Certainty
Setcheti's answer to the November M7 challenge

Disclaimer: They are owned but not by me, and Mog created the ATF universe. The first part(in italics) is the challenge itself as written by Bernadette.

Ezra Standish pressed the gun harder against the suspect's left temple. An evil smile crossed his features as he pulled the trigger. He knew the chamber was empty, he had checked it himself.

The sound of a gunshot exploded around the room. Blood splattered across Ezra's face. He stood in shock, staring down at the man he had just killed.

"Ezra!" Vin yelled at him, "What in the hell have you done?"

Ezra woke with a start, wondering if he'd screamed. No way to tell, unfortunately. Trembling, he sat up slowly and pulled his comforter tightly around him - not that it helped, this chill came from inside. Every time he tried to close his eyes it was the same thing; the certainty, the gunshot…the blood.

He was a murderer. He had killed a man in cold blood. He had smiled while he did it.

No, not a murderer; a monster. He, Ezra Standish, was a monster.

He reached out a shaking hand for the bottle next to the bed and drained what was left of the contents. The numbing effect of the alcohol had ceased more than a day ago but he hoped that if he persisted it might return. Putting the bottle back down he next picked up the gun that lay beside it and peered down the barrel. Nothing. With a sigh, he put the gun back down too; two days ago he'd know what it was he was hoping to see when he did that but now it was just something he had to do from time to time. It would come back to him eventually, he knew it would. Wrapping the comforter tighter around him, he climbed unsteadily out of the disordered bed and stumbled into the living room to finish the cycle. One gun on the coffee table…nothing. The next on top of the television…still nothing. The one on the bar…he thought he saw a flicker of something in the inky depths, but it wasn't there when he looked again. The assault rifle on the entryway table was harder to look into but in the end yielded no results either.

Crawling back into bed he turned to the opposite side and picked up his derringer, the tiny little weapon that had saved his life so many times. Still nothing…but maybe he wasn't giving it enough time. Ezra shifted around until he was reasonably comfortable and then carefully placed the small gun across from him on the pillow so he had an unimpeded view up its narrow chamber. He would be patient, it would come to him - of that he was certain.

* * * * * * *

Chris eased open the front door of the condo, not sure what he was going to find. This was a nightmare, an absolute disaster; Ezra had been on his own for three days, believing…the first thing his eyes fell on was an assault rifle lying haphazardly on the hall table and his heart almost stopped. "Stay behind me," he warned the other men. "I know this isn't the only one he's got. Ezra?! Ezra, it's Chris; I'm comin' in, all right?"

No answer. Larabee cautiously made his way down the short entryway and into the living room and stopped dead. "Oh shit."

Vin edged around him and took in the situation at a glance, then moved further into the room and picked up the nearest gun. "Loaded," he said grimly after a quick check of the clip. "Have a feelin' all of 'em are."

"Have a feelin' our brother might be as well," Josiah added, raising an empty bottle; his expression said he hoped drunk was the worst condition they would find Ezra in. "Bedroom?"

Nathan made a move in that direction but Buck stopped him; Chris squared his shoulders before approaching the half-open door. "Ezra? You in there?" He pushed the door the rest of the way open…

It was a sight no one was going to be able to forget for a long, long time; Ezra was curled up on his bed, asleep or unconscious no one could have told, with one slender hand resting on the pillow in front of him cradling the small gun that was aimed right between his closed eyes.

For a few horrified seconds no one so much as breathed, and then the six men shook off their shocked paralysis and leapt into action. Chris was at the undercover agent's side in a heartbeat, easing the little derringer out of lax fingers and gingerly handing it to Vin as Nathan carefully rolled Ezra onto his back and began the laborious process of untangling him from his blanket. Buck took JD back to the living room to gather up the rest of the weaponry and Josiah disappeared into the bathroom. "Yep, there it is," Nathan said heavily once he had the Southerner's right arm and shoulder uncovered. "Bullet grazed him on its way past, just like the M.E. said." He poked gingerly at the reddened, swollen skin around the slightly oozing gash. "It's infected but not too bad, we could probably just take him…"

"No." Three voices in chorus and Nathan started slightly. "Ain't takin' him nowhere," Vin said darkly. "Last thing he needs right now is a bunch of medical bastards pokin' at him."

