first goal to disable the enemy's helicopter, rotors unmoving but engine still cooling at its make-shift landing spot.

JD was excited and calm all at once. He hadn't seen that much action with the ATF yet, his years as a rookie cop in Boston giving him a sense of confidence despite the unfamiliar setup. He dropped his gear softly to the ground, quickly hiding it among a cluster of large rocks, not quite boulders. He could see his target. The man was staring up at Clem's bird in confusion. Not the one you expected to see, huh? JD flung his hair back and settled a black ball cap, backwards, on his head to hold the shaggy mop in place and lifted a sap he'd selected as his first line weapon. He dashed up behind the man. With his forward momentum, the swinging weight had even greater force and the man fell in a silent heap. JD was beside him in seconds, hands busy securing his prisoner, eyes jumping from spot to spot, looking for other danger.

Larabee had downed a man doing guard duty by the chopper. He wiped sweat from his brow with one short sleeve of his black tee shirt. Even though the temperature was cooling with the approach of evening, he'd opted to leave his jacket on the chopper. He was wearing a vest, they all were, and that added enough insulation as far as he was concerned.

He crept up to the big machine. Josiah had told him what to do to temporarily stop it from working. His eyes moved constantly, looking out for their missing boys. The camp was a jumble of pitched tents, boxes of supplies, some all-terrain vehicles and what looked like a dune buggy. He could see all that from the roughly cleared area that was being used for the helo-pad. The men in sight were all standing and craning their necks up to look at Clem's bird. It had gone way up and was circling high above the camp. Chris tapped his earplug as he heard JD's whispery voice check in. Then Jackson's breathless voice followed, sounding remarkably cheerful.

Nathan took out the first man with knife to the shoulder, followed by an uppercut with his fist. The second one had been reflex, the man ran in before he could get to his feet. So he'd thrown a second blade but this time it caught the attacker in the chest. Man was dead before he hit the ground. Nathan couldn't feel any regret as he saw the automatic weapons on both men's belts and the big dagger in the dead man's hand. He felt good, it wasn't often he got a chance to do field work. He was always playing backup and medic. Not that he minded, but for the first time in a while, he really felt like one of the team again. He raised his tiny mike to his lips, a smile forming, moving away from the downed terrorists, checking in with Larabee.

Larabee jumped down from the chopper's open hatch, that bird wasn't going anywhere soon. He looked up. "Now Vin."

A popping sound, high in the air, drifted down. The lookout at the top of a nearby bluff pitched forward and crashed to the ground thirty feet below. The rest of the camp reacted, full of noise and panicked movement now. Like stirring up an ant nest. Chris watched as men scurried around, ducking for cover. Still no sign of Buck or Ezra. He ground his teeth in frustration. Into his mike, he growled, "Go Josiah!"

And Clem's helicopter swooped back in low over the camp, which suddenly erupted in gunfire - and explosions. Streamers of stuttering automatic fire traced up into the early evening sky, just short of the chopper's dancing path. Above the cacophony of small weapons' fire, came a grinding, squawking noise projected by a loudspeaker system on the helicopter.. It quickly clarified into full throated orchestral music, extremely loud.

As the Huey slowly advanced down the camp, dropping a string of smoke bombs and small explosives, Fred's borrowed automatic rifle burping out one side of the chopper and Vin's rifle fire peppering out the other at the few still visible men running in confusion, Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries boomed out over the chaos. Smoke and flames rising from scattered packs and bedrolls had Chris Larabee pausing to grin up at the chopper. That crazy asshole! He laughed outright and charged into the melee'.

JD flashed a look of admiration upwards at the madman running their air attack, "Cool!" He was enough of a movie buff to recognize the scene they were playing out to Clem's musical accompaniment. Damn, a real-life Apocalypse Now! He stalked into the drifting clouds of smoke, ducked as dirt flew up in another small explosion, and brought up the butt of his gun to knock down a panicked man running right past him.

Ducking and dodging the wild shots being pushed out by the men running madly through the camp, Nathan grunted and puffed, glad that Josiah was using very small charges on the explosives. Unless they shoved one up someone's ass, the tiny bombs weren't much more than directed fireworks. He sidestepped another burst of white smoke, coughing and dragging up his gas mask. Need to get these men contained and down soon. He was worried that so far there'd been no sigh of Buck and Ezra. Two men emerged from the next explosion, one with tears streaming down his face, the other screaming what were probably obscenities. Nate, running right at them, caught both and swept their heads together in a satisfying, hollow-coconut sound. Both men collapsed, unconscious, on the ground at his feet. He stood, catching his balance, and wiped his hands on his shirt, then flinched at a too close burst from Josiah's pyrotechnics and headed back into the fray.

Chris was getting frustrated. He'd traversed the camp, watched as JD and Nate dropped men with ease, knocked down a few of his own, and saw others falling to their knees, arms raised in obvious surrender, but nowhere did he see his missing men. He pulled close his mike, "Josiah, tell Clem to set it down. And, Josiah? Tell him to put a cork in the 'muzak'." Larabee grinned as the swell of music abruptly cutoff.

Vin took his shot and dismissed the lookout's fall, already scanning for new targets. He heard Fred's weapon begin firing, as agreed, after Vin's first shot. They had Josiah riding shotgun upfront to make sure the run went down the middle. He picked off a man running toward the perimeter, firing an Uzi, the man dropping with a bullet in the leg, then Vin corrected his scope slightly and took aim on another. The whole time a small smile played on his lips. When Clem threw music on, he began to hum along.

Fred Hernandez jerked his head up when the loudspeakers on the helicopter kicked in, up here it was deafening, as if the engine and rotors weren't enough. Then he recognized the music and rolled his eyes. With a final deadly glare at the back of the pilot, whom he could see up through the open hull, jigging around in his seat at the controls, Fred shifted down on his belly and opened fire again. He sent a riff of bullets chasing the heels of three men dashing across the camp. He didn't want to do a killing shot, just keep the panic going so that their ground personnel could mop up. Ground personnel? Hell, what was he thinking? This wasn't a military op. Just then, Sanchez began dropping smoke bombs and small charges out the side vent window up front. Smoke and flames leapt up towards the Huey and Hernandez, sweat suddenly running down his forehead and off his nose, swallowed hard, squinting into the mess below. No, this wasn't a military op, this was a war. What the hell had he gotten himself into? He fired another burst.

"Once more, waltz on back, brother," Josiah yelled into Clem Fortnight's ear, waving a finger in a circle in the air. The pilot, nearly bopping in his seat, gave Sanchez a grin, a thumbs-up, and pulled the big old bird around, leaning into the turn and dipping the Huey's nose a bit.

"YEAH, BABY!" Clem screamed over the thunderous strains of Wagner, the crash of explosions and the snapping of small arms fire. He yanked a forty-five out and up into the air, pulling it free of where he'd had it stuffed under his belt. Firing indiscriminately out the open door beside him, Fortnight chewed on his cigar, and waggled his eyebrows above his goggles. He reined in the chopper and circled the old dame around again, letting her give a gay jiggle to her tail on the way. Flash, lady, flash! He spat out the cigar as the firing slowed below and began to yodel.

Josiah leaned half out his own open door, grinning widely, dropping his explosives and chanting an old riverboat crew's raunchy ditty from his 'Nam days. Then Chris came on his earplug, grounding the Huey and asking for an end to Clem's musical accompaniment. Acknowledging the order, Sanchez swung around and tapped Clem on the shoulder. When the pilot looked back over, Josiah pointed at the ground and then added a cutting motion with his finger over his throat and a nod at the eight-track. Clem grinned back at him, switched off the sound, and dropped the bird like a stone, right in her tracks.

Running straight at them, pushing off from the ground and the dimming light early evening, Buck caught two of the three men and brought them down. One would not be getting back up, his head hitting a rock. Wilmington smashed a backhand, fisted with his small pistol, into the second man's jaw. That man, too, fell to the ground unmoving. Only then could Buck check on the third man.

Ezra rose up in front of the men coming over the top of the hill, he could see Buck flanking them and moving fast. A distraction of a moment was needed. With the skills of a master, Standish spun on one leg, the other out straight and high. His heel connected with the point man, whose head snapped back as he collapsed on the hillside at Standish's feet. Ezra looked up to see Buck subduing the other two men in a quick one, two move. Hardly breathing hard, Buck trotted back down the hill to Ezra's position and without pause, swept Ezra up into his arms and fierce kiss. His hands were hampered by still gripped weapons, but he held on tightly by simply crushing Ezra in the circle of his arms.

Ezra's arms, trapped in Buck's, hung down. He managed to tilt his head to more comfortably receive the passionate kiss being pressed upon him. His body was bent over backwards by the sheer overwhelming embrace and lavish kiss. Giving in to Buck's advance, he waited passively for the passion to ebb enough for him to assert back some control. Finally Buck's voracious attack on his lips eased to repeated nips and licks, the arms holding him ceased to be iron bands and became looser restraints. Ezra was able to turn his head aside and shrug himself out of the hold without hurting Buck. Wiping at his bruised lips with the back of one shaking hand, still holding his little two-shot in that hand, Ezra carefully retreated another few steps, eyes hooded, watching Buck closely.

Buck was stunned. At himself. At Ezra's response. Oh, god, what have I done? He straightened up in an adrenaline-drunk stagger and clumsily shoved his gun in the waistband of his pants. The knife simply fell from his hand where it hung at his side. Oh, god. "Ezra?" Buck licked his lips, mouth dry. "Ezra, I'm sorry."

Ezra Standish stood perfectly still in the gloaming, arms akimbo, eyes gleaming softly. His defensive posture was not lost on Wilmington who raised one empty hand in what felt like a futile gesture of apology.

In the silence of the moment, both men heard the scuffling of feet and someone panting. Reacting with professional aplomb, Standish shifted his gaze and plunged forward onto his stomach, arms stretched out in front, both hands holding his small pistol.

Buck, who had been standing with his back to the top of the hill, spun around, but his heel caught on a stone and he was pitched forward on to his knees. Before he could push himself upright, someone was brutally grabbing his hair and yanking his head back at an awkward angle, making him choke at the sudden twist. A hard metal circle of pressure hit his throat and he knew a gun was being pushed hard against his exposed neck. Aw, damn it all to hell anyway.

