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‘If you want to make God laugh, make a plan’. It had been Nathan’s mother’s favorite saying and he remembered her, time after time, shaking her head and muttering it whenever her plans went awry. Which, with children underfoot, was often.
And yet, Nathan kept making plans, lulled by the fact that sometimes, they miraculously went off as hoped for.
He had made plans for the weekend. Simple plans. He and Rain were going to make pizza and finally sit down to watch those cheesy action movies that had been sitting in their Netflix queue for months.
He should have known better.
Nathan scowled and hunched his shoulders against the bitter winter wind. “Ezra, I swear . . . “ He trailed off. It was hardly fair to blame Ezra for his migraines, and he couldn’t fault Chris for half-asking and half-ordering the team’s medic to check up on Ezra.
If only he hadn’t made plans.
He opened the door to Ezra’s building and pushed the button corresponding to his apartment. Twice. Three times. He waited, pressed it again, then pulled out his phone and called. It rang and rang, then went to an automated voicemail. Nathan hung up without leaving a message, then picked a couple of buttons at random, hoping one of Ezra’s neighbors was home and willing to buzz him in.
The third time was the charm, and a cheerful voice answered, believed his story of a sick friend, and let him in with a subdued, "I hope he’s okay."
“Me, too,” Nathan said, dismissing the flutter of worry, sending a silent threat upstairs as he pulled open the second door and headed for the elevator. ‘ You’d better be asleep, Ezra, and not just being obstinate’.
Upstairs, he counted down the numbers on the doors until he found Ezra’s, then knocked. He waited some more, foot tapping with impatience, and knocked again. Still nothing. He’d pulled his phone out of his pocket and was about to call again when he heard a noise on the other side of the door, a metallic scraping like someone fumbling with a lock. The door opened, and there stood Ezra, rumpled and unshaven, blinking up at Nathan and wincing as the hall’s light shone into the dark entryway. “What?” Ezra’s voice grated like he hadn’t spoken in days, which, Nathan realized, he probably hadn’t.
“It’s Nathan. Can I come in?”
Ezra blinked at him a few times, uncomprehendingly, then stepped back and opened the door a little further. “Okay. D’ya need something?”
“Nah, just checking in on you,” Nathan said as he quietly pulled the door shut. It was his turn to stand around blinking thanks to the darkness. Once his eyes adjusted, he realized the only light came from the windows farther in. He took off his hat, coat, and scarf, and hung them on what looked like a coat rack, hoping it wasn’t some strange piece of modern art. “Are you alright?” he called out softly.
Ezra didn’t answer. There was a clatter that sounded like a body running into a piece of furniture, then a quiet curse.
Nathan hurried down the hall and into the open-plan apartment after him and found Ezra slouched over the little kitchen’s island, one hand resting on the back of a tall barstool.
“You okay?”
“What’re you doing here?”
“Checking on you,” Nathan reiterated. “You left early on Friday and sent Vin that weird text this morning. Kind of made everyone wonder how you were.”
“Text?” Ezra slowly looked up at him, a hand pressed to his forehead. He looked pathetic, a far cry from the aloof and sophisticated agent he made a show of being Monday through Friday. If he was feeling better, if they were looking at each other under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the office, he would have responded with some sly barb meant to keep Nathan at a distance.
But they weren’t at the office. They were in Ezra’s kitchen, staring at each other in the soft, warm glow of the street lights outside, and the undercover agent looked like he was about to topple over from the migraine that sent him home early three days earlier.
Nathan crossed the distance to Ezra and gently guided him into the chair. He was shivering, though the room was warm. He frowned and pressed two fingers to Ezra’s wrist. His pulse was faster than it should have been, given that he was just sitting there. “Yeah, you sent Vin a text that had him all sorts of confused. I’ll tell you about it later. Have you eaten today?”
“Maybe?” was the slow answer. “What time is it?”
“About 6:30.”
“Oh.” Ezra stared at the window, his brow creasing with either confusion or pain. He pressed a hand to his forehead again. “What day is it?”
“It’s Monday.” Nathan frowned and turned to the cabinets, found a water glass sitting between the sink and a couple of prescription pill bottles. He ignored the bottles and poked around until he found what looked like a sugar bowl. A taste test confirmed that, so he dumped a spoonful of sugar into the glass, then filled that with water and stirred. “Monday evening. Have you been like this all weekend?” he asked as he set the glass in front of Ezra with a quiet, ‘drink that’.
Ezra stared at the glass before finally picking it up with a shaking hand. He sipped and grimaced. “This is awful.”
