Six months after going undercover, Ezra Standish walked back into the ATF offices once again. The slight limp still appeared only when he was tired, so for the moment at least he appeared to be fully recovered. He held his head high, trying not to let the uncertainty in his heart show on his face.

That he was welcomed, even wanted here, he did not question. During the last couple of months of his recovery, the team had never missed an opportunity to show him that. They had sought him out for advice on everything from the latest case to the latest love interest. When he announced he was quite done with ranch life for a while there had been only minimal arguing, mostly from Nathan, about whether it was time to go home. He was thankful when they relented, until they began making daily visits to his home. Dropping by with dinner, dropping in to ask a quick question. Delivering groceries. He had enough food now to open a restaurant. Coming by to watch a football game. When Josiah arrived one afternoon to find the locks had been changed, they took the hint.

But even with the support, the time had been difficult. Physiotherapy on his hand and legs continued and often was the cause of anger, tension and depression. He made remarkable progress, but sessions were painful and frustrating, and many days he was not certain the effort was a worthwhile one. He was initially convinced that he would never regain the dexterity he'd so enjoyed, and believed as a result any chance of returning to his role as lawman was doomed.

His friends showed infinite patience through his many struggles, but quickly lost that cool every time he threatened to give up. He was repeatedly subjected to lectures (Josiah and Vin), cajoling (Nathan and Buck), begging (JD) and threats (Chris). They created a formidable force in the ongoing challenge to spur him on.

And when, after he finally realized they were leaving him no choice in the matter, he progressed to the point of sitting down for a long overdue poker night, all of the exasperation and dejection was forgotten. He was thrilled to discover his dealing was fine, even if shuffling still left a little to be desired. Nevertheless, he was pleased to take their money, and they were almost as happy to lose to him.

Scars, at least the visible ones, were mostly faded now. He could see them when he stepped out of the shower and scrutinized himself in the mirror. He'd avoided the reflection for weeks, until deciding his imagination was likely worse than reality. He was not yet convinced he was right about that, but was learning to live with the situation.

The nightmares, while not gone, were also fading, become less frequent and intense. In the beginning they'd been brutal. As more memories came back he relived every moment of the horror and humiliation. The others tried to find the right way to respond, and failed nearly as often as they succeeded. Soon they learned the best course of action based on how he awoke. If he'd been tossing and turning, talking in his sleep, they let him sleep through it. In the morning, they stayed close, but not smothering, and most of the time he was himself by the time breakfast ended.

Other nights he awoke screaming, and little could calm him. None of them could get close without sending him into hyperventilation. All they could do was set up a chair in the hallway, close enough he knew they were there, without infringing on his space. The next morning, he would pretend nothing had happened. After several nights of that cycle, Nathan approached Ezra in private.

"Don't st-st-start." The southerner warned before Nathan even opened his mouth. "I don't n-n-need to t-t-t-talk to the c-c-councillor, or anyone else again." A sure sign of his exhaustion was the worsening of the stammering.

"You're not sleeping, you're not dealing with this. You can't get better if you don't work past this."

"I am w-w-working through it. There is no n-n-need for me to do that in p-p-p-public."

"Damn it Ezra – we are not 'public'! We are your friends, and you're not letting us help."

"On the c-c-c-contrary. You are all m-m-more help than you c-c-can ever imagine. I w-w-would not be here w-w-without your assistance."

Nathan looked at him, fearing there was more in that statement than he heard. After a moment he found the way to ask a question that he dreaded the answer to.

"You're not talking about the fact we found you in that warehouse – are you?"

Ezra looked away, unable to hold eye contact. After some time he spoke very quietly.

"No."

"That's why you won't let me give you sleeping pills – afraid of what you might do knowing there was a bottle around?"

"I cannot d-d-d-deny that it has cr-crossed my m-m-mind."

"Crossing it isn't the same as taking up residence there." There was no response, so Nathan reached out an took Ezra hand. He didn't speak until they had once again made eye contact. "I don't believe for a minute that you are capable of killing yourself Ezra. Not for a minute. Know why?" Still no response. "Not because you are stronger than that – even though you are. And not because you will not let the bastards who did this to you win, even though you won't. No – you won't take the pills, or use one of a dozen or so weapons you could find around here to kill yourself for one simple reason. There is no way you would run out on us like that. Not your nature. Not your style. You simply could never hurt your friends – your family – by doing something like that. So – I am not the least bit worried about that."

"But you are w-w-worried?"

"That you're not taking care of yourself. That you're not letting yourself be vulnerable in front of us. Not a man here thinks you are weak Ezra. Good God man, we have a pretty good idea of what happened to you, and it tears every one of us apart. Not out of disappointment or pity or even guilt, although there was a fair bit of that going around."

