DISCLAIMER: NOT mine. Belong to Trilogy/Mirsch/MGM/TNN/CBS or some such variation. Don't worry, lawyer boys, I ain't about to profit off of *this* little piece of homage. :)
NOTES: I gave up on the beta-er everybody!! :) She's gonna shoot me when she finds out I posted, but oh well. I've been sayin long enough that this fic existed, I figure'd it was time to prove it. 0=c) Thanks go to Chris fer her first round of beta and the bug that made me write this. :) She's not given me the final go ahead yet, but ooopss... 0=c) Oh and just in case someone's keeping track, this is mostly an Ezra thing.
RATING: PG - if that. occasional language

Feedback appreciated ~ Vonilyn

It was not surprising to discover that everything had gone wrong. Ezra had known from the onset that things would go terribly awry. The deck had very clearly been stacked against them, but as was his usual, Chris God Almighty Larabee had made up his mind. There would be no turning back for the team.

And now three of their number were paying for their carelessness. Paying dearly. Ezra surveyed his bleak surroundings once again. Looking back on the events that had transpired since they'd begun their mission of the day before, he found the irony striking that he'd become a prisoner while holding one. But that prisoner had disappeared somewhere amid the ambush, hurriedly escorted back to the safety of Four Corners by three of the town's protectors. Nathan Jackson had accompanied Josiah immediately after the first shots had been fired, charging their horses and prisoner, hell bent for leather back to town under the cover fire Ezra assisted in laying out. Buck had followed soon after; noticing that one of their attackers had taken up pursuit of his team members.

Ezra remembered vividly the chaos that ensued upon Mr. Wilmington's retreat, though he had yet to figure out how on Earth it had been so successful. He winced as the memory resurfaced yet again, as it had more than a dozen times since he'd regained his senses.

Young Mr. Dunne had been the first to be hit, a frightening shot that hit too near the head for Standish's liking. Vin Tanner had seen the boy stumble, calling out from his position across the small clearing of rocks, "Ya still with us, JD?" his voice more frantic than Ezra had ever heard. He remembered the look of anger that had crossed Chris Larabee's face as Ezra had dropped back to check on the boy. Ezra knew the anger was not directed at him, but at the bastards who had tried to take out the youngest member of the small team of protectors. At some point, bullets still flying from both sides of the narrow valley they'd taken cover in, Ezra realized Tanner had joined him in trying to rouse Mr. Dunne. Vin had taken a protective position between the attackers and the prone man, allowing Ezra to carefully assist JD to a safer location, Tanner following, silent save for the occasional retaliatory gunfire. In practically no time at all, they had gotten to a shady grove, protected by numerous tall tree trunks and dangerously steep ditches.

And within seconds, they'd found themselves separated from Chris' scowling continence by a group of men, easily twice the size of their original number. They'd come from nowhere at all, just appeared into the spaces surrounding the three lawmen. JD, who was hardly coherent, let out a blind shout for Chris in an attempt to warn him. After a nod from a worn looking Vin, Ezra had gently silenced the boy. Despite the steady stream of blood that came from the grazing he'd taken to the left side of his head, JD turned wild, pain filled eyes to Ezra. It seemed as though the boy was asking why, asking for help. Ezra just looked away, his eyes darting all around them. Vin had been ordered to drop his weapon, and was in the process of resisting when Ezra suddenly stood up. "Gentlemen," he'd appealed, "I'm sure there's another way to handle this..."

His distraction had only been partially effective. He barely registered the rush of air he felt against his face as a bullet went streaking by. One of the men attempting to control Tanner cried out and slumped heavily against the sharpshooter. Alarmed, Vin struggled away from the dead man and out of the grasp of his compatriot. He dove for the cover of a large oak trunk before turning to look for the source of the gunfire. Ezra had taken to the ground, his small Derringer snapping out of it's hiding place. He could see Chris' black-clad form partially hidden behind a tree, mere feet away from where Vin was taking cover. A shadow edged nearer to Chris' location, but the gunfighter didn't make a move. Their leader had seen Vin nearby and was doing his level best not to endanger his men further. His eyes were too focused on what lay ahead of him to care what was lurking behind him.