"You will drop that revolver if you value your friend's life." Emro was still panting, but that didn't stop him from sounding deadly and determined.

What had seemed so clear a moment ago, blurred. Buck! The silent cry echoed in Ezra's head as his fingers, suddenly sweaty, squeezed at his revolver. Then other shapes began to appear over the hill behind Dressler and Buck, more of Dressler's men. With a sense of finality, Ezra lowered his weapon to the ground and released it. He pushed up to his knees with both hands and then raised them slowly into the air.

Dark blue eyes met his. The pain and sorrow that he read there healed his hurting heart. What had seemed like an attack by Wilmington, changed into an effusion of love mixed with panic and he realized that he had over-reacted to the moment. With a sense of peace at odds with their current circumstance, Ezra smiled into those deep wells of regret and saw a spark of hope light in response. He felt his skin warm and his heart begin to sing. For the first time since last night, when Buck Wilmington unexpectedly materialized at his dinner table, Ezra understood just how much the man cared. His lips parted as his thoughts seemed to burst into words that absolutely needed to be said at that instant. "Buck! I do!"

Buck had lost track of his own situation as he stared at Ezra. His heart beat faster as he made a connection with those mystic green eyes that had stolen his soul so long ago. Be true to yourself, he thought, that's what they've taught me. I found myself in your eyes, Ezra. How can you ever forgive me for breaking trust with you?

His vision began to swim as tears built up, nearly choking him. And then he read those beautiful eyes and saw his future, brightly promised there. The tears that had threatened a moment before dried in the heat of new hope and love returned. He forgives me. Buck breathed in, the pressure on his throat was mere irritation, and when Ezra spoke, Buck knew exactly what Ezra was telling him. I love you too.

Buck smiled back at Ezra and raised both hands, cocking his wrists. His long, strong fingers abruptly wrapped around his captor's wrists and clamped down, even as Buck's shoulders hunched and his biceps swelled. The motion, when it came, was so fluid that to an observer would seem as if the other man had decided to fly up and over Wilmington's head in a forward summersault.

Ermo screamed in startled surprise to find himself tumbling through the air. He pulled the trigger on his gun and heard the retort just before his head crashed into a partially buried boulder on the hillside. Dressler crumpled to the ground limply, his skull crushed like a rotten melon. The pistol fell from lifeless fingers to Buck Wilmington's knees.

Buck scooped it up and dropped down into a shoulder roll, ending up against Ezra's thighs. It had happened so fast that Ezra had yet to move. He could hear shots fired by Dressler's men just as Buck felt one of Ezra's hands come down to rest on his shoulder, firmly supporting him. Buck fired at near point-blank range and with brutal precision, hitting and killing the first three of the four men that had followed Dressler over the top of the hill. He didn't hit the fourth because, by then, Ezra already had. They waited, frozen and poised, both holding their weapons at arms' full extensions, facing upslope.

Chris stood in the middle of the camp. Around him were the smoldering remnants of the terrorists' bedrolls, supplies and equipment. Three bodies lay in a row with blankets covering them. The rest of the men were handcuffed, or tied, when they ran out of cuffs, and sitting in a silent row of their own. Chris rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension he felt. From the weapons and explosives they'd found, anyone could see that these men were not involved in any kind of legal activities, but right now that didn't matter to Larabee. What mattered was that Buck and Ezra were still missing. Chris looked down at a scrap of fine linen with entwined E and S in white-on-white in one corner. It had been found on the ground near one of the campfires. His lips firmed into a straight line as he crushed it in his fist.

Josiah was interviewing the prisoners, one at a time, beyond the second helicopter where it sat abandoned at the helipad; he was oblivious to the stained wrapping around one forearm, where he'd been clipped by a round. They needed answers. Sanchez kept a peripheral eye on Tanner as the man merged with the darkness; his presence revealed only by the light he held low on the ground. Vin had given Larabee a look, then silently padded out of the camp and was now circling it, using a high-powered portable halogen floodlight to look for tracks or sign.

JD, looking a bit ruffled, collar open and face and neck blackened from a roll through the ashes of one of the dead campfires, was already hooked up and trying to hack into captured equipment. Smears of ash criss-crossed his shirt where he'd wiped dirty fingers before starting to work on the electronics they'd found.

Arms folded, a deep frown on his face, Nathan stood over Josiah's shoulder and glowered at the captives. He could see Fred, who was playing guard duty, send an occasional uneasy glance over toward where he and Josiah kept disappearing with different captives.

Leaning nonchalantly on one wheel strut of his Huey, Clem Fortnight brushed his thin stringy hair with an absent-minded air. His goggles hung around his neck and his cap was stuffed into his belt along with his forty-five. This wasn't over yet and he could feel the anger building in the men he had transported here. It was a tangible thing. He hadn't seen or felt anything like it in a very long time and it was like coming home to that place of waking nightmares, the unending, sleepless hours of combat. Clem's eyes drifted upward to the emerging stars in the darkening sky.

Chris Larabee's voice sounded thin and taut in the dark. "If Vin finds a trail, or the others find a trace, can you fly at night?"

"Do birds shit on babies' heads?" Clem let his eyes lower to meet Chris Larabee's burning stare.

When no one else appeared, Ezra slumped down on Buck for a moment, more a feeling of relief than exhaustion, yet that is what he felt also. Melted against Wilmington's raised shoulder, chin tucked into his neck, Ezra became aware of the dampness, the heat. The blood. "Buck! You're hurt."

It was as if Wilmington had been waiting for that signal to feel it himself. The throbbing that had been his pulse as his heart beat rapidly in the heat of battle became the throb of pain as blood oozed from a bullet burn along the underside of his jaw. He raised a hand to touch the spot only to find Ezra's hand already there, pressing in against the blood flow. He pressed on Ezra's damp hand, feeling the stickiness of his own blood there. With a sinking sensation, Buck slowly folded down onto the ground.

Ezra followed him down, mentally cursing the dead men who had inflicted this wound upon his friend. The light was nearly gone now, a deep red glow, a dying sun, burned the edge of the tall bluff that hid the Anasazi ruins above them and across the river valley.

Hastily, Ezra took the hand that Buck had pressed upon his and applied it directly to the wound. He needed to get something to stop that bleeding with more finality. Easing Buck to the ground, he hesitated, then brushed a hurried kiss across one high cheekbone before crawling downhill to where he believed their backpack had been left. It was so dark now that he wasn't sure he'd even find it, but kept one hand out ahead of him, arm waving from side to side as he bumped over the rough ground. He ignored a new, ragged pain in his raised arm, a building sharpness that didn't matter. Buck was hurt. Rocks cut into the leather leggings, digging into his knees, leaving bloody gouges behind. The palm of the hand that supported his weight was becoming torn and tender, but he rushed on, nearly falling down the hill.

With relief, his hand brushed the lump of black nylon that was Henry's pack. Snatching it up, he hauled it onto his shoulder and then pushed to his feet unsteadily. One arm hung down now, refusing further orders. With struggling lurches, Ezra pushed himself back up the hill to reach Buck's side.

Chris spat on the ground and watched as Sanchez and Jackson hauled another prisoner behind a truck for interrogation. So far, they'd gotten confirmation that the leader was actually not a part of this group, he was a gun runner named Emro Dressler. JD had run a profile on Dressler when they'd first heard about him from Fred Hernandez yesterday evening. The research had come up with pings on the international front with very little known about him in the United States. He dealt with European, middle European, and near Eastern contacts.

Fred Hernandez had logged in with his people at that point and was able fill in more details now. Dressler had tried to break into the market with certain extreme Palestinian groups by promising access to the Israeli border by kidnapping the sons of a prominent intelligence officer for Israel. They had known some of this already, but now they also confirmed some of the names and faces of the terrorists against their prisoners. At least they were all on the right track.

Vin had cut trail heading away from camp, two men first, and judging by shoe size, they could be their missing friends. Looks like Ez and Buck got loose, took off for the hills. Vin frowned over the second set of tracks. Buck's and Ezra's tracks were overlaid by at least four other sets of tracks. Tanner regretfully informed everyone that he could do no more until morning, dark was setting in. "Need more light than some flashes can give me, Chris."

Larabee leaned against Clem Fortnight's bird, sharing smokes with the itinerant flying circus performer. Clem had listened to the briefings as the men on Larabee's team would come up and report to their leader. By now, Clem had a better sense of the team dynamics and new respect for Larabee's driving determination to save his missing men. The other four members of the team he'd met seemed just as focused and willing to go full out. Clem puffed a perfect smoke ring out over his head and then tapped the cigarello against a bony thumb. Usually smoke Camels, unfiltered, but these brown beauties of Larabee's are addictive.

"If you want, I can get the other bird up and running again," he offered, staring up at his third consecutive smoke ring as they slowly rose and stretched into thin vaporous ghosts.

Chris, actually enjoying the companionable silence with the pilot, stood up and scratched the back of his neck. Josiah could probably fly the Blackhawk. Digging into a pocket of his vest, he drew out several engine parts. "Here." He handed them over to Fortnight. "Do it."

Sketching a two-fingered salute like he'd seen Larabee's team members execute, Clem caged the bits in the fingers of one hand and pushed away from his Huey. The other helicopter was newer, but he recognized the parts and would have no trouble putting them back. Might even be a hoot to take that beast up for a spell, Sanchez had said enough that he knew the big man could fly his Huey.

Nathan Jackson walked across the camp, between fires that Vin had lit, to where Chris waited. Something about the purposeful way that Nate was striding had Tanner and Dunne up on their feet and trailing after him as he headed for Larabee. Fred Hernandez, keeping on eye on the other prisoners and using one of the camp's high tech laptops, looked up, saw the movements and abruptly stood. They've finally found out something. Fred didn't bother to shut down, just left his work after checking the bound captives and started walking over. Having Dressler out and the terrorists captured, his own job was done. But, somehow, Larabee's mission, to find and rescue his men, had become Fred's. Something's got to break soon.

Finally. Chris folded his arms over his chest and waited impatiently for Jackson's report. Nate came right up to stand in front of him. "Tell me."

"They put bugs on our boys, then let them escape." Nathan rubbed at one of his shoulders, his weariness showing. "Seems Dressler wasn't too well liked by these boys. But, had pretty good ideas. He didn't know who Ez and Buck were, thought they were innocents. So he figured they'd wander around out there in the wilderness and be easy to track back down with the bugs. IF he needed them."

