The scene in Chris Larabee’s back yard, was one of industrious activity, on this warm and sunny Saturday morning. It wasn’t quiet industry though, mainly due to the combined noise of an electric cement mixer, the loud rasp as timber was sawed, and the stereo blaring out of the wide open doors and windows of the ranch house.

Chris was constructing a small, brick storage hut adjacent to the side of his house, after the old, rickety wooden one had collapsed in the early spring gales. He’d briefly considered hiring a local builder to do the work, but the blond got great satisfaction from tackling as much as he could around his ranch, so was delighted when his colleagues had eagerly offered their services. The simple and straightforward project wouldn’t take long to complete, with his six friends helping him out.

After months of intensive – and highly dangerous – work on a gunrunning operation, Team Seven was taking a few days well-deserved downtime, following the successful bust. So, with good weather forecast for the week, the senior agent had driven into his nearest town to choose the bricks and order the other building materials. He’d run into a good friend and neighbour whilst there and, after they’d exchanged pleasantries and caught up with each others news, the man had offered to loan Larabee two ten-foot high scaffold towers with boards and ladders. In addition to those indispensable items, Chris had hired a small cement mixer, protective head, eye and footwear, plus an industrial sized wheelbarrow. All of the equipment and supplies had been delivered or collected on schedule and, after setting up everything they needed the day before, the men had started work at first light on Thursday morning.

Chris was in sole charge of mixing the cement, as well as supervising the overall job and offering any advice needed to his willing workforce. To help pay for his collage fees, Nathan had spent his vacations working on construction sites, and was reasonably experienced at bricklaying. Therefore, he’d volunteered to handle that particular aspect of the job. Perched confidently atop the elevated scaffold run, the medic was just laying the last few courses of bricks to the new building. The wooden base and roof would be put on once the cement had fully hardened, although Buck and Josiah had already cut the flooring planks to size. They’d set-up the woodwork and lathe bench under the spreading boughs of a tall tree, and were now busily occupied with sawing the supporting beams and timbers for the apex roof. Vin and JD had been appointed the work gang’s ‘labourers’, and the pair had made sure that the four men involved in the actual construction process had all of the necessary materials readily to hand.

When the men had discussed who would take on what duties for the chore, Ezra had categorically stated that ‘his hands were an asset when on undercover assignments, so he couldn’t possible afford to damage them doing manual work.’ He’d also declared that menial labour would be anathema to his recently manicured nails. This had sparked off a flurry of good-natured ribbing and teasing about such ‘girlie’ notions from several of his colleagues, although the fastidious Southerner had taken his friends ribald comments in good spirit. However, not wanting to be left out of the collective scheme, Standish had agreed to oversee the complex measuring and cutting of the heavy-duty roofing felt. Ezra was also acting as general dogsbody – or Major Mutt, as Vin had wittily dubbed him - and had kept all of the workers constantly supplied with hot and cold beverages, snacks and sandwiches during the past two days.

Chris had positioned the mixer close to the scaffolding which, as luck would have it, was within a few strides of his old stone water trough. He had immersed the garden hose in the large container, and each time he bailed out buckets of water to add to the rotating dry cement mixture, he topped the trough up again in readiness for the next load.

Plunging his shovel into the diminishing pile of sand next to the machine, the senior agent gave a satisfied grunt as he wiped sweat from his face. "Do you think this’ll be enough to finish the brickwork with, Nate?" he called across to his colleague, as he punched the ‘start’ button on the mixer.

Nathan scraped off excess cement, before putting another brick on the row. "Probably, Chris," he answered distractedly, as he tapped the brick in place, and then ran his trowel along the joined blocks. "But keep that baby fired up an’ ready, just in case I need you to knock up a small batch."

Vin stacked a dozen or so bricks onto the boards that Nathan was standing on, and glanced at the virtually empty wooden pallet at the side of the house. "I’s down to m’last few unbroken ones on that bundle. How many more bricks d’ya reckon it’ll take?" he asked Jackson.

The dark-skinned agent puckered his lips as he surveyed his handiwork. "I’ve got to set the wooden lintel above the door still, and I should really add at least one course above that so… umm… let me see…" Nathan’s eyes scanned along the nearly finished walls, his lips moving as he silently counted and estimated the number of bricks he’d need.

"I’d say another hundred ought t’do it, Vin," the EMT said at length.