"Vin is right," Josiah agreed, settling himself on the other side of the bed and gently wiping his unconscious friend's flushed face with the washcloth he'd gotten from the bathroom. "They'd want to admit him and that would be the worst thing that could happen - for a lot of reasons."

"We'll deal with this mess ourselves," Chris said firmly, with a nod for the profiler. "It never would have gotten this far in the first place if you boys hadn't turned on him like a pack of wild dogs after the shooting."

Nathan winced but stuck to his guns. "But he needs medical attention…"

"Then I guess it's a good thing you're a medic," was the clipped reply. "And you just said it wasn't too bad. Go find what you need, I'm sure he has all the supplies on hand." Nathan left reluctantly and Chris sent Vin after him with a jerk of his head and a terse warning. "Make sure his cell phone stays in his pocket." As soon as both men were well away, the team leader looked at his profiler with all the worry he was feeling plain in his face. "Well?"

Josiah sighed. "I don't know, Chris; I'd say right now we're just lucky he didn't…" He saw the look on the other man's face and stopped. "Problem is, once he wakes up we're going to have to unseat the new image of himself he's had three days to perfect."

"The image of a man who stands there with a smile on his face and blows somebody's brains out," Chris said heavily. "In front of two of his best friends, no less. But Josiah, he has to know he unloaded the gun!"

"I'm sure he was certain did - three days ago," the profiler said grimly. "But no one at the scene believed him and none of us checked with him afterwards to hear his side of the story, so as far as he knows he not only screwed up somehow and murdered a man but all of his so-called friends have turned their backs on him. I'll be honest with you, Chris, we could still lose him over this."

"We are not going to lose him!" Chris insisted, but it sounded hollow even to his ears. Still, he wasn't giving up on Ezra that easily. "All right, here's what we do," he said, running a hand through his short blond hair. "Ez isn't normally a heavy drinker, he's gonna be out for a while. We clean this place up, erase every trace of the last three days…"

Josiah frowned. "You can't erase what happened."

"I don't intend to try. But he's gonna have all he can deal with right in here," he stroked a lock of lank hair off Ezra's forehead. "And I want to make things as easy as I can for him."

The frown didn't go away. "It's not your fault, Chris."

"I know that." And he did. "But he's one of my men and that makes it my responsibility. And I'll tell you something else." The anger Larabee had been repressing since they'd driven up to the condo flooded back into his face and voice. "This is the last time Travis splits up the team. I don't care what the self-aggrandizing bastard says or does, we are not taking a chance on something like this happening again."

A whimper startled him; Ezra was awake and looking up at him with wide, horrified eyes. Chris decided just to play it straight. "Judge Travis, Ezra, not you."

Ezra just blinked. Then he shook his head and pushed himself upright, pulling the comforter back around his shoulders. Ignoring the two men like they weren't even there, he first reached for the empty bottle by the bed and shook it as though verifying that there was nothing left. Then he put the bottle down and reached for the gun…

The gun wasn't there. A look of alarm flooded his features as he began to search the nightstand, the bed and the floor for the missing weapon. Finally Josiah couldn't take it anymore and caught Ezra by the shoulders, stopping his increasingly frantic search. "Take it easy, son."

The undercover agent looked up at him wildly. "I have to find it! I have to look!"

Josiah kept his voice soothing but didn't loosen his hold. "Have to look for what, Ezra?"

The younger man's face fell. "I can't remember," he slurred dejectedly. "But if I keep looking it will…it will come to me."

Chris was mystified but the profiler nodded sadly. "Son," he said softly, lifting one large hand to cup Ezra's stubbled cheek. "You already found it, a few days ago."