Chris' anger began to build higher. "You mean, if the Mosher boys weren't taken."

"Yeah."

"So, if they got the Moshers?"

Nathan looked around the circle of intent faces. JD looks a lot older than yesterday, face lined with ash, he must have rolled through one of the dead campfires, and he's got a bruise on his right cheek. Vin Tanner's eyes are bleak, almost gray, he looks pale in the firelight. Nate could see Vin's mouth twitch, anger barely contained. Even Fred Hernandez, our CIA man, looks unhappy. Jackson didn't bother looking over his shoulder to where he could hear Sanchez striding out now, dragging their final interviewee. He heard the thump as Josiah flung the unfortunate man onto the ground. Nate met Chris' flat eyes. "Then they were going to just let them die out there."

"You need some help?"

Ezra flung himself around, covering Buck as much as he could, hand up with his peashooter ready, and his eyes wide open. It was Henry, he realized with relief. Henry stood there, lower down the slope, holding a smoky torch. Sagging down, he caught Buck's wrist as Wilmington also raised a pistol in Henry's direction.

"Stand down, Buck." Ezra lowered his weapon. "Henry! We could use the light."

The tall thin wanderer crouched down, and produced a second torch that he ignited from the first. "You have only to ask." He passed it to Ezra's out-stretched hand.

Ezra took the bound cluster of cactus spines that burned brightly enough to give them some light and smiled. "Thank you, kind sir." He held it up to see Buck's neck, studying the graze with care. New relief surged through him as he realized it was a flesh wound and although it bled profusely, was not life threatening. Planting the end of the torch in the loose, rocky soil, he pulled his white dress shirt from the pack they had taken from Henry earlier and grabbed at it with his teeth.

"You are hurt also." Henry's calm voice was so matter of fact that it took Buck a moment to register what the strange intruder meant.

"Ezra?" Buck pushed himself up to a seated position, one hand clamped on his still bleeding nick under his jaw. "Where are you hurt? How bad?"

Standish, busy destroying his good shirt with teeth and one hand, had a choice, he could spit out the shirt and answer, or keep working. Ezra sent a telling glance at Buck and ripped another strip from his shirt.

Buck's eyes were racing over his friend's form. He's only using one hand. Dark blue eyes traveled to the still arm, hanging at Ezra's side. Shit, it's that trick shoulder of his, likely out again. "Dislocated?"

Green eyes closed and a short nod followed.

Henry, who had said to call him Tonto, not that it seemed to do him any good, poked his torch into the ground and left it behind as he crawled to Ezra's side. "Let me see."

Before Ezra could react, the man had laid large spidery hands on his shoulder and upper arm. Ezra felt the warmth pour into his body from those two points of contact. He stopped fiddling with the shirt and tried to turn his head.

"Be still, friend Ezra." Henry's voice was low and quiet now, all sense of jest and quiet good humor gone. Then he moved very, very fast and powerfully.

Ezra gasped. Intense, stabbing pain shot through his arm, shoulder and chest. And was gone. Leaning forward to swallow harshly without taking his tongue with the action, Ezra breathed through his nose and let a whimper leak from set lips. And Buck, bloody Buck, was in front of him, catching him.

"Got you, Pard."

Feeling light-headed with the easement of pain, Ezra bowed his head for a moment. When he looked up, Buck's face was there, eyes alarmed. "I'm fine now." Ezra turned his gaze towards Henry. "Thank you."

"And your friend, Buck?"

"Buck!" Ezra returned his attention to Wilmington with a cry of alarm as the man swayed. With care, he guided him down on to his back. "I'll get that bleeder tied off now. Just rest." He caressed Buck's face, and, regardless of his audience, Ezra bent down over Buck and pressed his lips to Buck's forehead. Bloody fingers came up to stroke his cheek.

"I will." Buck's voice sounded hoarse. "I trust you, Ez."

"Then they were going to just let them die out there," Larabee repeated slowly, eyes rising murderously towards the row of bound captives.

Josiah came up behind his team, overhearing Nathan's final comments and Chris Larabee's deadly repetition. Before things got out of hand, and he had no doubt they would, Sanchez interrupted. "Chris, wait. There's more." He bobbed his head at Jackson, apologetic for sending him off too soon. The little weasel they'd been questioning started spouting off boasts, just after Nate moved off. "Seems their temporary boss-"

"Dressler," JD confirmed.

Josiah nodded, "yes, Mr. Dressler." He went on, "anyway, Dressler arrived just a short while before us and took off with a team, tracking our missing lambs."

"Using the bugs they planted as homing beacons!" JD growled, fists on his narrow hips.

The rest turned to stare at Dunne for a moment.

Chris re-appraised his opinion of their youngest, boy is getting tougher. Chris looked over at Vin. "Confirms what you saw."

"Yep." Vin's mouth curved down further, his only expression lately. "But won't help them any because I still can't track them 'til daylight."

JD's head snapped around to Vin. "Wait! You don't need to. Not if I can find the frequency of the beacon." He was already hurrying away from the group, headed back to his computer.

Chris watched him go. He checked the remaining faces in the circle. "Look around the camp, maybe there's a back up tracking unit."

Everyone took off for the various bundles, packs, and equipment scattered around the camp. Some of it was badly singed from their attack, but all the fires were out now except for the controlled campfires.

We got a chance now, anyway. Chris headed for a nearby stack of boxes and a camp desk. These guys seem fond of their toys, maybe we'll get lucky again.

Ezra concentrated on preparing a pad of folded cloth from his destroyed dress shirt. Before he could press it against Buck's neck wound, long thin fingers appeared in his view, holding some rather greenish weeds clumped damply.

"This poultice will help." Henry knelt beside him, holding out the compact mass.

Without question, Ezra took it. He smiled his thanks and turned to Buck who lay on the ground, looking very pale. "Buck, I'm going to dress your injury now." He gently plucked Buck's blood-slicked fingers from the gouge. Blood immediately began to well out of the deep groove again. Buck held in a low groan, a growling vibration the only sign of his distress.

Quickly, Ezra poured water from Henry's canteen into the flow, diluting it momentarily. He pressed down the poultice and watched the flow break off with satisfaction. Flicking another look of gratitude at Henry, he applied his own folded bandage over the poultice, then held that in place.

This will be a bit awkward. He studied the position of the wound, directly under Buck's jaw. It would be impossible to apply much pressure by tying it off - he'd strangle the man. Direct pressure was working but how to maintain it? Ezra puzzled.

Again, Henry was there, taking a bundle of heavy leather from his pack and his carving knife from the ground where it had dropped from Buck's fingers some time ago. "This will help," he murmured. He swiftly cut off wide pieces of leather, like hand's width-long rectangles. With a delicacy that seemed bred into those long, spidery fingers, he placed the leather around Buck's neck, creating a segmented collar. The leather, only slightly flexible and with un-tanned backing, stuck to the drying bloody neck. It was easy to wrap a long piece of Ezra's shirt around Buck's neck now, providing pressure to the poultice without cutting off Buck's air or dangerously digging into arteries. "There!"

Ezra stared in little short of awe at the man's skillful creativity. He looked up into deep black eyes. "I thought you were a musician."

"I am many things, friend Ezra. Some even call me a shaman."

"You ARE a shaman."

Henry smiled without showing any teeth. "So some say."

Ezra remained silent, staring directly into those dark eyes. Time seemed to slow for him. He could hear Buck's breathing evening out into sleep. Funny, I've never been able to hear that well before. The air around him seemed to dance with tiny lights. Embers from the burning torches? He slowly sank down onto his heels from where he'd been kneeling beside Buck. His skin felt uncomfortable, itchy and his fingers prickled. He swallowed and it was like trying to drag an enormous lump down his throat. The air thickened and became liquid, like silky water and sound began to distort, his own heartbeat growing louder. He lifted heavy arms and tried to reach out to touch Henry.

Seemingly oblivious to Ezra's distress, Henry was now seated, cross-legged, facing him. Henry pulled his 'borrowed' pack into his lap and carefully removed the clothing belonging to Ezra and Buck, piling it onto the ground between them.

As Ezra's vision blurred further in the liquid air, he watched, unable to make a sound, as Henry picked up two bundles of buckskin that Ezra hadn't notice before and tucked them away in the backpack. Funny, that black nylon doesn't look like nylon anymore. Ezra stared at the surface of the pack in the flickering light of the torches and realized it was treated animal hide, deep black, and not nylon. But, he'd touched it earlier and it had been that synthetic fabric, he was certain.

Henry had the pack tied up now and was raising his long flute to his lips. When had he pulled that out? Ezra's mind seemed only able to produce questions. He tried to shake his head and found it strangely immobile. Henry began to play another haunting series of riffs, not a tune so much as a musical conversation. And then he began to fade away.

Ezra stared at the empty space in front of him. No Henry, no backpack. An old wooden canteen sat on the ground. And two piles of clothing, his and Buck's, their dress outfits, neatly folded, except for Ezra's shirt which still rested in his lap, shredded.

With a shiver, Ezra looked down at himself, able to move again. The air had become air again and by the light of the two smoky torches, he could see fairly clearly within the halos of their glows. He and Buck, who lay sleeping beside him, were naked.

"Not sure what this is." Nathan's large hands held a small black metal box with two dial faces on the top surface, a small button glowed red below them. He held it out to Larabee.

Chris studied it without touching. Then turned to call out, "Josiah! Vin! Get over here."

The other two men arrived within moments, both immediately looking to the small box cradled in Jackson's hands. Josiah spoke first, finger to his chin. "Where did you find it, Nate?"

Jackson jerked his chin over his shoulder, "Over there, next to the short-wave radio station they set up."

"Promising." Sanchez mused, leaning closer.

Impatiently, Nathan shoved it into Josiah's hands. "Take it. I haven't any idea what it is."

Josiah weighed the device in his hands and then Vin's were there, tapping at the top. "Vin?"

"Think this might be set up to do tracking. It's got a range finder and a directional signal." Tanner sounded very sure of himself and Josiah simply handed it on over.