“Sugar water’s not meant to taste good. It’s meant to get your glucose levels back up to normal. Now drink it all.” Nathan held the pill bottles up to the light to read their labels. They’d come from a Denver pharmacy, so they were recent, not something expired he’d brought with him from Atlanta. He grabbed his phone again to double-check what they were– a migraine medication and an anti-nausea scrip– and find out their side effects. “Have you taken your meds today?”
“I don’t think so,” Ezra said, setting the glass down with a studied effort. “Maybe?”
“If that's the same kind of ‘maybe’ you gave me about eating, I’m betting you haven’t taken them at all today.” Nathan folded his arms and leaned back against the counter, his lips pressed into a narrow line.
It had been almost three months since Ezra had joined the team, and Nathan had suddenly realized that he knew next to nothing about the man, only that he’d had a bright career with the FBI until a case went pear-shaped and he’d been accused of corruption. Nothing had been proven, but rumors ran rampant, and his career had burned out so badly it seemed unrecoverable until Chris had caught wind of it, plucked him out of Atlanta, and set him down in the middle of Team 7 despite– or in spite of– the flurry of warnings he’d gotten from all sides.
In the months since then, Nathan hadn’t warmed to the man. Ezra hadn’t made it easy. He never gave a straight answer to questions about himself, if he answered them at all. He was more likely to make subtle, cutting remarks that deflected questions back onto the questioner than give a useful answer. Maddening. Like he didn’t realize that shrouding himself in mystery made him seem untrustworthy. If he wasn't the best undercover agent Nathan had ever seen, able to walk up to the worst of criminals with a smile on his face and talk his way into or out of any situation, he might have been advocating for Ezra’s removal from the team.
Standing here in Ezra’s kitchen, though, and watching what an effort it was for him to pick up a water glass made it hard to hate him.
"Do you want me to order food from somewhere? I'd cook, but I'd have to turn on a bunch of lights," Nathan said, his voice soft.
Ezra looked up at him, squinting. It took him a minute to answer, but he finally said "There's a Japanese place down the street. They deliver."
"I could do ramen," Nathan said. "They got a website?"
"On my phone."
"Where's that?"
"Bedroom."
"I'll go get it," Nathan said before Ezra could move off the chair. He walked to the bedroom, felt around for the light switch, and turned it on.
The room was not what he expected. Minimalism, he’d have understood. The all-white and metal decor he associated with Silicon Valley tech bros and Hollywood supervillains felt like it would go along with Ezra’s aesthetic, what with his expensive suits and the fancy car. This room was not minimalist, though. It was an empty, windowless box that betrayed no personality, making it look like he had moved in three days ago rather than three months ago.
The bed with its rumpled sheets, dark blue duvet, and multiple pillows looked expensive and comfortable. The dark wood dresser was impeccable in its style, but there were only a few things on its top: a hairbrush, a couple of neckties, a plain polished wood box. There were no photographs, no mementos, no souvenirs. Unopened boxes emblazoned with the name of a moving company from Atlanta lined the wall, though there were no shelves to put anything on. A couple of library books sat on the nightstand next to the bed; the titles were in French. There was a lamp and an alarm clock with its face turned to the wall.
Ezra’s smartphone rested next to the books, facedown and plugged into the charger. Nathan grabbed it and unplugged it. The motion activated the screen, and he saw that there were no notifications. Either he’d turned them all off, or no one had contacted him since Friday.
A guilty knot tightened in Nathan’s chest. Ezra had clearly been feeling like hell on Friday afternoon– enough so that Chris had sent him home two hours early. Had his migraine started then, or had it come on him earlier, and he had hidden it? It had obviously continued through the weekend and into the week– four days at least. The text he’d sent Vin that morning started to lose its humorous edge. ‘Mug rain bit coming in’ had both confused and amused the guys, even when JD had deciphered it, saying that Ezra had probably mistyped ‘Migraine. Not coming in’, and autocorrect had taken over from there. And then, once Chris had told Nathan to check on Ezra after work, no one had seen fit to call or even send a text to see if he was okay or if he needed anything. And all this time, Ezra had been so sick he wasn’t sure what day it was, didn’t know if or when he’d eaten, or been able to edit a simple message.
All the irritation that had been building through the day drained away, replaced by sick regret. They should have been looking out for Ezra, their teammate. Should have checked on him over the weekend, not left him alone in a dark apartment.
Nathan flicked the light off and trudged back to the kitchen. Ezra had gotten up for another glass of water and now stood with his head propped against a cabinet, the glass held loosely in his fingers.
“You okay?” Nathan asked.