"I did?" Bloodshot eyes widened. "Are you certain?"

"Positive. Now go back to sleep, you don't have to look any more."

To Larabee's surprise, Ezra lay back down and did just that with a soft sigh that sounded almost relieved. "Josiah?" Chris whispered. "What was he…?"

"He was looking for his courage." Josiah was stroking Ezra's hair and didn't look at Chris; what he had seen in the undercover agent's eyes had shaken him to the core. "He wanted to punish himself in kind for what he thought he did to that man at the warehouse."

Chris still didn't understand. "But he didn't go through with it."

"No." Josiah sighed and shook his head. "Because he found his courage the first time."

"He chose to live with it, Cowboy," Vin explained quietly from the doorway. He slipped back into the room and stood looking down at the man he had accused of doing something unthinkable three days ago. "Even knowin' he was all alone, that none of us were standin' by him…he still chose to live with it." The sharpshooter's face reflected a strange mixture of guilt and awe. "Don't think I've ever met nobody that brave before."

"Or that stubborn," Josiah agreed. "I think we disrupted his routine; wake up, take a drink, then go look in every gun in the house to see if he could remember why he looked down the barrel of his gun the first time. He was determined to find the answer again, he's probably been at it for days."

That thought actually made Chris shudder - and made him even more determined to clear all traces of the last three days from the condo. Vin, as usual, read his mind. "Buck and JD are cleaning up - and they unloaded all the guns before they put them away and hid the bullets. I started some coffee."

"Thanks." Larabee looked around the bedroom and then back at the man in the bed. "All right, let's the three of us get this room squared away; he's gonna be sick as a dog when he comes out of this, best to be prepared."

* * * * * * *

Ezra woke up in Hell; his head was pounding, his stomach felt like there was something inside it trying to claw its way out and there appeared to be no part of his body that didn't ache. Even his hair hurt. A rustle nearby assaulted his ears and made him groan, which action in turn sent a signal to his stomach to eject whatever was inside. He all but threw himself to the side of the bed, sending a shockwave of fresh agony rippling through his head.

When the heaves had eased somewhat he abruptly realized that strong arms were supporting him and warm, gentle hands were holding his head over a receptacle of some sort, and when he was finished those hands removed it and came back with a warm wet cloth to carefully clean him up before helping settle him back onto his pillow. Ezra was far too miserable to consider fighting them, even when they gently forced him to drink some warm and faintly mint-tasting water that surprisingly enough seemed to settle his aggrieved stomach. He tried to pry his eyes open to have a look but the cloth came back and covered them. "You just take it easy, son," Josiah's deep voice rumbled soothingly. "No need to be in a hurry about anything."

A thought surfaced like a fish coming up for air. "Need to look…" It submerged again, swimming away from him. "There was something…"

"There was five bottles of liquor in three days, is what there was," Chris' voice said quietly. The hand that was still on his shoulder tightened its grip. "Next time leave the hard drinking to the expert, okay?"

"You'll…get no argument from me," the undercover agent groaned faintly. He raised a shaking hand to his aching head. "Three days? Was I…suspended?"

There was a pregnant pause, and then Chris said softly, "No, Ez, you weren't suspended. You just…"

"Removed yourself from the situation," Josiah finished when Larabee faltered. "Do you remember what happened, Ezra?"

He tried to think but it hurt so he stopped. "No…how did I screw up?"

"You didn't screw up!" Chris corrected sharply, and then felt immediately guilty when Ezra flinched and groaned at the increased volume. "Sorry. But you didn't do anything wrong."