Vin nodded sagely, making his way over to the wheelbarrow. "Thought ya’d say that! I was hopin’ we wouldn’t need to start on that last pile. Hey, Chris, did yer supplier say he’d buy back any unwanted bricks?" the sharpshooter called to his older friend, as he tossed a knife into the empty barrow.

"Yeah – with a caveat. Matheson said he’d only take back the untouched pallets. But he’d be only too happy to take the loose bricks off my hands" – Chris snorted sarcastically – "for no extra charge. Maybe he thought he was doing me a favour," he added sourly.

The Texan huffed, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he considered Chris’ terse statement. "Some favour! That damned racketeer! He gets ya every time! No wonder Matheson’s son can afford to drive a Ferrari! I gotta break in’ta that last pallet anyways, an’ I begrudge givin’ that ole skinflint somethin’ fer free, so why don’t you jes’ build it a mite higher? It’d give you more room, an’ it ‘ud use up them leftover bricks," Vin suggested.

Josiah and Buck lifted the length of timber they’d just cut, and carefully placed it on the grass with the other roof crossbeams they’d sawn that morning. The profiler removed his plastic goggles, and took a long gulp from a water bottle as he listened to the pair’s conversation.

"What do you think, Josiah?" Chris questioned the oldest agent, seeing the big man had stopped for a breather.

Sanchez raked his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair, studying the partially complete shack as he weighed up the options. "We’ve got the high rig, so going up an extra row or two won’t cause problems with fitting the roof. And this isn’t a habitable building, so it’s not like you have to conform to any State regulations or construction guidelines. It may look slightly odd being above average height, but it will give you additional space inside. It’s down to you, Chris, but if this was mine, I’d keep going until I ran out of materials," he replied.

"That sounds like a plan to me. The ladies should be here soon with lunch, so we’ll see out this drum of cement, and then take a break. Let’s go for it, guys!" the senior agent declared to his companions.

There were grunts of agreement, whoops of ‘yes, food!’ and enthusiastic murmurs of ‘let’s do it!’ from the six men, as Larabee’s words spurred them on with renewed vigour. JD began sanding down the rough ends of the planks of wood Josiah and Buck had cut, whilst Ezra pored over and made notations to the printed building plans that the youngest agent – the Team’s IT whizz-kid - had generated on the computer. As Vin disappeared from view with his wheelbarrow to get more bricks, all that could be heard was the music, banging, sawing and the loud drone of the mixer’s drum as it revolved around.

It didn’t take Vin long to cut away the heavy-duty polythene, and slice through the rigid plastic bands holding the bricks to the final pallet. Although it was fairly warm, the notoriously thin-skinned and cold-blooded sharpshooter was wearing an old, faded long-sleeved sweatshirt, with an equally shabby-looking pair of loose-fitting sweat pants. On his feet he wore thick socks, which were helping to keep on the slightly over-large, slip-on trainers he’d borrowed from Chris.

Vin had already put twenty or so bricks into the wheelbarrow, but had paused in the loading as he went through the pile left on the pallet and discarded all the cracked, badly chipped or broken ones he could find. The sound of car doors slamming shut caught Vin’s attention, and he stopped momentarily, resting his dusty hands on the heap as he craned his neck to see who had arrived.

"Howdy, Mary, Inez."

As the two women strolled down the side path leading from the front drive to the rear patio, the sharpshooter greeted them with a casual nod and a smile. The smile broadened, and his eyes lit up with anticipation when he saw what the pair were holding in their hands.

Mary nodded in acknowledgement as she walked past Vin carrying an enormous, cloth-covered tray. "Hello, Vin. Goodness me! You men have certainly been busy! I can’t believe you’ve nearly finished the walls!" she exclaimed, on spotting the height of the growing structure.

The beautiful Mexican bar owner held three smaller trays balanced one on top of the other, and she smiled at the scene of activity as she got into the yard. "They’re busy building up an appetite too! See Mary, I told you we hadn’t gone overboard on the amount of food we cooked," Inez commented, glancing across at her companion and giving the blonde woman a knowing wink.

The new arrivals continued on to where Ezra had put Chris’ largest trestle picnic table under the canvas gazebo. Mary and Inez chatted animatedly as they laid out disposable plates, cutlery and napkins, tidied up the used cups and glasses, and spread out the four trays of food.

