Into My Arms

Part 2

by foggynite

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"What?!"

"Excuse me?"

". . . Forgive me, Inez. Such a greeting was uncalled for."

"Yes, it was. Do they give agents special training for shouting?”

"With my esteemed colleagues constantly finding rather pitiful excuses to contact me these past few days, you should feel gratified I chose to pick up the receiver. However, from your tone I presume you were subjected to such harsh treatment before phoning me?"

"Buck has been quite. . . oh say, *rowdy* tonight. He and JD, as well as Senor Sanchez, were very interested in a game of darts- After having several beers, of course."

"And you're calling me because. . .?"

"Apparently, Team Three were more challenging targets than the wall board-"

"Do I want to hear this?"

"-and Danny Porter made a few offensive comments about one of their friends, who shall remain nameless, so they felt the need to defend their friend's honor by turning Senor Porter into a pin cushion, along with two of *his* friends."

"And you're telling me this. . .?"

"Nine days, Ezra. Nine days."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Nine days of moping and sighing and irritation. According to the rest of the boys, you've barely spoken to any of them since last Wednesday, you look like hell- which I wouldn't know, because you haven't been by the Saloon since then either- and when you do decide to join the land of the living, it's to snap and growl at any breathing thing in your area-"

"Inez-"

"Plus, your *friends* are worried crazy about you and mope about here like beaten puppies- Beaten puppies upset me, Ezra- And now they've gone and practically destroyed my bar, just 'releasing,' as Senor Larabee says, 'a little tension.' When I ask them why, no one will answer me. I think I have the right to know what the hell is going on!"

"My dear, please calm down. Shouting solves nothing."

"Maybe this time it will. No diversions, Ezra. No side tracking, no bullshit. Talk to me now, or wait for me to show up on your doorstep."

". . .It's not that easy, Inez."

"All you do is move your mouth and exhale, senor. People have been doing it for centuries."

"I seem to recall mentioning before that sarcasm is the recourse of a weak mind."

"What else do you 'recall' from that night?"

"I- never did thank you for the ride, did I? Do forgive my lack of manners."

"Forget the ride. I just want to know what's wrong, Ezra. I've heard so many rumors, mostly from Porter and his friends, but they can't all be true. I just want to know."

"It's nothing fit for a lady's ears. I can't in good conscience subject you to it."

"That’s an excuse and you know it."

"Just believe me when I say I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern."

"I wish I could believe you. Even Senor Larabee is worried, Ezra."

"Goodnight, Inez."

"Ezra-

"Errrr. Do they give special training for hanging up on people, too?"

**********************************

During the fifteenth century, a choir singer, Gregorio Allegri, composed 'Misere Mei' as an *abbellimenti* for the Papal Chapel in the Vatican. Since it was a 'secret ornamentation,' it was never transcribed in Allegri's lifetime, merely passed from choir to choir. Yet over a century after Allegri's death, his music was brought to the general populace when a fourteen-year old Mozart risked excommunication by copying it after only one audience at the Sistine Chapel.

Listening, Ezra could understand the mad composer's need to expose the world to such a beautiful, haunting masterpiece.

The first time he had heard the forbidden composition, he was eleven and in New York with his mother and her latest benefactor. An older gentleman who once played the viola, now with frail hands, he had a love for the choir and symphony on Friday nights. Ezra would always remember sitting next to him, the tired, worn face vaguely forgotten over time, but those hands in their white evening gloves would grip a silver knobbed cane and sit just so hushed yet straining towards the orchestra in anticipation of every note. The woven silk of his tuxedo was dark black, but the lights of the stage would cover his resting, quiet arm with a dull shimmer, like the young boys could spill on him part of their own vitality through the purity of their voices.

At times, the old man would press his monogrammed handkerchief to his lips for long moments, staring at the scene below with bright eyes. Ezra could remember the delicate bones shifting beneath his fingers as he shook the forgotten viola player's hand. Maude had moved on before those thin, gloved hands stilled completely, just like she always did, but it was through watching him, hearing him speak of his music with such passion, that Ezra began to cultivate his own appreciation for the finer things in life. His mother had always been obsessed with grandeur and wealth, but was decidedly lacking in a classical education. He supposed his own superior education was one thing he could be grateful to her for, even if her motives for sending him to the finest schools were questionable. But Ezra never had been able to share with her what he felt as he watched the musicians displayed before him in the bright lights, wondering just for a moment if he could make something so vibrant and tangible with his own hands one day.