Thoughts were swimming close to the surface again; Ezra frowned. "Then why…" He sat bolt upright and screamed as the memories broke through. Certainty, gunshot…blood. "NO!" Falling back onto the bed, the Southerner curled himself into a tight little ball, burrowing under the blankets. Ezra what in the hell have you done?! "Nonononono…"

The despairing wail brought the other men crashing in from the living room and at the same time froze them in the doorway - all except Vin. The sharpshooter hurried to the bed and pushed Chris out of the way. "No, you let me handle this!" he insisted when the older man would have protested. "I'm the one what started it in the first place by shootin' off my mouth before I knew what was goin' on. Now all of you just get out and let me and Ez have a few minutes."

"He's right," Josiah agreed abruptly, surprising everyone and standing up himself. "Everyone out; the fewer people in here the better. Vin, you yell if you need us."

Vin nodded his thanks and watched the profiler herd the others back out of the room, shutting the door behind him; only then did he touch the trembling form hiding under the blankets. "Ez," he said softly. "It's just you an' me now, no one else. You come on out, I got somethin' to say."

The blankets moved, shifted. "Ah believe it's all been said, Mr. Tanner," was the hoarse reply.

"No, it ain't," Vin insisted. "Because I ain't said I'm sorry yet, and I ain't asked if you can forgive me for what happened at the warehouse."

For a moment, silence. Then Ezra scooted out from under the blankets and back against the headboard, squinting as the dim light assaulted his bloodshot eyes. He drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them self-protectively. "Why would you need to say such a thing?" he asked. "I was the one who…who murdered that man through my own carelessness…"

"You weren't careless," Vin interrupted firmly. "You unloaded the gun, Ez, you know you did."

"I thought I did." The undercover agent shuddered and dropped his head with a choked sob. "I really thought I did, Vin."

"You did." Vin scooted closer and grasped the smaller man's shoulders, forcing his head back up so he could look into haunted, tear-filled green eyes. "Ezra, it wasn't your bullet. You know I wouldn't lie about somethin' like this. The shooter was behind you, in the boxes somewhere; his bullet nicked you on its way past, even." He moved one hand over the neat bandage and squeezed gently, eliciting a small, surprised gasp of pain. "See? So if it was anyone's fault, it was mine and Nate's; we were supposed to be watchin' your back and we did a piss-poor job of it." He sighed. "Don't rightly know how to tell you how sorry I am; I almost let you get killed and then I blamed you for not bein' in the way of the bullet. I don't know how you can ever trust me again after this."

Ezra unwound a little from his defensive curl; one shaking hand tentatively reached out to grasp Vin's arm and sudden concern flooded his face. His voice was almost plaintive. "I trust you. You just…made a mistake."

Vin snorted lightly. "That was one hell of a mistake, then, Ez - don't think a man's entitled to more than one like that in his lifetime."

The Southerner uncurled a little more and shook his head. "I would have reacted the same, had the situation been reversed."

"No, you wouldn't have," Vin contradicted. "Ain't never yet seen you jump to conclusions or go off half-cocked, you always get your facts first."

"I didn't this time." Ezra started to fold in on himself again. "I just…'ran like a scalded dog', to borrow an expression from Mr. Wilmington…"

"Whoa there, pard." It came out sharper and louder than he'd intended and Ezra flinched; Vin flinched too, in sympathy. "God dammit, what the hell do you expect of yourself, huh?" he asked, lowering his voice. "I tell you, the day somethin' like this happens and you don't react the way you did…well, you won't be the man I'm proud to call my friend." He forced the other man's head back up again so he could look him in the eye. "And Ez, I am damn proud to be your friend."

Green eyes searched his face in disbelief, looking for a sign that the younger man was dissembling and not finding it; what he saw instead was heartfelt remorse and honest concern. It proved to be the death blow to emotional defenses already shaky from prolonged shock and the mother of all hangovers, and he found himself unable to resist when Vin pulled him into a tight hug. Tears welled up and poured out of him in a hot wave as Ezra surrendered himself to the comfort his friend was offering. Safe, reassured, no longer alone, the memory of what had happened washed back over him and he accepted it. The gunshot, the blood…

…the certainty; he knew the chamber had been empty, he'd checked it himself.

-30-