"Why would you f-f-feel guilty?"

"We all hurt over how long it took us to find you, to get in there and stop all this from happening. Shouldn't have let you in alone in the first place. Chris is still kicking himself something awful over agreeing to the whole arrangement in the first place."

"The d-d-decision was mine. I c-c-could have said n-no."

"But you wouldn't. You like – no, you need to prove yourself. Or least ways you think you do."

"N-n-nevertheless, he should not feel g-guilty."

"So talk to him about it."

"Perhaps I sh-shall."

"Can tell you what he'll say. He'll stop feeling guilty when you stop feeling weak. Not a challenge, just a fact. He sees you like this and it just makes it worse for him."

"Th-th-that is not fair."

"Maybe, but it's true."

"So I m-m-must recover for him to d-d-do so as well?" Nathan nodded. "Well, I b-b-best refocus my en-en-energy."

"Sounds like a plan Ezra."

A few days after that he did manage to bring himself to sit down with Chris for a lengthy chat about accountability, guilt, obligations and appropriate responses. Both came away a little red-eyed but quite satisfied with the outcome. The change in both men was apparent to the rest of the team, and a quiet collective sigh of relief was released.

Nothing changed overnight, and there remained times Ezra needed to be alone along with the times he desperately needed to be almost surrounded by the others, but he no longer jumped at unexpected phone calls or visitors and, to his immense relief, could ultimately hear the phrase 'take care of it' without suffering palpitations.

Most gratifying of all in his recovery was the return of his speech. Granted, when tired or agitated, there were moments with the stutter reappeared, but that too was becoming nothing more than an unpleasant memory. He had waited until he was able to speak smoothly before calling his mother. Chris had told him of her inability to free herself from commitments to come when he was injured, and tried to assure him that she had been kept informed of his progress.

"Nonsense Chris. She wouldn't be inconvenienced by making the attempt to extricate herself from an ongoing financial venture to face the possibility of being required to take the responsibility to tend to her only offspring. If you think such a revelation staggers or wounds me, you are sorely mistaken. I would indeed be more that astonished to hear of any other conclusion." Chris had no response to this, wishing he could deny the truth of the observation. "Do not concern yourself Chris. I knew I was not alone."

Maude had continued to try to justify herself throughout the call, stating clearly she hadn't been needed since he had obviously fully recovered. And, since he has chosen such a high risk and unprofitable career, she did not feel obliged to drop everything for the slightest issue. He'd managed to make it through the call to his mother without stuttering once, in large part because she no longer seemed to be able to trigger any emotional response whatsoever in him.

The last significant relapse had been a couple of weeks later when the team had come by to report on the final stage of the case. Arresting officers found Agent Reed with his gun still in his hand, the back of his head gone. On examination , it became apparent some of his fellow FBI officers had failed to be circumspect in their investigation, and hours before the arrest was to take place, Reed had determined he had been found out. He chose the cowards solution. There had been no note, no confession of his guilt or exoneration of Ezra.

"S-s-so it's n-n-not over. I am st-still a s-s-s-suspect in this?

"No Ezra. It's over. You were never a suspect. Remember, you were cleared any wrongdoing."

"B-b-but if there is no t-t-trial Chris.'

"Press releases are already out saying he was a crooked cop Ezra. Sayin' he's the one on Walker's payroll."

"Another press release came out today too. Probably won't get the same attention, since the media seems to prefer bad news over good." Nathan was smiling. He pulled a sheet from his pocket.

"Ah Nathan – you ain't gonna read the whole thing are you? You'll put the man to sleep." Buck grabbed the paper away. "Look Ez – all you need to know from this is that due to your," he scanned for the phrase, "exemplary behaviour in adverse conditions, and extreme bravery and demonstration of the principles of the FBI" he snorted slightly "– yeah principles". Chris swatted him. "Keep reading"

"Right. Blah blah blah, official nonsense. OK – here you go. 'The FBI Medal for Meritorious Achievement, the FBI Shield of Bravery, and the FBI Medal of Valor are awarded to former FBI and current AFT agent Ezra Standish'."

"Three?" It was all the others could do not to burst out laughing at the stunned look the saw. Never before had his poker face failed him so thoroughly.

"Told you that they were nominating you."

"Yes, b-b-but three?"

"Face it Pard – you're a hero. Now, the downside in all of this is that they aren't releasing your picture with any of this."

"No, of c-c-course. Security."

"Nah. They don't want to be the ones to compromise any future undercover activities."

They watched closely for a reaction, but the poker face had recovered. "That is a f-f-foolish concern."

"Nobody's saying it will happen tomorrow Ezra, but we aren't ruling it out either. We can talk on it when you're back at work." Not 'if' – never 'if'. Always 'when' he was back at work.