Ezra had opened his mouth to warn him, but he heard the cocking of a pistol near his ear and froze. Slowly, Ezra looked away from Chris' predicament to see the still smoking barrel scarce inches from his temple. Vin, too, was on the business end of someone's riffle, his head dropped back against the tree trunk, recognizing that he'd been beat. Neither of them had noticed as Larabee's large and silent assailant crept up from behind, taking a small log to the back of the man's head. A moment later, the pistol-bearing man behind Ezra roughly requested that he put down his weapons. Ezra had complied, careful not to make any surprising movements that might earn him a bullet to the brain.

"Go get theirs too. All of 'em. Make a pile, right there where you put yers," the voice ordered. The pistol stayed trained on Ezra's head as he reached over to collect JD's various weaponry. He'd then had to stand up in order to get to Vin. Tanner'd watched him closely, resignedly handing Ezra the mare's leg and a pistol. Ezra grimaced, but reached out and dug into Vin's jacket to retrieve the second, concealable weapon Ezra knew he carried. Vin glared at him for it, but the look soon faded. They both knew Ezra was 'forgetting' the switchblade Vin kept in his boot. Standish had noticed blood on his hand when he'd drawn the short-range pistol out. He shot a questioning glance at Vin then, but the other man quickly looked away.

Their guns thusly taken care of, the imposing group of ten rounded up Ezra, Vin, and JD. Chris was left behind, unconscious and therefore unable to walk. JD required assistance, but between Vin and Ezra, he'd managed to make the long daytime trek through the heat and sun to their current location. Ezra didn't know where they were, and the tracker- the only one who could possibly have any knowledge on the subject - had passed out too quickly once they'd been allowed to sit down within the confines of their new prison. Standish recognized that while it was far better than being half dragged by tethers and hedged on all sides by stomping horse hooves, it was too close confines for the usually claustrophobic Mr. Tanner. Ezra suspected that blood loss and possibly heat stroke had helped the man into the release of oblivion.

JD, too, had collapsed nearly the moment they'd stepped through the doorway. If it could be called a doorway. Their new lodgings resembled a horse stall, hay and straw covering the ground on which they sat. A barred window near the sliding wall they'd entered through offered Ezra a limited view of a very dark and crumbling barn.

Ezra had eventually succumbed to his own exhaustion that first night. His bound arms ached from the restraining way he'd been forced to sleep and he resolved that as soon as one of the others woke up, he'd be free of the thick ropes. While Vin and JD slept silently on that morning, Ezra had loosened their bindings, and then set to work on his own. All the while, his mind keeping itself busy by replaying the previous day's fiasco.

"Hey," the soft voice of Vin Tanner was quieter, harsher than usual as he tried talking his own mind into awareness. He'd been fading in and out for a few minutes, waking to the sight of Ezra Standish comically trying to work loose the ropes around his wrists. Ezra jumped slightly at the voice, looking automatically to the window above the still snoring JD.

"Oh. Well, good morning, Mr. Tanner," Ezra replied, shaking his head and mentally cursing his own reactions. Vin nodded sleepily and tried pushing himself into a sitting position, away from the dirt and straw. He winced at the searing pain that shot through his side, but he managed to prop himself up against the wall. He soon found that his hands could nearly slip right out of the confining ropes, and he had to fight the urge to shake them free. He wouldn't want to arouse suspicion if someone came by to check on them.

"How's the kid?" he questioned. If Ezra had been able to get around to loosen the ropes, he must have checked up on them while he'd been at it. The man would probably never admit to it directly, Vin knew, but he would have done it, all the same. Ezra glanced up only briefly from his hands, his gaze resting on JD for a few seconds before returning to his work. "Mr. Dunne has yet to awaken, and I daresay we won't know how he truly fares until then."

Vin shrugged. The man had a point. He shifted around until he could comfortably reach his ankle. He felt out the cool metal edging of the switchblade and pulled it out from his boot. Tanner flicked it open and stared at it despondently for a moment, tilting it and twisting to allow the light to catch the silver. He carefully closed it up again, both hands closing on the worn wood and preparing to toss it over to Ezra.