Music just below blaring from his stereo, Ezra studied his hands as he shuffled a worn deck of cards. The vibration soothed him as he lost his thoughts in the rhythm of hand over hand over hand. A snifter of brandy sat untouched on the coffee table in front of his soft leather couch, just as it had every night for the past nine days. He had poured it with the desire to forget his life, really, but he had found himself wallowing in memories and regrets instead.

His life could have taken so many turns at any point in time. A musician, a fencer, a lawyer, a banker, a con man just like Maude. Instead he was here, in Denver Colorado, playing the hero. Only, he was no hero.

The obnoxious buzz of the doorbell cut through the music and his musings, so Ezra slowly got up to answer it, if only to tell whoever was visiting to go to hell. He wasn't surprised to see Inez leaning determinedly on the bell when he finally undid all the dead bolts. She seemed intent on wearing out the button if need be.

"Enough already," he growled as he yanked the door open. Unfazed by the hostility, Inez glided past him and into the living room with only an arched brow.

“I told you I was fine. There was no need for you to stop by.” He grumbled irritably as he followed her, stopping just behind his couch. Spinning round on him once she was far enough into the house he couldn't easily throw her out, Inez met his irritated eyes with a challenge of her own.

After a moment, her eyes wandered down as she scathingly took in his appearance, ready to take him to task. His worn t-shirt was wrinkled and untucked, his jeans old and frayed- she never even imagined him owning a pair of blue jeans in the first place- and his hair was all over the place. His eyes were blood shot and his complexion wan, as though he hadn’t been eating properly, which was most likely true. Concern for him made her relax her stance slightly.

"You look like shit."

"Now tell me how you really feel."

"Are you sure you want to know?"

He shook his head, frowning in frustration, and ran a pale hand through already disheveled hair. Had the situation not been so tense, she would have laughed at the uncharacteristic display of emotion.

After an awkward moment, he shifted back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest as he settled in to wait her out. His blazing green eyes bored into her face as he was stubbornly silent, buying himself time to formulate a plan.

"I'm not leaving." She broke the stand-off first, her chin proudly lifting a notch. Between the two of them, they could have stood there all night.

"Why not?" Ezra stared at her, mind rapidly trying to calculate her angle and coming up with very little behind her motivation. The guys probably hadn't sent her, not in the mood she was in, although they had been getting desperate lately. She seemed to genuinely care, but why go through all this trouble?

He was just another bar patron- a smart ass one at that- and yes, he was attracted to her, but neither seemed to be looking for a relationship. Although, she might just be using that as an excuse to deflect Buck's amorous advances (not that he blamed her). They had casual conversation now and then, nothing that would make them close friends no matter how much he liked talking to her (and if he kept telling himself that he would believe it). She was too proud to ever ask him for money or help, which he admired but cut short his list of motivations. She could be just as devious and clever as him at times, too, and that made him a bit nervous. Her sudden appearance had him confused and that annoyed him.

"As I said on the phone, senor, I want to know what the hell is going on. You've been a ghost for nearly two weeks." Her fiery temper was already short from his teammates' earlier antics, and now she was fed up with the entire situation. "Is it a crime to be worried about you? Chris is like a bear with a sore paw, Vin looks like someone shot his horse, JD hasn't told one- not one- bad joke, Nathan is hen-pecking everyone in sight. He was actually giving some of the regulars lectures on liver disease or something equally gross. Josiah's almost started three brawls, which I could barely believe. And, as much as I appreciate it, Buck has actually managed to keep his hands to himself for a week- not even when the new girl mentioned she was single!” She threw her hands up in the air. “It's just not right, Ezra!"

She paused for breath and glared at his wary expression. Being mentally prepared for a drag-down-knock-out fight, she was completely disarmed when, after a few strained moments, Ezra nodded and motioned for her to have a seat on the couch.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Inez. It was not my intention to cause anyone unease, but I really think you might be exaggerating the situation." His soft tone deflated her righteous anger and she sank down next to him.

"Just a little,” she admitted grudgingly. “But we worry about you."

"And I appreciate that. It’s just that this past case was rather...difficult." He glanced sideways at her, a bitter smirk playing across his lips. "I suppose you've read the papers?"

"I've glanced at a few articles lately, but haven't seen anything that mentioned the ATF." She returned the look. "Nor am I willing to listen to drunken gossip. I prefer to hear it from someone directly involved, but your teammates are not talking. They respect you and are very worried.” Maybe if she continued to reiterate that people were concerned, he'd open up a bit. Of course, it being Ezra, he would do the opposite just for spite.