“Right as rain,” Ezra said. His voice had lost its gravel, but the response was still slow.
“Yeah, you look it. I got your phone. Can you wake it up? I don’t know your passcode. I can make the order from there. Do you want anything special?”
“Ramen. Um, tonkotsu ramen. That’s all.”
“Okay.” Nathan flipped through the screens until he found the delivery app. The Japanese restaurant was the first one listed. He took note of the name and glanced up at Ezra. The other man wasn’t paying attention, so he walked into the living room and set the phone on the couch. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled the restaurant up. “Mind if I turn on a lamp? It’s a little dark in here for me.”
Ezra looked up slowly, his head turning toward Nathan. He took a long minute to consider. “That’s fine.”
“Alright. I’ll turn on the one in the corner, over there by the window.” He picked his way through the room, though it seemed to be as empty as the bedroom. With the light on, he could see batter and placed two orders of tonkotsu ramen, tea, and an appetizer. “Food should be here in about half an hour. Now I want you to take your meds and get a shower. That should help you feel better.”
He expected a fuss. Some pushback. For Ezra to refuse to do either thing with some sly remark, a disgusted look, or by ignoring Nathan entirely.
There was none of that. Perhaps he was too out of it to put on a contrary face. Or maybe he was in too much pain to care.
“Ezra?”
He looked up and winced, raising a hand to ward off the light.
Nathan grimaced and went back to the kitchen. “Sorry. Come on. I’ll get your meds set up. You sit back down. Give me that glass before you drop it.” He tried to keep his tone brotherly, the way he’d boss his sisters around when they were sick. It usually worked on them, though being their actual big brother gave him an edge. He opened the pill bottles in turn and set the proper dosage on the counter, then refilled the glass and presented it to Ezra. “Drink up. And take the meds, unless you want your head to keep feeling like it’s gonna split apart to spite me.”
There was a raised eyebrow, then a slow motion toward the pills. Nathan bit back his relieved sigh as he watched Ezra take them both with a couple of swigs of water, then downed the rest of the glass. Add dehydration to the list of ailments, along with the migraine and low blood sugar.
Another mark against the team for not looking out for one of their own. Even if he was a pain in the ass.
“There’s time before the food gets here. Go get a shower. You look like five miles of bad roads.”
The raised eyebrow turned to a flat look, just shy of a glare.
Nathan laughed. “Well, you do. Now get moving. Unless you need some help.”
He got a full-on glare for that. “The day I need help for that . . . “ Ezra slid off the chair and shuffled away, one hand tracing the wall.
“You never know. And keep the door open, in case your fool self falls in,” Nathan called after him. The bedroom door clicked shut in defiance of his command. He shook his head, more amused than annoyed. If Ezra did have a problem, Nathan was sure he’d hear it and could go to the rescue. Until then, he had some time to spare.
He pulled out his phone and walked back into a living area that wasn’t very lived in. Like the bedroom, it was nearly empty. There was a couch and a couple of chairs. A desk with a closed laptop sitting atop it, a modest flatscreen television on an otherwise empty stand. There were a few more unopened boxes in there, and no shelves to hold whatever was in them. An empty place for an empty life. Or was it a lonely one? What did Ezra come home to at night, and when he made plans, did God laugh, or did He shrug and turn away?
Nathan sat down heavily on the couch. It was very modern and very comfortable, and it made him wish Rain was there to make the place feel alive.
His phone buzzed in his hand. A message from Chris popped up: ‘How is he?’
Nathan glanced toward the bedroom where all was quiet, save for the sound of running water. Then he typed a reply: ‘ Still has a migraine. Didn’t know what day/time it was when I got here. He was dehydrated and hadn’t eaten. I made sure he took his meds. We’re waiting for food to get delivered.’
A pause, then Chris replied: ‘Find out how often he gets these. Thanks for checking on him.’
He snorted. “You ordered me to,” he told the phone, then typed a response: ‘ Will do.’ Then he exited the conversation with Chris and found a message From Rain waiting.
‘Are you going to be home soon?’
It was hard to judge her tone. Was she mad at him for being late? Or was she wondering if she could go ahead and eat without him?
He typed back, ‘Not for a while. Sorry. Ezra was pretty sick when I got here. Making sure he eats before I go.’ He hit send, then added, ‘Go ahead and eat without me. I ordered delivery for us. It’ll be here in a bit. Sorry to mess up our plans.’
‘It’s okay. I was getting hungry, is all. I can wait on the movie.’
Then: ‘Is he going to be okay?’
Nathan glanced around the living room, at the sealed boxes and the empty walls. Was Ezra going to be okay? It was hard to say.