"Here. Me'be this'll help," he offered. Ezra looked up in time to see the knife hit the ground and slide over the straw the few inches before it hit his knee. He nodded his thanks and scooped it up. Vin turned his attention to his aching side, slowly trying to peel away the layers of clothing with two joined hands. Eventually, he gave up and tugged the rope off one wrist.

"Damn," he muttered, noting the large red stain that started just below his rib cage and soaked through his white undershirt all the way down to his jeans. Ezra heard the oath and finished cutting through one of the ropes before looking to see what the new problem was. "How did you acquire that particular injury, Mr. Tanner?" Ezra questioned. He doubled his efforts on his ropes and had them gone in another minute.

"One'a the sonsabitches from yesterday. When you were tendin' JD at the fight? Well, the one Chris'd shot had a knife. Surprised the hell outta me," Vin admitted, hissing as he tried pulling the end of his shirt free from his pants to better inspect the wound. Standish watched him fight it for a minute before giving in.

"That is most likely the reason behind his early demise," Ezra pointed out. Vin nodded, clenching his teeth as he pulled carefully on the stuck clothing. He didn't really need reminding that Chris was so protective of him, of them all. If Chris was still alive back there, they both knew that he'd be chomping at the bit to get the men responsible for their current situation. Neither man wanted to even think about the health of their former prisoner at the moment. Chris Larabee wasn't a cruel man, but he was a hard man, and if he thought that the thieving Jimmie Roberts knew something about the location of his team, he'd lay in hard. But hopefully not as hard as he had on Vin's attacker.

Ezra sighed and slid closer to help. Opening the switchblade, he handed it to Vin and offered to hold his jackets out of the way. Vin accepted with a nod and sliced away at the offending material covering his wound. Vin's aggressor had taken a broad swipe at him, grazing his rib cage and leaving an angry gash down his side. Neither man was too knowledgeable on injuries, but they’d seen enough of their own to know when one was infected.

"Clean cut. And I'm not bleeding so much no more," he mumbled. He tore a large strip off the bottom of his shirt and began devising a rough dressing for it. Ezra nodded, watching patiently.

"I apologize for not being of any true assistance, but I am not Mr. Jackson, nor will I pretend to have even a fraction of his medical knowledge. What little I do know, I've already put into action, though it most likely is not near enough to be effective," he replied, turning his head to look at JD across the room. Vin followed his gaze and noticed for the first time that Ezra's jacket was under the young man's head for a pillow and a white strip of cotton had been tied 'round to staunch the bleeding. Standish must be freezing in his remaining silk shirt. Vin shook his head.

"Nah, ya done fine. Nathan'd do the same," he grunted, holding the thickest fold of his cut-up shirt against his ribs. Ezra looked doubtful and slowly let Tanner's clothes settle back into place, moving himself back to his far wall facing the door. The disinterested mask Standish was so good at wearing fell back into place automatically. Vin frowned, but let it go.

"Why're we still here?" he wondered. He'd half expected to wake up dead when he'd passed out the night before. Ezra's face remained impassive as he worked free of the last of the rope. He rubbed gently at his sore, chaffed wrists.

"I'd imagine they're awaiting word on the fate of their teammate."

Vin let out a low whistle. "All them guys for just Jimmie. That just don't seem smart."

Ezra nodded in agreement. He knew little about their captors, but he did know that they had started the previous day with at least ten more men than they had finished with. However, when he remembered the reason Judge Travis had wanted Mr. Roberts moved out to Tombstone so quickly, he began to see possibly why so many would be willing to risk their lives to save the scrawny miscreant from his jail time.

Jimmie Roberts was a talker and a storyteller. He had sold the judge on the idea that he knew enough to turn States Evidence against 'someone'. But to the best of Ezra's knowledge, part of the man's deal would be to keep his mouth shut until he was cleared of all charges. Only *then* would the Judge know just who and what. The Judge hadn't been too happy with it, to say the least. So he’d enlisted the Seven to drag Roberts' sorry hide to Tombstone to see if they could scare the information out of him. If not, his information be damned, he'd be moving on up to Yuma.