Vin was once more absorbed in his task of sorting through the final stack of bricks, and putting the undamaged ones into his wheelbarrow. Pushing a tousled lock back from his face for the umpteenth time that day, the sharpshooter cursed himself for not tying his hair into a ponytail while he was working. Suddenly, the preoccupied man felt something lightly tickle his arms. Vin blinked in puzzlement, absently rubbing his wrists and forearms against his thighs to get rid of the persistent itchiness. A few minutes passed, and he was just placing a few more pristine bricks into the barrow, when a stinging sensation assaulted his arms, shoulders, chest and scalp. Vin dropped the brick he held, and jumped into the air with a strangled cry.

"Argh! Get offa me! Argh!"

The six men and two women ceased their respective jobs on hearing their friend’s pained howl, and could only look on in stunned bemusement at the sharpshooter’s next actions. All tools were downed, the machinery hastily switched off, as they stood rooted to the spot and watched in amazement the antics of the normally calm and collected Texan.

Vin was on the move now. He turned the corner of the ranch house, dashing towards the rear yard, squealing, cursing, plus kicking off his trainers as he went. The crazed man’s arms seemed to be everywhere, and he spun around as he staggered along, twisting and cavorting as he hit and scrabbled at his clothes, body and hair.

"Shit! They’s crawlin’ all over me! I got ‘em everywhere!" Vin gasped breathlessly to his friends.

That panicked statement went a long way towards explaining why the man was acting in such a bizarre manner. But with the realisation of what the problem was, Vin’s friends knew they were unable to help him in his itchy and painful predicament. The other men could only watch in silent disbelief, as the long-haired agent did a pretty good impression of a Whirling Dervish. Tanner wriggled, pivoted and skipped, yelping and hissing as he twirled around and started to frantically tear off his clothes. The sweatshirt was hastily shucked off and dropped first, and Vin’s T-shirt quickly followed that, leaving a trail of disrobed garments on the ground as the sharpshooter blundered haphazardly towards Chris.

"Vin! What’s eating you?" Larabee yelled out, smirking to himself at his double entendre. The blond had already guessed the cause of Vin’s uncharacteristic behaviour, and couldn’t hide the grin as he witnessed the younger man’s sweat pants sail through the air.

"Fire ants! There’s a nest… in th’bricks! They done… snuck up… on me!"

Vin nearly fell over as he spoke, so intent was he in ripping off his ant-filled socks. These were flung onto the grass, and the young man careered along again, gyrating, hopping and jigging like he was doing some peculiar ritualistic, or tribal, dance. The sharpshooter was down to his South Park character boxer shorts now, but he didn’t care about his near naked state, nor was he bothered about the two pair of female eyes locked on him with avid interest. All Vin wanted to do was divest himself of the stinging red ants that had crawled up into his clothing to attack his body. They had even got into his hair, and he continually shook his head to try and dislodge the aggressive insects. That was a fruitless exercise though, and Tanner bellowed again as he felt hot, painful pinpricks at his hairline.

"Ah, hellsfire! Not m’head! That damned well hurts!"

The stricken man jumped from foot to foot, wriggling his sinewy body as he bent down and savagely rubbed his hands over and through his infested hair. This had no effect whatsoever on the perniciously hostile insects. Vin howled for a third time, his eyes crossing as one red ant quickly crawled down his forehead, and then boldly trundled down his nose.

"ARGHH!"

The sharpshooter screamed, a cry that was part pain, part horror, and he slapped his hand against his nose as the spiteful creature stung him. Facing a determined gunrunner armed with an AK-47 wasn’t as bad as this, and Vin knew he couldn’t take much more. Glancing around wildly for any kind of salvation to end the torment, Tanner spotted the full water trough. Without hesitation, the beleaguered man dove headfirst into the container. Water gurgled and sputtered, flowing over the sides of the stone trough, which seemed to break the trance-like spell holding the others in the yard.

The remainder of Team Seven darted over to the trough and peered into the churning water at the fully submerged Texan. Nathan was the last to arrive, although he’d broken some kind of world record with the speed he’d shimmied down the ladder from the scaffolding. All the men could see as they gazed at the surging water was Vin’s white, blurry shape spinning around and around in the fairly deep container.

"Mary, could you bring some towels from the house, please?" Chris called across to where the two women stood, stock-still and frozen in surprise.

"He’s gonna drown if he stays in there much longer," Nathan remarked, although he knew there was no danger of that happening.

Buck nodded, but he couldn’t hide his grin as he stared at the undulating morass of water. "I never knew that boy could make like an eel! What a mover! Just look at him wriggle and jiggle! Good thing he ain't’ thrashing around in the river – ‘cause a big ole catfish might’ve taken him for lunch! And those hungry bastards don’t go Dutch!" the rogue exclaimed with a chuckle.