Vin bent over the box, fingers unerringly finding two toggles on the opposing sides of the small control boxes. With a click, the light on top went to green, and both dials leapt to life. JD had arrived by now and was peering over Vin's shoulders, fingers itching to touch but respecting Vin's prior claim. JD whispered, "Yeah! This is it!"

"Could just lead us on a wild goose chase," Nathan warned.

Josiah flung an arm over his dear friend's shoulder and murmured, "I'd rather chase a goose than sit here on my hands, brother."

Chris was already turning away, only to come face-to-face with Fred Hernandez who had quietly stood back, listening and observing. "You can track them down with that?"

"Hope so." Chris was anxious to get past Hernandez and to Clem who was lounging over by the Blackhawk. He was mindful of Fred's help so far and willingness to turn a blind eye when needful. "Your people coming in?"

"Should be here in a few hours." Fred looked down at his watch, then back up at Larabee. "I'll have to stay. Watch these prisoners. Report out on the action."

"We need to go."

"I know." Fred offered his hand. "Just in case you don't get back this way. It's been an honor."

Chris accepted the hand thrust out at him and smiled as he held it. Fred was alright. "It's been real." He said the rest with his eyes, the sure look shining with his respect for the other agent. Chris tipped his head towards the row of captured terrorists. "Be careful. We'll keep a radio frequency open to you, holler if you need us."

He raised his head and called over his shoulder, "JD! Set up a two-way with Fred here, we need to keep a line open. He'll be alone here for a few hours." They could see Dunne salute and hustle off in a different direction, already intent on his new task. On the spur of the moment, with his free hand, Chris pulled a worn cardholder out of his hip pocket and teased a dog-eared personal card out. "This has my cell, home, and office numbers on it. If you ever need a favor, ask me." With that, Larabee released his grip on Hernandez's hand and walked off toward the old Huey.

Fred stood still as the members of Team Seven of the Denver ATF moved quickly around him, gathering their gear, Josiah Sanchez re-checking the restraints on the prisoners, JD Dunne hefting his laptop and a couple of portable walkie-talkie radios. Vin Tanner was still holding the tracking device and moving in Chris Larabee's wake. He could see Nathan Jackson striding quickly around the perimeter, checking for something, he wasn't sure what, but guessed for stray gear or weapons.

Within three minutes, all five members of the ATF team were boarding the old Huey. Apparently Clem Fortnight had opted for the chopper he knew for the night flight. The old engine roared to life, landing and navigation lights exploded in bright colors and the huge rotor blades began their wop-wop-wop beat, quickly revving into a blur and high-speed thudding sound.

"Vaya con Dios, amigos." Fred said under his breath as he threw a two-fingered salute at the Huey. He held the walkie-talkie that JD had tossed him moments before and felt as if a very important part of his life was leaving on that chopper. It was a funny feeling. Not one he'd ever had on a mission before. He stood and watched as the well-lit machine rose smoothly into the air, nose still slightly dipped. His grey - black hair whipped loosely about his head. Around him, loose bits and pieces of the debris of the camp spun to life in the whirlwinds thrown off by the chopper. "God speed."

Ezra blinked repeatedly. Faintly, it seemed as if he could still hear that flute, a haunting echo in the night, sheer black now. The twin cactus stick torches continued to sputter with a cheerful reddish-yellow glow, casting Buck's skin a golden color. Somehow, Henry's disappearance, even their nudity, didn't really bother him. He shivered slightly, but it wasn't as cold here as he'd expected it to be. As if they were in a protected pocket when he knew they were on an exposed slope facing a sky full of shining stars. Ezra arched his back, hands falling to his ankles where he sat on them. Unselfconsciouslynude and one with nature, he stared up at the huge bowl of heaven, mapping the constellations in his mind as he picked out the stars, most white, but some faintly yellow, blue, red, or even green. The air must be so clear out here. We'll have to come back and not just to see those ruins again. He didn't even notice the 'we.'

I wonder if Henry was real. He touched himself, fingertips scraping up over his ribs and on up to brush his hard nubs high on his chest. Absently tweaking the nipples, he watched the moon rise over the rim of the bluff across the river from them. The giant face pockmarked and washed in an ivory-orange glow. Around him, indistinctly, shapes began to emerge from the dark. He shivered again. It was definitely getting colder.

Buck woke easily, comfortably from a happy dream of Ezra smiling at him. He wiped his eyes and tried to twist his neck to see. The discomfort of the home-made neck brace woke him completely. It was dark, a torch burned nearby. He was lying on the ground. He was bare-assed naked. He sat up fast, wild-eyed. "What the hell?"

"Buck."

Ezra's quiet word slowed Buck's rapidly beating heart. He awkwardly turned toward the direction of the sound of Ezra's voice. And inhaled sharply. Ezra was rising to his feet, in the torchlight. His nude body rippled with the dancing light of the flames, his gorgeous, perfect body. Buck was entranced all over again with the man. Ezra was a bit short, but sturdily built, his brown hair lit with hidden red and gold highlights from the firelight. His smooth skin seemed to gleam as it stretched tautly over hard muscles. A thatch of reddish hair curled around a ruddy dick that was stirring even as he watched. Buck licked his lips and felt his own heat answer it as Ezra leaned down to touch a hand to Buck's raised face. Buck watched as the muscles rippled across with movement. His mouth watered to follow the trails that his eyes blazed.

"Ez, not that I'm complaining, but why are we naked?"

Ezra hesitated. He really didn't have an answer. Instead, he shrugged and gestured to two piles of clothing that Buck could now see near them on the ground. "Our suits are here." Ezra stole another look at Buck's magnificent body, laid out gloriously on the ground in front of him. He let his treacherous body dictate his next action as he knelt back down beside Buck and smiled at the man who was stealing his heart. "Perhaps they should stay there for a bit?" He dropped one hand to Buck's stomach and let it slide lower.

Buck arched up at Ezra's touch, a groan changing to a pained cry as rocks bit into his shoulders. "Shit, Ez, we can sure pick places to get acquainted, can't we?"

Buck's rueful tone had Ezra smiling. He gently cupped Buck's slightly wilting manhood, feeling the heat of it, the silky soft sheath to the heavy thickness within. Leaning down, Ezra placed a butterfly kiss on the very tip before releasing Buck and carefully climbing to his feet.

Looking down, he found he still wore his socks and shoes. Chuckling at the absurd picture they must make, nude except for footwear, Ezra offered his hand to Buck.

Buck saw the direction of Ezra's glance and grinned as well. Damn, it was a strange world. He let Ezra pull him to his feet, grateful for Ezra's strength that partnered his beauty so well. Upright, Buck pulled Ezra close and wound his arms tightly around the smaller man. This feels so damn good. I'm going to love this man 'til the day I die. "Ezra Standish," He whispered against the southerner's ear, his love easy to hear in the few syllables.

"Umm?"

"This feels just about perfect, sweetheart." Buck had never expected to be this close to, this intimate with, his dream lover so soon. The craziness of the last twenty-four hours was allowing him a closeness that he had intended to build toward over a very long time. Ezra was a skittish fellow and Buck had fully planned to court the man with delicacy and prolonged ritual. Instead, they'd been kidnapped, imprisoned, escaped, entered a twilight zone of weirdness, and come out the other side of the rabbit hole intact, though clothes-less. His lips quirked into an upward curve as he hugged Ezra warmly.

"If only my posterior felt as good as you make my anterior feel." Ezra sighed into Buck's shoulder, kissing it lightly, loving the care with which Buck touched and held him closely. He shivered despite the heat of Buck pressed against him, "Buck, my derriere is freezing."

Buck's hands slid down to cup those lovely buttocks, giving them tender squeezes, before acknowledging how chilled they were. "We can't have that!" He kissed Ezra's nose, smiling into those jade green eyes. "Guess it's time to put our clothes back on."

Teasing green eyes twinkled up at him. "I wager you never expected to be saying those words."

"And," Buck found Ezra's lips and nipped at them before drawing back to smile again, "I hope I never have to say them again."

Ezra shivered once more, unable to stop himself. He could feel Buck's skin tremoring lightly beneath his hands where he encircled the tall man's waist. It was time they got a bit warmer, this was fun but very unwise. He pushed back from their union and turned towards their clothing. With a flirtatious glance over his shoulder, he suggested, "I could dress you and you could dress me?"

Buck grinned, rubbing his arms with chilling hands. "We'd never get past my skivvies, Ez." He tossed a nod off towards the silent bodies that littered the slope, "And this isn't the audience for it."

Sobering, Ezra nodded in agreement, and began to pick through his pile of clothing. He could see Buck bend over to do the same. Oh. With a regretful sigh, he pulled on his boxers and then trousers. Buck was mirroring his movements. They'd both be clothed soon, though Ezra would be missing his shirt. His undershirt and jacket would have to do, he decided, not for an instant regretful of the shredded shirt that now helped bandage Buck's neck wound.

Picking up the canteen that had somehow been left behind by the vanished Henry, Buck gestured towards the camp of their captivity, some distance away still. "Think we should head on in still?"

Ezra paused in the act of buckling his belt and raised his head to look in the direction that Buck had waved. After a thoughtful moment, he shook his head and met Buck's eyes. "No. We overcame these men but more might be behind them. I don't fancy meeting additional opponents in the dark and we need these torches to see anything at all."

"Then, back to the ruins?" Buck sounded reluctant.

Standish stood straight and cocked his head to listen. From a distance, he could hear the soft sounds of Henry's flute, like a fading echo. "We follow the music," he decided, looking to Buck.

Doubtful, Buck listened too. He could hear the simple chain of notes, not really a tune. Definitely not coming from the ruins or the direction of the camp they'd fled. Seemed to be coming from the south, which was the way the river flowed. "Then we follow the river."

"The tracks headed due west." Vin watched as JD fiddled with the tracking device that he'd surrendered to their mechanical wizard.

JD looked up briefly before studying the two simple dials again. "Maybe, but the transmissions on those bugs, if that's what we're reading, are coming from the southwest." He raised his eyes to look over at Chris Larabee, standing braced in the doorway to Clem's cockpit. "Chris, I think they must have been following a trail, maybe some canyon paths. With the 'copter, we can go as the birds fly, straight to the signal. No need to try to follow a trail we can't even see."

Chris nodded once, eyes moving to Vin's for agreement that he found. "Okay then. Southwest." He turned and relayed the heading to Clem and Josiah up in the cockpit.