That day had finally arrived. He opened door to the bullpen at 9:30, half an hour late, but still earlier than anyone would have expected.

JD was the first to look up. "Well it's 'bout time you showed up. Chris has been out here three times looking for you."

"Our fearless leader should know better than to anticipate my arrival any earlier than this. Good Lord, has he forgotten my habitual proclivities already. After such a brief absence?"

"Guess he was hoping you might have had a change of heart – what with being a hero and all."

"It will take more than the bestowing of some simple tokens to encourage me to remove myself from the comforts of home and a feather bed a moment before necessary. You know I abhor mornings."

"Well, now that's a damn shame, since that's when we start work around here." Chris stepped out of his office after making sure the smile had been erased from his face. God, it was good to see them all here again.

"Aren't you supposed to have something with you Ezra?" Nathen queried.

"No sir, I have been assured by my physiotherapist, a man licensed in the care for my injuries" he winked at Nathan "that the irritant of a cane is no longer a requirement for my mobility, and as such I elect to leave it behind."

"You know I'm going to follow up on that?"

"Of course. I told him to expect your call."

"Hey Ez?" He turned to JD. "What did you do with those 'simple tokens' you got?"

He went unusually quiet. It had been difficult to accept the awards from the Bureau, for any number of reasons. Seeing them in his home reminded him of the nightmare he'd suffered. But they also served as tangible proof as to just how far he'd come in not just his recovery, but the recovery of his reputation. He remained torn as to whether they should be displayed with honour, or buried somewhere in a drawer with the related unpleasant memories.

"I have not fully ascertained the optimal format for the presentation of the items in question."

"You could bring them in here you know." Chris offered in a quiet voice. "They'd look mighty good on the conference room wall. We may even have one or two other commendations we could put up there. Our own wall of honour."

They knew for all his showmanship, Ezra really was not all that fond of being the centre of attention, especially when much deserved praise was involved. He still had a way to go in accepting his worth in such matters. Chris hoped the idea of putting some of the other commendations the team had received, as individuals and as a unit, might mitigate some of the attention and make the idea a little more palatable.

Ezra wasn't able to look any of them in the eye. "I think Chris, that would be an ideal solution. I could never have been even considered worthy of those recognitions without the support of all of you, and sharing the awards is extremely fitting."

"Well," Vin said, looking at the others, "at least he acknowledged he was worthy of them, sort of. It's a start".

Chris coughed to disguise the catch in his voice. "Well, ok then. Now, do you all think we might consider getting a bit of work done today? Everybody to the conference room. We've got a meeting." Groans came from all the desks.

"Really Mr. Larabee. You find that a suitable fashion in which to mark my return? For shame sir."

The others headed over, leaving Ezra and Chris to take up the rear. Chris spoke quietly. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"As I shall ever be. I have been told to take things one day at a time, and to accept the support and assistance of my friends. I shall endeavour to do so."

"Sounds good."

Ezra froze for a second as he entered the room. The first thing he noticed was that there were a few more bodies in there than just the team. It looked like half the local ATF office was there, along with Judge Travis. Balloons and streamers littered the space and a banner covered the wall – 'Welcome back Ez'. No one had shouted 'Surprise!'. There was no need to.

Buck's voice boomed out. "The big shots at the FBI would have been here too, 'cept they weren't invited." JD grinned like a 10-year-old. "So, guess you were surprised. Told you we could surprise him."

The Judge walked over to him. "I wanted to let you know, on behalf of the ATF, that we are beyond pleased to have you back at work. We have had confirmation that you have been approved for a full return to duties. That includes, if you choose, further undercover operations.' He paused when he saw the look in his Agent's eyes. "That call will be entirely up to you – when you are ready. Regardless of what choice you make, you will always be a member of this team."

Ezra tried to speak past the lump in his throat, and a whispered "thank you" was all that he managed. He tried to recover his poker face, with what he feared was limited success. "Gentlemen – friends. While deeply appreciated, such an extravagance was hardly necessary."

"Oh shut Ez. We wanted a party and we're having one."

He looked around at his friends – his family, and then once again at the banner on the wall. "Seriously though gentlemen. Ez – RA. Two simple letters. Is it truly that challenging?"

M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7

THE END - for now.

I probably should have said this earlier: I am not a doctor – I do not play one on television. However, as I have spent an inordinate amount of my childhood and subsequent years watching Marcus Welby, Medical Centre and ER, I do have what I refer to as TV-MD status. That being said, please note that all medical references in this story came from a dangerous combination of the above mentioned programs and Google Search. If you have concerns, take two aspirin and email me in the morning.

THANK YOU ALL for reading, and for the reviews! So glad to know there is still interest in this show and the fabulous characters that lived in that world (and the subsequently AU created ones!). Thrilled to know you think I got these guys right.