But somehow, their plans slipped to the loud-mouthed Roberts and before noon the next day most of the town had known. By that time, Ezra had warned Chris against going. He'd heard Roberts' tales of the twenty or so men Ezra now found himself surrounded by, and while he'd readily admit that Jimmie liked to hear himself talk, he did not believe the man to be a liar. They were a highly trained unit, militaristic on some points. Standish had more than a few qualms over the idea of crossing them. He did not want to risk his life for the likes of Jimmie Roberts. Larabee, however, could not justify waiting longer, as their plans would then be given time to leak out again, perhaps giving whoever they might come across more time to plan.

Ezra let out a scoff, oblivious to the look it earned him from Vin. While their scheduled leaving may have prevented a repeat newsbreak, it certainly hadn't ensured their safety. Standish was cold, tired, sore and hungry. Tanner was injured, but had yet to bemoan that fact, so Ezra stubbornly kept his mouth shut as well. JD... well, it'd be a blessing if the boy woke up long enough to complain.

But the longer Ezra sat there in silence, the angrier he got. Angry at Chris, angry at Roberts, and angry with himself for having walked so willingly into the situation when he'd known from the start it would not go his way. Hell, he was angry at his damn horse for not having thrown him across the livery yard when he'd mounted up the previous morning. He'd rather be confined to his room with a vexed Nathan Jackson standing guard outside than confined here in this drafty cell. He'd rather be anywhere but here, with the two men Larabee looked out for so stubbornly.

Ezra knew his position was still on shaky ground with practically the whole team. He'd seen the looks on more than a few occasions, the looks that wondered when the Southerner was going to take off. The looks that asked why he' not left already, the ones that begged to know if he could be trusted with some trivial piece of information. Looks he'd hardly seen on the faces of the two men sitting near him now. It would of course be the people who seemed to have some semblance of trust in him who would be taken along with him. They couldn't possibly have been left with Chris and the others, to stand up for him whenever someone voiced concern over where his loyalties lay.

And Ezra knew that somewhere, right now, one of the team was wondering if perhaps their resident gambler had turned on them. They'd seen him question Larabee's judgment that night at the jail, they'd heard him suggest they wait, suggest they send out someone to check the route first. Now in hindsight, those suggestions that could have possibly saved a few lives would seem like nothing more than a successful con job to a suspicious mind. And of the seven men Ezra called his friends, he knew that the most suspicious minds had been left behind. If something were to happen to either one of his current companions, Ezra knew where the blame would ultimately be placed.

"Ezra," Vin's voice sounded almost far away, but succeeded in snapping Standish back to reality again. Ezra was surprised to have to look down to the tracker, his mind not registering the fact that somewhere along the way, he'd stood up and begun pacing the breadth of his wall. "Cut it out an' hush," Tanner whispered hurriedly, "Sounds like someone's comin'."

Ezra's eyes widened. He quickly crossed to the window, careful not to step on the still unconscious JD. He peeked his head out between the bars and saw two men coming toward them. It looked as though one of them was carrying a tray of some sort.

"Two someones, Mr. Tanner," he supplied, moving to a place against the wall where he could better see them without having JD constantly underfoot. He watched the two men approach, the one not carrying anything brandishing a set of keys and swinging open their cell door. Ezra stood up from where he'd been leaning against the wall and moved to intercept them. The man with the keys threateningly waved a gun around.

"Back off," he warned, "Or you and your friends don't eat." Ezra obliged automatically, his own need for sustenance clueing him in to the fact that none of them had eaten in perhaps a day and a half and that at least Vin would be in an even more drastic need of the nourishment. JD's serving would obviously have to wait a little longer, but he saw no reason to stall his or Vin's share. The tray was set down just inside the door.