With floodlights dancing over the ground, the Huey flew low and slow, over rough terrain. Clem, Adam's apple prominent as he stuck his head forward, was watching ahead and below, with Josiah acting as co-pilot now, equally on guard. It wouldn't do to end up smashed against the face of a mountain or trapped in a narrowing canyon. With a sweeping curve the Huey banked and headed out in the new direction.

Nathan lay belly down on one side of the deck, Vin on the other, both with night vision goggles on, like the ones they'd issued to Josiah and Clem from the weapons locker. Nate and Vin were watching for any signs of Ezra and Buck, or any of the team that Dressler led, that had left the camp before they got there.

Somewhere out in this wilderness, their teammates had run from captors, and were possibly now battling for their liberty and maybe their lives against bad odds. Chris Larabee grimly went forward again to lean over the backs of Clem's and Josiah's seats with knotted fists. He wore the last pair of goggles, JD didn't need them since he was monitoring the tracking device.

"Approaching the signal!" Dunne hollered over the engine.

Chris swiveled his head to check on JD. The young man was standing up, feet spread wide, staggering closer to the front now.

"And slow down!" JD worked the tiny box held like a Gameboy, then looked up with excited dark eyes, shaking his head back to flick his long bangs from his eyes, "Stop! We're right overhead now!"

Clem hovered the Huey over the rough ground, he and Josiah staring out the front of the chopper, looking for any signs of the missing men. A white water river, small but fast rushed through a depression between two low hills and then spread out into a wide valley just beneath them, the water becoming a boggy-looking smallish lake. The hills were relatively barren, though not very inviting.

Vin strained to see anything. He could make out several coyotes running rapidly away from the helicopter's loud noise and bright lights. The scraggly brush below was bending over in the wash of backwind from the chopper's blades. He saw nothing to hint at their boys.

Nate pushed himself further over his edge of the open doorway, toes hooked into a crack in the deck where two pieces of sheeting no longer met. Even hanging out under the empty sky, he couldn't see any sign of either Buck or Ezra.

Chris tapped Clem Fortnight on the shoulder. When the man turned to look up at him, he said, "Can you set her down here?"

Clem looked down again. He'd landed in worse places. "Yeah." He shoved a stick of bubblegum into his mouth with a momentarily free hand and began to chew in earnest.

Josiah took a deep breath and held the second set of controls, ready to back Clem's actions.

Clem moved with clean, Spartan competence and the bird gently touched down on one of the hills, rocking briefly before coming to a rest at a slight tilt on the uneven ground. Fortnight killed the engine, letting the blades slow with their own grand sweeps, leaving the lights on for now. With a ticking and popping noise, the Huey shut down.

Slowly, Larabee's team began to rise from their positions in the Huey. Vin and Nathan had to unstrap, Vin's free hand tugging at the webbing while Nathan's hands, used to delicate surgical work, swiftly unfastened his own harness. JD was crouching over his tracking device as Jackson crawled across the floor to Tanner and assisted him with the final buckle of his harness, then both stood, swaying slightly, disoriented at the unmoving floor.

Vin still gripped his sniper rifle in one hand, as he had instinctively since the helicopter dropped down from the sky. Now he caught it with his other hand as well and slipped out of the bird without a word, lowering himself gracefully to the ground, eyes, still enhanced with night vision goggles, scanning the surrounding barren hillside. No sign of life.

Chris patted Josiah on the shoulder and when the man looked back, he signaled him to come. When Clem made to follow, Larabee held up a staying hand. He yelled over the sudden silence, voice dropping as he finished, "Stay here. Be ready to go at our signal."

Fortnight frowned, eyes straying to the empty landscape in front of his bird's nose, but then turned back to Chris and gave a nod and thumb's up. He slumped down in his seat, already focused on the instrument panel, flipping switches and tapping dials.

Chris hopped down to the main deck and stepped aside for Josiah to follow. He was just in time to see Vin disappear out one of the open hatches. Nathan was busily gathering things from their locker and stuffing what he'd found into a satchel. Chris caught a glimpse of white. First aide supplies. He nodded, lips tightening. Hope we don't need that stuff. He gave a short, light snort. Hope Ezra and Buck don't need it either. He tapped JD on the head where the younger man was hovering over his simple tracking device.

Dark eyes flicked up to meet Chris'. "The signal is pretty strong to the northeast now, and close." JD gestured toward the marshy lake. He swallowed hard, adding sadly. "It's not moving at all anymore."

Chris bowed his head for a moment, then nodded and looked out the hatch into the darkness. By now, Josiah was sitting on the sill of the deck, a large automatic rifle in his capable hands. "Josiah?"

"Nothing, Chris." Sanchez didn't bother to turn around, answering through his mike. Everyone could hear the resignation in Josiah's tone.

"Vin?" Chris raised his head, unable to see his sharpshooter who was already out there, prowling around somewhere.

Over the small earphone, Larabee and the others heard Tanner's quiet response. "No one around that I can spot. Chopper likely chased off all the wildlife, place is like a ghost town."

Reaching into the locker for a large weapon for himself, Chris spoke into his mike. "Alright, we do this nice and slow. Nate, you and JD stay close, cover him while he finds those bugs out there."

"Roger." Jackson's voice was all business. Chris could see the big man push up from where he'd been kneeling over the locker. Jackson shouldered his satchel of medical supplies and moved easily over to Dunne who was intent on his instrument even as he crouched down to a seating position at the edge of the decking, feet already hanging over the ground below.

"JD?"

"I'm on it." JD sounded distracted.

Chris realized that the agent was focused on his primitive mechanism and really not watching where he was. "JD!" Dunne's head came up sharply, eyes turning to where Chris stood. "Keep close to Nate, he's got night goggles on, he'll watch your back."

"Ok." Dunne's head swiveled back and down to watch as his hands fiddled with dials, then he simply dropped off the deck to the ground only a few feet below. Chris watched as Nathan followed, one hand acting as a pivot for the big man as he swung himself over the side. Larabee noted the weapon in Jackson's free hand, confident that the medic and agent was ready to protect Dunne.

Sanchez had preceded the other two agents and that left Larabee alone in the helicopter with Clem Fortnight. Before leaving, he moved back to look up to where the pilot sat, like a statue now, staring out over the nose of the Huey. "Clem?" He had to call loudly.

Fortnight looked back and down at Larabee. His long thin form twisting at the shoulders to look down the gangway and short ladder from the pilot's deck.

Chris tossed up a small mike and earpiece. "Here." He watched as Fortnight easily caught it. "It's set for our frequency." He'd only known the pilot for a few hours but didn't doubt the man was trustworthy. "Monitor us. Be ready to hit the lights." They might need the helicopter's floodlights before this night saw dawn.

Clem pulled off his soft cloth helmet and poked the earpiece into one ear, then clipped the tiny mike to his collar to the right of his chin. He spoke into the small microphone. "Will do."

Hearing Fortnight over his own earpiece, Larabee gave a thumb's up, then gripped the metal hatch rim with both hands tightly. He met Clem's eyes, and spoke softly, knowing his men would also hear this. "We aren't leaving until we find our boys."

Clem saluted briefly, then turned back to continue his nearly blind scan of the area. He'd hit all the interior lights as soon as he'd secured the instrument panels and set things for a fast start-up and lift off. Now, getting used to the dark, he was able to see the darker shapes of the men moving cautiously down the hillside toward the small lake. There was no other sign of life. Doesn't look too good, he thought, tapping his fingers on his knee.

Chris swung around, brushing his lank blond hair back with one hand, and shuffled rapidly out of the narrow gangway and into the lower hull area as soon as he'd finished with Fortnight. He moved quickly, economically, arming himself and dropping out of the chopper. Adjusting his goggles as he settled on the rocky ground, he quickly spotted his men.

Vin was far in advance, already stalking along the edge of the marshy ground fringing the wetter swampy lake. JD and Nathan were moving together, slowly but in a direct line. Josiah was off to their far side, swiveling with each step, clearly keeping watch on his brothers. From his vantage on the hillside above them, Chris looked out over the landscape.

It was so still. No breath of air stirred, no night sounds. Gripping his long-range rifle tightly, he took off down the hill, skimming the uneven ground with unexpected delicacy, his SEAL training locking in as he moved stealthily forward. He swiftly reached Dunne and Jackson's position. They had stopped moving at the boggy edge of the lake, where the small river, really a large stream, fed into it, current slowing into eddies among tall stands of river reed.

Both men were standing fully now, staring down at something as Chris came to a stop beside them, eyes traveling three-sixty, before resting on his men. Jackson had a hand on Dunne's shoulder, and JD was simply staring at the water, his small black box tracking device now hanging at his side from one hand.

Chris straightened up and followed the gaze of his agents. And swallowed hard. Caught among the stiff reeds was a silky, soggy cummerbund, caught around a misshapen bit of old wood. The two things bobbed in the gentle push of current. In the quiet of the night, Chris could hear the slosh of water as he stepped down into the marshy lake and reached for the satin pleated bit of fabric. He could tell by the color that it was Ezra's. He couldn't stop himself from clutching it, dripping, up to his chest with one fist as he raised his eyes to the night sky, giving in, for just that one moment, to despair.

"Ouch!" Ezra's cry stopped Buck in his tracks. It was followed in short order by, "Damn it all to hell anyway!"

"Ezra, what's wrong?" Buck half-tripped as he staggered around in the ankle-deep stream, his boots skidding on the uneven river stones hidden under the water. He flailed his arms widely to re-catch his balance, only to find his partner sitting in a woebegone wet huddle in the stream, still cursing, but now in another language. If Buck were to hazard a guess, he'd have said German. He could see that Ezra was holding on tightly with both hands to his left ankle, extended before him in the rushing water.

At this point, Ezra relapsed into English again. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Buck slogged back up stream to Ezra. Bending over, he touched one shivering shoulder. "Ez, what happened?"

Flashing angry green eyes glared up at him through tossed chestnut locks. "I - fell - down." Ezra's face contorted in an involuntary wince. "Damn it! I twisted my ankle." Pain drowned anger as the eyes dropped again to study the injured joint.

By now, Ezra was shivering non-stop and Buck was deeply worried. "Ezra, we have to get you up out of the water."