"I know." The messages on his machine and surprise house calls were a testament to that. *Lord only knows what I did to deserve them.*

"Now stop that!" Her sharp tone made his head snap up. Brow furrowed, he stared at her in bewilderment. She sighed dramatically. "I will not have you feeling sorry for yourself. Obviously you’ve been doing more than enough of that the past week.” She waved a hand at the brandy and the cards.

Frowning, he looked as though he might protest, but she arched a skeptical brow and he subsided. Damn her, she was making him be honest with himself.

"Well?" At his blank look, she motioned with a slender hand. "You were saying?"

"Yes," he cleared his throat. "Well, to put it simply, I failed to realize a few important details and children ended up dead." At her wide-eyed look, he elaborated. "I was undercover to infiltrate a smuggling ring running from Mexico to Canada, hitting three to five cities in the US along the way. Their latest endeavor was bringing them through Denver, and I was positioned as a buyer for firearms. They smuggled the merchandise in on trucks, packed in the stuffing of 'discount' furniture and whatnot, and bribed the border patrols to look the other way half the time." Guilt rested heavy in his gut, almost a physical pain, as he relived one of the most horrifying sights of his career. He struggled to keep his face void of emotion.

"In three meetings, they never directly told me what they were smuggling besides firearms, alcohol, and cocaine. When we finally set up the bust, we struck their main warehouse. One of the trucks was cold storage, meant for hauling meat. When we opened it, there were sides of beef hanging from the ceiling, obscuring our view." He paused, unsure of how to continue and, for once, was blunt. "They were smuggling Mexican families over the border, taking them to towns along the west coast and northern US. They put them in the refrigerator truck because it's insulated and would muffle any noises. . . These were people with small children and teenagers, from a warm climate brought up here at the end summer. In a freezer. With frozen goods."

Inez muttered a prayer under her breath.

“Needless to say, they were the worse for wear. Most were barely responsive. The smaller ones. . . .” He finally lifted his brandy glass, taking a sip despite Inez’s disapproving gaze. Silence stretched on as she struggled to digest his story. After giving her some time, Ezra continued.

“Her name was Juanita Alvadez. Her family was going to Canada to join her father’s brother and his family. She was two months short of being three. She died from hypothermia.” He rattled off the facts in a monotone voice, striving for clinical detachment as he reviewed what had been echoing in his mind since he had read the coroner’s report. “Luis Alvadez, ten months old, hypothermia. Juanita’s little brother. Alejandro Perez, three years and four months old, severe malnutrition and hypothermia. His father was already in Montana, and his mother was bringing their two children to the house he rented for them. A ten year old and a twelve year old were also hospitalized with hypothermia, malnutrition, and dehydration.”

Another gulp of brandy and he continued, full of self-recrimination. “Three children dead. I have to ask myself, how many others died in the months we were investigating this? How could I not have noticed this going on? They were smuggling people for Christ’s sake and not once did I have a clue. We had them under surveillance each meeting.”

Sighing, he ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Travis hasn’t directly said anything to Chris, but I know who they blame for all of this.”

Inez laid a comforting hand on his arm, and surprisingly, he didn’t shake her off. “I know you, Ezra. You’re one of the best undercover agents in the ATF. If you didn’t have any idea those poor people were there, then they must have been extremely well hidden.”

He snorted. “Your patronizing tone aside, I really don’t think you understand.”

As expected, Inez thumped him sharply on the shoulder and shouted, “I was being honest. A new concept to you, I’m sure, but I meant what I said. You are the best and I know you would have done everything in your power to help them. Now quit second guessing yourself and snap out of it!”

Glaring, he opened his mouth to shoot back a scathing reply, but she beat him to it. “I know, it was a great tragedy. My heart goes out to those families, and I sympathize with their plight, but running yourself ragged won’t bring them back. All it will do is make you useless for the next time someone needs your help.”

“Maybe I am useless,” he growled in response, and she sat back slightly, narrowing her eyes.

“Maybe you should ask yourself if you feel sorry for those people, or sorry for yourself.”

Spluttering for a bit, he paused to consider her words. After the Rocci ordeal, he feared that he’d lost his edge, that he was ready to be put out to pasture. Balancing on a knife’s edge, he had been waiting for the next mistake. Looking for the next clusterfuck he got the team into. If he admitted fault first, then no one could call him a coward.

In a way, he realized, he had been sabotaging himself. Preparing and expecting failure.

He was a fool.