‘I think so. It’ll take him a bit to get back to normal.’ Whatever normal was for a cipher like Ezra. Nathan had some thinking to do about the man and some assumptions to reconsider.
Sighing, he leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. Plain white, like the walls, and nothing but the white noise of the shower to counter the silence. Even the scent of the place could be described as ‘white’. He wished he had one of Rain’s scented candles to give the place some personality, like the ‘clean linen’ or ‘warm cotton’ scents that didn’t make any sense to him but smelled nice. Anything would be better than the unscented aura this apartment had.
He must have dozed off for a while, because the next thing he knew, the delivery guy was buzzing to be let in. He’d gotten everything out of the bags and sorted, and found some silverware by the time Ezra finally emerged from the shower, clean-shaven and wet-haired, wearing different clothes– a gray t-shirt and soft black pants. “You almost look human again.”
Ezra shot him a tired glare that only made Nathan grin. There was a bit of fire in that look and none of the bleary stupor of before.
“How often do you get migraines like this?” He asked, pulling the other stool around and sitting down opposite Ezra. “Chris wants to know.”
Ezra dipped his spoon into his soup and idly stirred it. He seemed to be considering his answer as though this was an interrogation. “Like this? Once a year. Maybe twice.”
“Do you get migraines that aren’t so bad more often?”
A half-hearted shrug was his answer.
“And you just work through them?”
“It’s not the worst thing.”
“Any specific triggers?”
“People who ask too many questions,” Ezra said, his gaze on his soup as he ate like that would make Nathan disappear.
He sighed and picked up his spoon. He might as well eat before it got cold. The biddable, confused Ezra Standish had washed away in the shower. Fortunately, the food was divine, and he’d eaten most of it before he realized it. No wonder it was at the top of Ezra’s list. “You know,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “we need to know these things. Not trying to be nosy or anything, but let’s say we’re out on a bust and there’s gunfire. What if you keel over in the middle of it because you came down with a migraine and didn’t bother to say anything?”
“I am not unaware of my own weaknesses, Mr. Jackson. You may rest assured that I would not deliberately put a teammate in danger because of my problems with my health. I’m not that arrogant.” Ezra wouldn’t meet his eyes, and while his tone was irate Nathan thought he heard an undercurrent of hurt.
“I didn’t say you were. It’s just something to keep in mind. We’re a team. We’re all supposed to look out for each other,” he said, belatedly realizing– again– that they hadn’t done that for Ezra all weekend. Or for the past few months.
He felt more than saw Ezra’s unconvinced look. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Yeah. So will I,” Nathan said softly, a sort of peace offering. He glanced up. “Sounds like you’re feeling better.”
“Indeed. You may inform our fearless leader that I’ll be back to the office in the morning.”
“You can tell him yourself.” Nathan stacked the empty takeout bowls and tossed them in the bag. “Unless you don’t have his phone number.”
“I have his phone number. I also recognize duty when I see it, as I highly doubt that you would have come here of your own accord.” Ezra said coolly. Nathan looked up at him guiltily. “I thought as much,” he said and rubbed his eyes.
“I care,” Nathan said plaintively.
“I’m sure you do,” Ezra said, though his doubt was plain. “You’ve done your duty, so feel free to go. You have a lovely woman waiting for you, and I plan to go back to sleep. I don’t need a caretaker for that.”
“Ezra, I–”
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson, for coming by, but I’m sure you made plans for the evening, and there is no need for you to cancel them on my behalf. Rest assured that I will survive the night and that you will see me in the office in the morning.” The flat look Ezra gave him was a clear dismissal.
Nathan sighed. They’d reached the end of the night’s informal team building, and they hadn’t built much at all. Well, it wasn’t as though he’d spent much of the past three months reaching out to Ezra. He wasn’t going to fix all that in a night. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. But if you need anything at all tonight, you let me know. Seriously. We’re supposed to be watching each other’s backs.”
Ezra’s face went blank, his eyes unfathomable. “Good night, Mr. Jackson.”
“Good night, Ezra.” Defeated, Nathan retreated down the hall and collected his things. They were silent as he fastened his coat and jammed his hat on his head. Then Ezra opened the door for him, only wincing a little at the bright hallway lights.
He glanced back, hoping for a last word with Ezra, but the door had already closed behind him. He heard the click of the deadbolt falling home.
Shaking his head, Nathan walked toward the elevator. Things could have been worse, but they could have been a lot better. He should have been doing better all this time. They all should have been. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started typing a message to Chris. There was work to be done.