Before Buck could continue, a hand reached up and grabbed his collar, jerking his head lower. "I know that," Ezra bit out, still enraged at fate. He released his hold on Buck's collar and took a deep, stuttering breath. The water was cool, but in the night air of the desert, it was enough to make him feel as if he was freezing. Beneath his hands, he could feel his ankle starting to swell. "I know that," Ezra repeated more slowly, sadly, then looked back up at Buck who still loomed over him.

"Aw, shit, Ez." Buck moved in, placing his feet carefully, then hooking his hands under Ezra's arms. "Here we go." With effort, he lifted Ezra up and swung them around, lowering Standish to the ground on the bank of the stream. Sliding a bit, he stumbled his way up out of the streambed as well, to heave himself up beside his wet friend.

"Let me have a look." Buck reached down and pushed Ezra's claw-like hands back from his ankle. The wet trouser leg was shoved up and clung to Ezra's calf, his ankle, still clothed in a fine silk sock, was beginning to show signs of swelling. "Yep, looks like you may have sprained it." Buck leaned back, contemplating Ezra's ankle and the mess it put them in.

Ezra sighed and leaned back also, bracing himself on his elbows. He stared down at his ankle, then raised his eyes to study the stream. Buck had tossed his torch on the bank when he turned back and it flickered uncertainly on the weedy sand bank. His own torch had met swift death in the water. He watched resentfully as it floated serenely down stream, not even a wisp of smoke rising from the bundle of charred cactus spines. "I don't think I can walk on this," he muttered disconsolately.

"No, don't think you can." Buck rolled over to his side and gathered Ezra to him. Bundling Ezra in his arms, Buck smiled down into frowning green eyes. "Guess that just means I'll have to carry you." He dared a tiny kiss on Ezra's nose.

Ezra wrinkled his nose at Buck's kiss, even though he felt a flash of pleasure at Buck's casual intimacy. He licked his lips and looked downstream. The narrow valley, not a canyon simply because the walls were too gentle, continued around a bend and out of sight, taking the growing waterway with it. It was turning into a true river, albeit a small one, ahead. They'd decided to wade in the water for a while to disguise their tracks in case more of the terrorists followed the first batch to find them.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. His lips quirked in a half-smile of resignation. Shaking his head, he met Buck's sympathetic look, those deep blue eyes that gleamed in the torchlight. "I think you may have to." There wasn't room on the banks for two men to walk side-by-side, and for Ezra to even attempt to walk, he'd need support.

Buck began to rub at Ezra's arms, then his back.

"Oof! Buck, what's that for?" Ezra grunted, his grouchiness coming to the fore.

"Getting the circulation going again. Don't want you to get a chill."

"Too late," Ezra answered crossly.

With supreme good nature, Buck laughed quietly and smothered Ezra in a kiss, hugging him tightly. Several grunts and growls emerged from the clutch. Finally, Buck pulled back enough for Ezra to raise his head again.

"Buck!" A thoroughly tousled Ezra grumped up at Buck.

Wilmington let Ezra go with another grin and climbed to his feet. Standing braced he offered Standish a hand. "Let's go, sweetheart."

Ezra clasped the offered hand and was hauled to his feet, correction, foot, as he stood stork-like holding up his injured ankle. Balancing precariously, he teetered forward.

Buck took advantage of the move, pitching a broad shoulder into Ezra's belted waist and lifting. He stood shifting his weight a bit until he was certain he had a good grip on Ezra in a fireman's carry. Much as he might like to carry Ezra in his arms, he was realist enough to know he'd never make it far that way. With Ezra's not insubstantial mass perched directly on his shoulder, Buck's skeleton's frame acted as a natural brace for them both. He wrapped an arm around Ezra's legs at the knees, careful not to knock the injured ankle. He could feel Ezra squirming a bit. He lightly smacked that fine looking ass that now sat just to the side of his face. "Settle down there, Ez."

"MISTER Wilmington!" Ezra's outraged tone made Buck grin again. "You will refrain from taking such liberties with my person."

Buck daringly patted the nicely rounded derriere this time. "Don't know, Ez, you make it mighty tempting."

Ezra's body stiffened in Buck's grasp and then he was shocked by a sharp pain to his own butt. "Ow! Ezra!" Buck grit his teeth and shook his head. Hell, Ezra had pinched him but good.

"Let that be a lesson to you," came floating back up from Buck's rear. Then a soothing pat turned into a rather seductive rubbing motion and Buck shivered, but not from the cold.

"Okay, I learned my lesson." He hugged Ezra's body closer and took a tentative step, interrupting the gentle fondling going on at his rear quarters. With more confidence, he began to walk up stream, this time on the bank. He cast a regretful glance at the now smoldering torch, then up at the sky. It was beginning to lighten. Good thing. Fixing his sights on the bend in the river, Buck began to plod up stream.

"No." That was Josiah, who had finally circled in close to where Nathan, JD, and Chris stood. He breathed out the word in pain.

JD interrupted the moment, having brought his borrowed tracking device back up to view. "Funny, I'm getting two signals from this."

Larabee straightened and lifted the soggy cummerbund up to examine it closely. Well, I'll be damned. He plucked two small electronic bugs from the inside surface of the cloth, each neatly pinned in place. Holding them out in his hand, he met the eyes of the other three men. "They sent those creeps on a wild goose chase after all."

Josiah gave a watery chuckle and Nathan grinned, his eyes nearly disappearing into the folds of his widely stretched cheeks. He nearly crushed JD's shoulder under his large hand. Dunne simply nodded slowly at Chris and his own wide smile began to grow.

Vin materialized beside them, "Vin, coming in." He raised one eyebrow at the bugs in Larabee's hand and then at the cummerbund in his other. "That Ez's?"

Chris nodded, beginning to look jovial. "Yes." He raised the bugs into the air, "And these were both pinned inside."

"Both, eh?" Vin's face cracked into a sly grin.

"What? What was pinned inside?" Clem's voice wailed over the earpieces of the team.

The men exchanged grins now and Chris spoke into his mike. "Ezra or Buck stuck the bugs on a piece of cloth and set them adrift in the river."

Silence reigned for a moment, then Clem's high-pitched hoot of laughter echoed down the wires. "Sweet!"

Chris Larabee looked up the small riverbed with calculation. The men around him followed his line of sight, all of them thinking the same thing.

"So we just hike up the river?" JD asked aloud, then looked over his shoulder at Clem's Huey, and changed his question. "Or, do we hitch a ride up with Clem?"

"Neither." Chris waded to the slippery low bank of the marshy lake and accepted Vin's crossed arm grip for a pull up out of the watery muck. He spoke into the mike. "Clem, you can stand down for now. We're going to set up camp here until full dawn, have some chow. It's too dark to see much and we might scare up the wrong folks if we go upriver blind."

Josiah and Nathan had already turned away and started back for the chopper. There would be plenty to do to set up a temporary camp here. Vin stood silently, head cocked to listen to the night. Sounds were returning now, the Huey's entrance seemingly forgotten by the night dwellers of this place. He could hear peepers and night birds, a slither that sounded like a reptile of some sort dragging along the ground, and then, yips of some coyotes up the far hill from them. Tanner did not sense any other human approach to their little lake area.

JD turned back to face his boss, still unsure and very worried about his best friend, Buck, and, of course, Ezra. "Chris? What if the wrong folks are up there and get to Buck and Ezra first?"

"JD, we can't continue to operate in the dark on unknown terrain." Chris was patient with his agent, the young man might be well versed in urban conflicts but he hadn't the military training to recognize the need to sit tight, learn the area. "We'll scout things out at daybreak. Then, head upstream on foot." He raised a hand before Dunne could object to that, "The helicopter is too noisy. We need stealth until we know the situation. Dressler and some of his men took off and headed after our boys before we could stop them. If they found them, we may be faced with an armed rescue still."

Slowly JD nodded, not happy, but accepting.

Vin turned back to them. "I'll be back, just going to wander upstream a bit. See what's what around that bend."

Larabee paused in the act of folding over Ezra's abandoned cummerbund, still dripping. He met Tanner's eyes in the dim but growing light. "Alright."

Buck lowered Ezra to the ground carefully. "Easy there, sweetheart."

Standish bit back a cry of protest, grimacing instead, as his ankle touched the earth. It hurt like hell, throbbed unmercifully and was now grossly swollen. He held his left leg out straight to keep the pressure off the injured ankle and settled himself on the sandy riverbank, rocking his hips into the shallow depression that Buck had scuffed out with one foot. Buck must be exhausted. They'd come at least two, maybe two and a half miles so far along the uneven and treacherous bank. Ezra lay back down and stared up at the gray washed predawn sky. A few brave stars still twinkled, one seemed to glow, perhaps a planet? He rolled his head to one side and watched Buck who had dropped to the ground beside him.

Buck swung his arms widely, letting the shoulder muscles loosen, then arched his back as he sat upright on the ground at Ezra's side. He flexed his arms next, straightening them both and stiffly working his hands, extended at furthest reach. He'd have to carry Ezra on his other shoulder when they started up again, the first one ached now. He relaxed and fingered the segmented leather collar around his neck. With resolve, he began to unwrap the cloth that bound it, he had to check the bullet graze. If the bleeding was really stopped, he could manage a looser, lest chaffing bandage. Concentrating on his task, he was taken by surprise when Ezra's hands were suddenly there, helping.

"Ez! You shouldn't-"

"What? It's my ankle that's hurt, not the rest of me." Ezra lightly slapped Buck's big hands away and gently picked at the dried, stained bandaging. He was sitting up on one hip now, braced with his good leg, half-twisted around to reach Buck's neck. He mentally cursed himself for forgetting that Buck was also hurt, shot. With care, he pulled the wrapping free and began to peel back the segments of leather that Henry had applied a lifetime ago.

"Buck? Can you dampen this in the water for me?" Ezra handed over the stiffened cloth. He could less painfully remove those leather bits if he could use a bit of water to break their adhesion to the skin.

"Sure." Buck accepted the cloth and raised up onto his knees, awkwardly slipping free from Ezra's hands. He crawled the few short feet to the water's edge and dunked the fabric, then squeezed the sodden cloth before handing it with a long arm to Ezra.

"Thanks, now come back here." Ezra gestured to his side.

Buck sighed and scuttled back, easing his tired body back down beside Ezra, neck extended in his friend's direction. "How's that?"