What Ezra had thought was a tray was really a long, shallow crate. In it were stacked three small canteens and a single cloth sack. Ezra swore he could smell steak. At first he thought he was imagining things, but even Tanner had assumed a wide-eyed expression of surprise. Ezra stared from the offered food to the men who had brought it.

"Now, ya'll behave yourselves and you'll more than likely live long enough to see next week," the gunman at the door laughed before shutting the door again. A lock was heard being set into place, then the two sets of footsteps began echoing down the corridor away from them. Ezra had just opened his mouth to comment on the apparent level of treatment they were suddenly receiving when a quiet voice from the barn corridor caught his attention.

"Whaddya say that for, Crane?" the voice asked. Vin looked up at Ezra in alarm; it must have been the kid who'd brought in the food.

"Say what?" the gun-wielding gentleman replied.

"About them living to see next week. You said before that ain't up to how they behave or don't," the kid pointed out.

"We'll know in four hours, kid," Crane answered easily. He went on talking, but there was a loud crashing sound following the words, and neither Ezra nor Vin could make out what he said beyond that. Their best guess was that they'd just been locked in by yet another, much larger barn door, which had been what had muffled the others' voices.

"Four hours?" Vin wondered, baiting the line. Ezra crouched down and began investigating the contents of the crate further. "Ya think that's when they're expectin' to get ta Jimmie next? No way Chris'd try moving him this soon. Specially when he's three men short," the tracker went on, watching as Ezra uncovered a plate of sliced, warm steak roast.

"That's assuming Mr. Larabee's still alive," Ezra muttered quietly. His mind flashed on the sight of Larabee falling under the blow of the log and he quickly shook it away. Vin too shook his head, but not as if clearing away memories.

"Nah, Chris' still alive and well, same as you an' me, Ez," Vin asserted, "He's too stubborn to die."

Ezra offered him a piece of meat and Vin took it, examining it closely before biting in to it. "'Sides," he added, quieter and almost imperceptibly less certain, "I'd know if he'd gone."

Ezra just frowned, not even tempted to argue Tanner's logic.

"At any rate, Mr. Tanner, I do not believe they were referring to a second attempt at forcefully retrieving Mr. Roberts. After their rather substantial loss of yesterday, such action would be too costly, and they'd most likely see it as unnecessary at the moment, regardless."

Vin glanced up at him, mid-chew. Ezra tore off small pieces of the meat, the closest distraction he could get to playing with his food.

"Yeah, I was afraid you were thinkin' the same as me," Vin finally muttered, throwing in a curse. He finished off his second piece and scooped up a canteen. Ezra just retied the bag to keep in some of the food's remaining heat and placed it near JD in the vague hope that maybe the smell would get him up. It was a vague hope, but it was basically the only thing he knew of that he'd not been able to try yet. Something had to work.

---

It had been one of the longest four hours of his life, and yet looking back on it, it seemed that the minutes all blurred together making it the shortest. Then the four hours stretched into five and sunlight no longer seeped in to cast it's shadows, taking away the only clock they had. The small cell had gotten darker again, and Ezra began to miss his coat in earnest as the temperature plummeted.

Then, quite suddenly, Ezra realized that their fates were about to be decided. The big barn door outside was slammed open. Expecting to see the two men from earlier, Ezra stood up once again and went to the window. Vin began to stand up as well, noting the shocked look that had briefly crossed Ezra's features in the moving lamplight that came from the barred window. Ezra shook his head quickly as he spied what Tanner was doing. He held up a hand, all five fingers extended. 'Five men.' he told him wordlessly. Vin just nodded and tried to stand up again. Ezra paled. The five men approaching did not have the most pleasant air about them; he was sure they did not bring good news. And Ezra knew from personal experience that when five angry men with bad news came to visit, the best plan was to draw as little attention to yourself as possible.

Vin could hardly make it to his feet without suffering a crippling amount of pain, between the gash in his side and the blood loss, but he managed to stand, using the wall for support. He still favored the right side of his body, and had to lean on the wall with his left side, his back partly to the door. Ezra crossed to the center of the small room, watching the door and muttering,

"Damnit Mr. Tanner, you are in no condition to..."

