Not On Our Watch

by Loui

Disclaimer: The Mirisch Corporation, MGM, Trilogy and a few others that I've forgotten about own the rights to Magnificent Seven, I don't. Just borrowing them temporarily.
"Not On Our Watch" is © Loui.
Notes: Thanks to Mog for creating the ATF AU. It is so much fun to play in.

{Oh, Sweet Jesus!} Staring at the scene of chaos and carnage in front of him, David MacRae steeled himself for what was to come. With a jerk of his head, he sent the accompanying paramedic team to the huddled forms of Wilmington and Sanchez, struggling desperately to staunch the bleeding wounds of young JD Dunne. At the same time, he and his partner Martina Scott made their way to the more frantic huddle at the opposite side of the warehouse - the place where the rest of Team Seven were fighting to keep Standish alive.

David locked his gaze on the blood soaked hands of Vin Tanner as the sharpshooter held a bandage against the neck of the southern agent. Nathan Jackson's head shot up as he heard them approach and the medic's eyes spurred them to move even faster. It wasn't often that they saw stark terror in the man's eyes - and right now they were screaming, {Hurry!}

The dark and brooding presence that was Chris Larabee suddenly loomed into David's line of sight. All noise in the warehouse seemed to cease as the leader of Team Seven crouched in front of his fallen agent. Green eyes bored into green and a harsh whisper emerged. "Live, Ezra. {Live.}"

David felt his breath catch in his throat at the almost imperceptible nod that was given to Larabee, an order acknowledged and obeyed. A single nod of acknowledgement was all the southerner got before Larabee moved away and headed towards JD Dunne to give another order to ignore death's call and live.

Moving swiftly into action, David MacRae moved in to assist whatever angels watched over Team Seven in carrying out Larabee's sole order to the wounded pair. Once again the paramedics of the city of Denver silently repeated their mantra for dealing with Team Seven. {Not on our watch. Not this time. Not this time.}

Two weeks later, at the annual charity picnic for law enforcement and emergency service dependents' fund, David MacRae looked up from the hot dog he was eating and smiled. JD Dunne was irritably swatting away the helping hands of his 'big brother' as Wilmington tried - unsuccessfully - to get him to sit down and relax.

At the same time, another battle of wills was going on, and, even more miraculously, it was a battle won. David watched as a smiling Vin Tanner was allowed to gently push Ezra Standish back to his resting place against the strong shoulder of Chris Larabee and head off to the refreshment table to fetch him an orange juice.

The unusual sight of Ezra Standish in black jeans, dark grey t-shirt and black baseball cap was offset by the flash of white at his neck; the bandages would be there for another week at least. He couldn't see Standish's eyes behind the shades he wore, but David could see the gold tooth flash as the southerner smiled.

David smiled too. Everyone's prayers had been answered that day - Team Seven had lived to fight again.

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Last modified June 1st, 2002.
Trudy A. Goold/