"Fine." Ezra absently patted Buck's cheek, before applying himself to his work once more. He didn't catch Buck's eyes widen or see the gleam of pleasure he'd provoked.

Buck felt warm inside. Despite all the craziness, Ezra was becoming more casual around Buck. Or, maybe because of it? Didn't matter, he decided, as long as Ezra kept on calling him 'Buck' and touching him so easily with affection. Think we might have a good shot at a partnership here, Buck thought with a calmness born of exhaustion. He looked out over the water and let his eyes travel downstream. That's when he noticed it.

"Ezra."

"Hum?"

"I can't hear the flute music anymore."

Clem hunkered in the doorway of the big Huey, knees knocking his chin as he passed bundles down to Josiah Sanchez. The packages were being tossed to him by Jackson, who was further into the helicopter, digging into the ubiquitous locker that the ATF team had lugged on board yesterday. He could see JD Dunne sitting on a low hillock, laptop on his crossed legs, tapping away. Beyond him, Fortnight could just make out Larabee, the team leader, standing at the edge of the clearing the team had created by removing rocks and nature's refuse from old floods. Larabee was standing with his back to the Huey, arms folded on his chest and staring out over the marsh to the mouth of the small river.

Clem strained to see. Another packet hit him on the arm and he nearly toppled off his perch. "Whoa!" He caught the bundle and gave Jackson the eye, but the big agent was looking down at what he was sorting in the locker and didn't notice. Shrugging, Clem spit his bubblegum out to the side onto the ground and dropped the package into Sanchez waiting hands. Josiah was grinning up at him knowingly so he stuck out his tongue at Sanchez, then grinned back cheekily and turned just in time to catch the next pitched packet before it brained him. With a huff, he dumped it out of the Huey to Sanchez. 'Tinker to Evers to Chance', he muttered to himself, and began to softly hum 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game.'

Chris squinted. The sun was finally rising. Beams of light streaked the sky and scattered wisps of cloud began to glow pink, orange, and gold. In the light, he saw an infuriating nothing. No sign of Tanner who had vanished nearly an hour earlier, with only the comment that he wanted to head upstream a bit. Where the hell are you, Vin? Chris lifted his shoulders with a tightly indrawn breath and held it. And where are you, Buck? Ezra? His fingers dug into his biceps and he continued his silent watch.

The light was growing steadily now, the sun rimming the hills to the east. Careful not to do too much damage, Ezra started by soaking the pad of cloth with Henry's poultice beneath. He inhaled sharply at the mess of weeds, brownish green with dried bloodstains, that he uncovered. Pressing the wet fabric that Buck had given him against the poultice, he gently eased it away from the skin of Buck's neck. And pulled back in surprise.

"Ez?" Buck's eyes were slanted so far around to see Standish that the whites showed across the tops.

Ezra met Buck's eyes and smiled. "Whatever this stuff is that Henry gave us really worked." Ezra barely touched the rough but healing scar with a fingertip. He looked up again. "This is amazing. It's nearly healed and no signs of infection, no redness, no heat."

Buck craned his neck pointlessly, knowing he couldn't possibly see the injury but trying nonetheless.

"Stop." Ezra's hand caught Buck's chin in a gentle grip. "That won't do you any good and might tear at the wound." He released Buck and looked down, examining the springy poultice in his hand, which seemed to consist of moss and unidentifiable bits of herbs in a clingy mass. "Maybe I should replace this for now," he mused more to himself than to Buck, "I am not sure what it is but it must have some remarkable properties to leave your injury in this state."

Buck relaxed his shoulders that had instinctively tightened as Ezra peeled back the covering on his gunshot wound. "Any chance you can fix it in place without the whole collar?"

Fingering the poultice, Ezra looked at Buck's neck consideringly. "I could perhaps wrap a support around your head instead of your neck, as long as it provides enough pressure to hold the poultice in place."

Smiling encouragingly, Buck rubbed one of Ezra's arms lightly. "That might work, Pard." He worked his jaw. "I really need to get the bracing off my neck, it's beginning to hurt," he admitted.

Ezra found the leather bits of the segmented collar came off easily with the help of the damp cloth Buck had handed him. Then he tugged Buck's shirtfront free from his trousers and worked to tear off a section from the tails. "Fresh cloth," he explained as he worked.

Within a few minutes, Buck was bandaged again, this time looking like he had a very bad tooth ache, the strapping tied around his head with a rather artistic bow resulting in two 'rabbit ears' poking skyward. Ezra had to smile at the effect. That had Buck raising both eyebrows and twitching his mustache. Now he really did look like an oversized rabbit and Ezra fell back on the ground with a snort that dissolved into a helpless giggle as Buck peered down at him with pursed lips.

"What?" Buck reached up and touched the new arrangement, realizing that he must now look rather silly. Seeing Ezra in helpless amusement on the ground made Buck happier than he'd been in sometime. He repeated his earlier action, twitching his mustache from side to side and watched Ezra's giggles escalate as his friend began to roll on the ground. Buck grinned and leaned forward, intent on encouraging this wonderfully free and laughing Ezra with a tickle or two.

Before Buck's itching fingers could touch, though, Ezra's amusement came to an abrupt end as his injured ankle struck the ground unwisely. "Oh!" With a jackknifed action, Ezra was sitting up again, clutching at the newly reawakened pain, laughter forgotten. His hair fell forward as he huddled over the hurt, looking remarkably young.

Buck was a rangy, tall man, and he had no trouble reaching out to wrap an arm around Ezra's slumped shoulders and pull the man close. "Ezra, take deep breaths." He pressed his lips to Ezra's brow and kissed there repeatedly, murmuring soft words of comfort.

Gradually, the throbbing ache eased and Ezra was able to think past the pain. He realized that Buck was holding him closely, kissing him softly on his forehead. With intentional daring, he lifted his face up to let his lips meet Buck's. Regardless of the fading pain, Ezra deepened their kiss, his lips opening to invite Buck inside.

At first, it was more a feeling than a sound, but gradually Vin decided he was hearing music. Not a recognizable tune or anything like that, but man-made sounds, from what sounded like a simple flute. Tanner stopped and listened. Definitely coming from further upstream. He was standing on the rough bank of the river that was rapidly becoming a rough stream, smaller but more vigorous, white water curling around the odd boulder poking up from the streambed. The hillsides were close, creating a gentle canyon-like effect, the ground dry, nearly barren. He could see the looming mountains rising up behind the range of low hills here.

"Chris?" He activated his tiny mike and muttered into it, hesitant to break the calm of the dawn or lose that thread of elusive music.

"Vin! Everything alright?" Chris' voice sounded tense and Tanner suddenly realized he'd been gone for a good hour.

"Yep." He looked around. "Haven't spotted any sign of the boys, but there's someone out here."

"What do you mean?" Now Larabee's tone was clipped.

Vin shook his head even though he knew Chris couldn't see. "I'm nearly a mile up stream now, and I can hear some kind of flute playing."

Chris could see the rest of the men slowly standing up around their small campfire, all with heads cocked in listening poses, clearly focused, like him, on Vin Tanner's words.

"You hear music?"

"What I said." Tanner scratched at his chin, feeling the bristles. They'd been out on the hunt overnight and none of them had shaving gear along. He listened again, silent, pulling his listening plug free. He could hear Larabee's tiny voice and palmed the earphone. The musical notes faded then strengthened. Definitely coming from somewhere up ahead. He returned the plug to his ear. "Think it might be Native American, though I'm not sure what."

"Indians?" JD's voice broke in breathlessly.

"Maybe." Vin shook his head again. "Quiet." He listened to the curl of sound, like an invitation to follow. The impelling feeling of need to answer the call began to grow, but Tanner was able to resist for a while more. "There's something not quite right about it."

"Get back here, now." Larabee's voice was harsh, the order clear in his tone. When he didn't get an immediate answer, he spoke again. "Vin?"

The men looked at each other around the fire, eyebrows rising in concern. No one broke the silence, all of them waiting to hear Tanner's voice again.

"VIN!" Chris started walking up the riverbank without even realizing it. There was no answer.

Josiah grabbed up his rifle, he already had his pistol in his shoulder harness. He turned and snatched up JD's body armor with his free hand and tossed it to the boy who was still frozen beside the campfire. "JD, snap out of it!"

JD caught the bulletproof vest and shrugged it back on without comment. He'd been the only one to take his off, wanting to stretch and scratch while they sat eating nutra-bars and sipping coffee. Behind him, Nathan Jackson was kicking sand over the small fire.

Clem had his forty-five in his hand and was already starting across the clearing towards Larabee's disappearing back when Sanchez caught up to him and hauled him to a stop. "Clem."

Josiah waited for the impatient man to turn and face him, then continued, "Go to your bird and wait for word. We may need aerial cover before this is over, or just a lift out." Josiah's pale blue eyes were serious as he stared into Fortnight's. "We need you there."

The pilot sagged in Josiah's grip, his elastic face reflecting his resignation and acceptance. With a silent nod, Clem trotted off to climb into his Huey and wait and listen.

The remaining men of Team Seven headed up stream, following their team leader.

Vin breathed out slowly and lowered himself to the ground, legs crossed. He stared up at the hillcrest to the south and east. A dark silhouette had materialized up there, and as Vin watched, the figure shuffled in almost ritualistic fashion along the ridgeline, heading north.

The man, for it seemed to be a male, was tall and thin, all leg. He lifted each foot very high as he stepped ahead, lifting his knees nearly to his chin. Impossible to say what he was wearing against the backlighting, except that it looked to be simple tunic and trousers. And a pack on his back. Or, he was humpbacked, it really wasn't clear enough to see. Moving forward, bent over, with arms raised, Vin could see he had a stick up to his face. Since the sounds of tonal music came from that direction, it seemed likely he was playing a flute. Vin sat, mesmerized, his body unconsciously swaying to the uneven beat of the strange musical flow.

"... Vin!"

It was the third time that he heard Chris' voice faintly on his earpiece, that Vin finally woke enough from his trancelike state to answer. "Chris?"

Larabee moved faster, nearly running now. He could hear the rest of his team coming up behind him. Vin's voice was soft, uncertain. Not at all like his sharpshooter's usual crisp, terse responses on the wire. "Vin, stay put. We're coming up behind you." Chris concentrated on his footing as he asked, "Are you hurt?" Then a pause, no answer, "Are you alone?"