The sharpshooter grinned wryly, "Shuddup, Ez. Yer beginin to sound like Nathan."

Just then the door to their cell opened. "Where are they?" a voice demanded. It was the man from earlier, Crane, his gun now holstered in favor of an archaic looking lamp. Four men stood behind him, effectively blocking the door.

"Where's who?" Vin returned easily, his face calm, his whole demeanor as unthreatening as he could make it. Ezra closed his eyes. 'Damnit Vin, why couldn't you have kept your mouth shut?' he thought briefly.

"You. Face me when I'm talking, boy," Crane ordered. Vin made his best attempt at it, but obviously wasn't fast enough for Mr. Crane's liking. Crane stepped forward and grabbed Vin's shoulder, forcing him around. Tanner grunted, but made no move to cradle his side again. Not for the first time, Ezra cursed pride. The tracker glowered down at the shorter Mr. Crane but said nothing. Ezra took advantage of the brief silence.

"Gentlemen, you've yet to tell us what this is all about," he pointed out, stepping shoulder to shoulder with Vin but intentionally looking at all five men, not just Crane. Not to be out done by some scraggly looking kid, Crane continued staring at Vin as he answered Ezra's polite demand.

"They ain't at the jail." His answer caused Vin to look over at Ezra, both their faces assuming convincing poker faces but each man knowing what must be going through the other's mind. Where had their team gone?

"We've got men posted along the trails to Tombstone and they ain't passed that way," Crane went on, a forced grin on his face as he too looked over at Ezra finally. "Got some folks who say they ain't even showed up to town since yesterday morning'. And there certainly ain't been no signs of my boys yet."

"Well, sir, I can assure you that we do not know where they would have taken Mr. Roberts. Our itinerary did not consist of back up routes to our eventual destination," Ezra replied, the first to recover from his surprise. Crane actually smiled now, what looked like mock sympathy on his face.

"Maybe yours didn't, Standish. But according to Jimmie, this one out ranks you among your little troop," Crane's glare returned to Vin. Ezra's ire grew as he realized the man knew his name, but his words stinging worse as he voiced something Ezra had always known, yet never chosen to admit to, let alone be forced to accept as they were thrown in his face so bluntly. Whoever Crane was, he was certainly well informed.

Tanner hid his own shock well, replying coolly, "Yer that ol' basterd JD tol' me he had to chase away from the winda' a coupl'a times."

Ezra winced as Crane's face reddened all the way to his ears. A moment later, Vin was hunched over and stumbling backward as the old man let loose a punch to the tracker's stomach. Ezra reached out to catch him, Vin accepting the help gratefully just long enough to remain on his feet.

"This ol' bastard ain't so old that he can't beat your scrawny Injin-luvin ass, boy. Whoop a good healthy respect into you," Crane replied, his voice calm, but too loud for the small room as it echoed back to him a few times. He smiled again, something singly unholy, as the angered Vin Tanner straightened up, his injured manner gone as the adrenaline kicked in.

Ezra wasn't fast enough to stop him. Tanner let fly a punch of his own, his fist coming back for a second round before Ezra got between them. In a flash, the other four men were involved. The first two through the door ran at Vin, hauling him to the nearest wall and pinning him there. Two more dragged Ezra away from Vin and outside. Before Ezra had time to truly realize what was going on, he found his arms held firmly behind him by one thug, the second trailing behind just in case he was needed.

Outside the barn, Ezra was surprised to note that it was windy and probably twice as cold as it had been inside. On hindsight, he realized that perhaps it wasn't really that big of a difference, that he really hadn't had time to judge. Almost as soon as they were through the doors, Ezra found himself facing a watering trough. Standish began struggling away from the two men holding him; he'd been here before, and had no desire to revisit that particular memory now.

Two sets of hands roughly turned him around to face them and Ezra tried to duck out of the way, trying to put distance between himself and the more than likely freezing, dirty water. No such luck. While one man corralled him near the water, the other caught his shoulder and pushed him slightly, setting him totally off balance. Then a quick punch to the jaw and it was all over for his dry clothing.