"Alone?" Vin watched the musician dancing along the hill. Tanner's head swayed with the musician's movements. Vin blinked and sighed. He bit his lower lip and pushed himself up to his feet uneasily, turning to track the figure now directly across from him. "No, I'm not alone."

"Do you have opposition there?" Chris' concern came through with the fierce demand.

"No - no, I don't think so." Vin narrowed his gaze and watched the figure begin to diminish into the distance. "No, it's alright."

Chris began to slow his pace to a ground-eating trot, and then rounding the bend he'd reached, he saw Tanner. Vin was standing still, staring fixedly up at the hill line, towards the north, upstream. "Vin!"

Moving slowly, as if still trapped in the molasses-like stupor that had grounded him, Vin turned toward his best friend and smiled.

By now, Josiah, Nathan, and JD had caught up to Larabee and were trotting single file behind him. They spread out along the narrow riverbank, all looking at Tanner in confusion.

"Hey, Vin! What happened?" JD rushed his words, thoughtlessly usurping his team leader's moment.

Chris' lips quirked in a half-smile, relief calming him as he saw for himself that Vin was alright, if acting a bit strangely. When Vin didn't answer Dunne immediately, he said quietly, "Vin, report."

Vin Tanner looked back over his shoulder at the empty, silent hillside, then turned to his boss and teammates who had come to a stop in a half-circle facing him. "I'm not sure I can." He shook his head once, his thoughts clearing rapidly now. His crystal clear blue eyes sought out his friend's narrowed gaze. "Chris, I just had the damnedest thing happen. It felt like a vision." He looked self-conscious as he dropped his eyes to his hands, clamped together in front of him.

"A vision?" Josiah's hopeful and interested tones seemed to break the spell the men were under and Nathan laughed softly.

"You sleep walking, Vin?" The deep voice of the medic prodded Tanner.

"Nope." Vin raised a hand, shooting a look of good humor at Jackson's tease, and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he looked up at the others again with a sigh. "I heard music from a flute, like ceremonial stuff-"

"More Indian stuff?"

"Native American, JD." Nate corrected, moving closer, watching Tanner.

"Yeah." Vin nodded indiscriminately at both men. "Not like regular music, no tune you could hum, nothing like that. And I saw a man."

"Where?" Chris was instantly looking beyond Vin, rifle coming to the ready.

"Gone." Vin gestured mildly behind his position. "Looked like, well," Vin shook his head, "Looked like maybe a man from the past."

Josiah folded his hands over his chest and tipped his head to the side. "Your past?"

"No, no," Vin shook his head, then picked up his rifle from the ground where he'd abandoned it without thought earlier. "From long ago, from times ancient, from around here."

"I think you might have seen Henry." Ezra's voice was slightly breathy as Buck let him slide down to the ground from his stomach-perch on Buck's shoulder. Slipping down the front of Wilmington's body, Ezra made no move to separate from Buck's loose support, simply turning within Buck's arms and smiling at the others.

Five men stared back in shock. None of them had heard or seen their friends' approach. It was as if they were afraid to move or speak for fear of causing this illusion to vanish.

Buck, who realized that they'd surprised their team, smiled slowly and met Chris Larabee's eyes. "Glad you could make it, Old Dog."

"Good to see you too." Chris walked the short distance to his long missing men and smiled at them. "Both of you." He touched Buck's shoulder, as if to make sure they really were real, then cupped Ezra's face briefly, smiling into shining green eyes. "Welcome back."

"Are we good?" Clem Fortnight's voice muttered down the wires.

Vin, gliding closer to their recovered friends, answered first. "Yeah, Clem. We've got 'em."

"Stay on alert." Chris Larabee stood back from his two men and spoke quietly, knowing everyone except Buck and Ezra would hear. He looked on upstream speculatively. There'd been something strange going on before he and the others arrived and it still hadn't really been explained. And then, there were the missing terrorists, and the gunrunner, Dressler. He waited as his men came together, knowing that Nathan Jackson would do a quick eval and let him know if they faced any extra problems.

Josiah, toothy grin in place, enveloped the two men in a large bear hug as JD Dunne patted Buck's back energetically. Vin had come close to the men but didn't touch, just smiled and smiled, arms folded over his chest. Proximity suited him just fine.

Their medic-trained teammate, Nathan Jackson, stood back waiting for Josiah and JD to get through their obviously needed reunion so that he could check out the boys. When Sanchez showed no signs of letting them go and Buck and Ezra seemed content to let the celebration continue, he cleared his throat and spoke. "Guys? Hey, guys?" Heads swiveled his way and he continued, hands on hips. "I need to look them over now." Then his dark eyes flashed up to meet first Buck's, then Ezra's. "Welcome back."

Twin broad smiles answered him, and then Buck, who had Ezra still in the circle of his arms, tightened his grip as Standish began to fold downward. "Whoa, there, Ez." Buck hoisted Ezra back up with arms slipped under armpits and turned to Jackson. "He's hurt his ankle, I think it might be sprained. Oh, and he's recovering from a concussion, too."

Ezra craned his neck to look back up over his shoulder at Buck's face so close beside him. He could see the man's deep blue eyes twinkling down at him and he silently mouthed, "Betrayer!" But sweetened it with a smile, then faced Jackson. He missed seeing the shadow darken those now beloved eyes at the single word.

Buck swallowed hard as Ezra turned away again, still secure in his hold. They had some unfinished business between them, and Ezra's humorous comment brought that back for Buck. He knew that sooner or later, Ezra would return to the events before their kidnapping. And he would have some hard questions to answer. Please, god, don't let me mess up then. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip just as Ezra spoke to Jackson.

"Buck was shot." The last word came out with a slight gasp as Buck squeezed him unexpectedly, but he continued anyway. "Just a graze across his neck under his jaw. You need to look at it." He paused, knowing that Jackson was listening intently, as were the others. "And he might have a slight concussion too."

Josiah Sanchez's smile had faded as he stood free of the two men, listening to their simple litany of injuries. Nothing too severe, but it hurt to know that they'd been in harm's way without back up. His fists clenched at his sides and he looked both men over closely.

Buck had tucked in his chin to look down at the top of Ezra's head. He cocked an eyebrow at Jackson and added, "You'll need to check out Ezra all over, he got roughed up a bit at the start. Those guys didn't take kindly to his sharp wit."

That earned him a glare of narrowed jade green over Ezra's shoulder and he couldn't resist. He pecked a tiny affectionate kiss on the upturned nose. Then regretted it as Ezra's eyes widened and he could just see that magnificent brain ticking over with the fact that Buck was being casually intimate in front of their teammates. Oh, oh.

Chris looked over all his men and spoke in a low voice. "Ezra? Buck? Do we need to watch our backs?"

Buck raised his eyes to meet Larabee's. "We got a group, including their leader. Guy named Dressler. Their bodies are back up the river." He jerked his jaw over his shoulder and then winced as the slight wound on his neck was pulled.

Nathan saw the reaction and moved in.

"JD, Vin, head on upstream. Find those bodies. Watch for any others out there." Chris waited for them to get going. The younger men sketched out short, two-fingered salutes, and with final smiles for their newly found friends, moved out in quick step. Turning to Sanchez, who was already at Jackson's side, ready to help, Larabee asked, "Josiah, can the Huey land here?"

Sanchez didn't even have to look around before shaking his head in the negative. "Nope, not enough level ground, hillsides are too steep. We'll have to go back to Clem's position."

Clem's voice interrupted at this point. "Hey, I can pick you all up with a dropdown line or two."

Larabee considered this briefly and tipped his head toward Nathan who was now crouched on the ground beside Ezra's ankle. Nathan seemed to feel the attention and looked up. He shook his head negatively. "Be better if we just carry Ezra out."

With a nod, Larabee spoke into his mike. "Thanks, Clem, but Nate thinks we can hike out so stay at your position."

"Roger that." Fortnight's resigned voice prompted smiles from Sanchez and Larabee.

Then, Chris and Josiah stood and waited. Jackson had gotten Ezra onto the ground so he could take a better look at the ankle and Standish was sitting there quietly, answering questions in a low voice. Buck dropped to the ground beside him, as if unable to be separated by any appreciable distance. He still had one hand on Ezra's nearest shoulder.

When Nathan finished gently probing the badly swollen ankle, he spoke directly to Larabee. "It's not broken, but it is badly sprained. He won't be putting any weight on it for some time."

With a pat at Ezra's knee, Jackson leaned up to lightly push Buck's jaw skyward. The tiny river valley, nearly a canyon, was now getting sunlight and he could see dark bruising spreading from beneath some primitive bandaging. He made no comment on the cloth tied around Buck's head but carefully untied it and let it fall away so he could peel off a pad and poultice that he found beneath.

Nathan held the poultice cupped in one hand, pushing away his curiosity firmly, and squinted at the torn flesh under Buck's jaw. There was no swelling or redness here, none of the infection he would have expected. In fact, he could see that it was already scarring over, a narrow groove showing where the bullet had blazed a trail. Stitches would take care of properly aligning flesh and prevent the scar from becoming permanent. He looked closely but didn't touch.

Pulling some first aid medications from his satchel and a large self-adhesive bandage, Nathan quickly applied them, leaving Buck free of the now unnecessary extra cloth bandages. He stared into those bright, dark blue eyes and they seemed clear, pupils even. "Needs a few stitches, but there's no sign of infection." He glanced at Ezra who was watching with concentration. "You did a good job, Ez." Then he lifted the fascinating poultice. "What did you use? For that matter, I didn't even know that you knew any herbal medicine." Jackson's last words were more a second question than a statement.

Ezra, reassured that Buck was alright, sagged back against Buck's strong arm that had magically reappeared at his shoulders. "I have no idea what's in that green mess." He shrugged lightly, fitting himself more closely to Buck, and folded his hands over his stomach. "Henry did that."

Puzzled, Nathan poked at the fibrous mat in his hand, while Josiah's and Chris' eyes met across the tops of their three friends' heads. "Henry?" Josiah mouthed to Chris.

"Ezra." Chris hunkered down on his heels to meet Standish's eyes levelly, "Who the hell is this 'Henry'?"

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