"This ain’t funny, Buck," Nathan reprimanded his friend. The words of admonishment lacked impact though, because the medic was – unsuccessfully – trying to stop his own laughter from bubbling up.

The water was freezing cold, and Vin could see nothing as he desperately tried to sluice away the ants. The motion-agitated water was adding to the problem, and he wasn’t sure if his frenzied movements were having the desired effect. Whether the clinging ants had been dislodged or not, Vin was aware that he couldn’t continue much longer. His lungs felt like they were about to burst, and he couldn’t stop the involuntary upward thrust as his oxygen-starved form sought air. The sharpshooter’s head and upper body broke the surface of the water and he sat upright, instantly pushing his dripping hair back, before wiping his eyes.

"Sh…sh….shit!" Tanner mumbled through his chattering teeth.

Chris took the large towel from Mary and, jutting his chin out to Josiah, he and the oldest agent grabbed an arm each to help Vin out of the trough.

Grateful for the steadying pair of hands, Vin clambered out, his water-inflated boxer’s billowing, spurting and squelching as he moved. As they drained of liquid, the shorts became virtually see-through and clung to his backside like a second skin. Before Mary and Inez got the chance to ogle the hapless man for too long, Larabee stepped forward and quickly wrapped the towel around his friend’s trembling body. Ezra had brought a stool out of the kitchen, and Chris guided Vin towards it.

"Sit down and get your breath back," he commanded the younger man.

Vin rubbed himself briskly with the towel, grimacing when the rough material caught one of the hundreds of ant stings on his skin. "Lord, I c’n still feel ‘em crawlin’ on me! I hope them orn’ry beggars ‘ave all drowned," he muttered waspishly.

Nathan’s amusement at his colleague’s plight had now vanished. He was in full medic-cum-mother hen mode, as his dark eyes raked over his friend, and rapidly assessed the other’s physical state. There wasn’t much bare skin to see on Vin, although his gaze kept getting captured by the sharpshooter’s nose, which was red and swollen from the ant’s sting. "Are you feeling all right, Vin? I mean in yourself, not the soreness from the stings. Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?" Jackson questioned.

Taking a second towel from Mary, Vin wiped his face and neck, before starting on his tangled, dripping hair. "Thanks, ma’am. I’m okay, Nate. Those damned critters done got me but good!" he responded forlornly, smiling wanly at his friends as they gathered around him.

Inez and Mary exchanged looks, and after murmuring that they needed to get some lunch things sorted in Chris’ kitchen, they wisely made a discreet exit from the group of men.

"Vin, have you ever been stung by ants before?" the EMT wanted to know.

"Hell no! An’ it ain’t somethin’ I want t’repeat either!"

Chris frowned as Nathan bit his lip worriedly at the sharpshooter’s peevish response. "Why do you ask, Nathan?" the blond asked.

"Well, some folk can…" The medic paused when he saw the look of alarm and blatant suspicion painted on Vin’s features.

"Fire ants pack a nasty punch, and a concerted attack can cause an allergic reaction in some people," Nathan hurriedly explained. "Anaphylactic shock is a serious and dangerous condition. I’m sorry, Vin,"- he threw the towel-wrapped man a lop-sided grin of apology – "but you need an anti-histamine shot just to be on the safe side."

"Aw, shit! I’m fine, Nate, an’ I ain’t having no needle stuck in m’ass! Don’t ya reckon I’s suffered ‘nough today? M’skin’s on fire after those cussed varmints did a hoedown on m’body, an’ now you want to add to m’misery!" the sharpshooter retorted. "I’ll jes’ get some of Larabee’s septic cream from the bathroom an’…"

Nathan cut off the other’s protests. "Putting anti-septic on those stings isn’t the answer, Vin. The venom’s in your bloodstream already, so we need to act before it takes hold."

Hearing genuine concern in Jackson’s tone, Chris immediately took on the mantle of solicitous team leader and commander. "Okay, we’d best get organised then. He’ll need to borrow some of my clothes and underwear. Then I’ll drive him to the clinic in town. Nathan, do you need to do anything about those marks before Vin dresses?" Larabee enquired, pointing to the snaking trail of red lumps on Vin’s bare arm.

"No. It’ll be best to let a doctor see them in that raw condition. I’ve got Vin’s medical history stored in here" – Nathan tapped his head – "so I may as well come with you and sort out the paperwork. Maybe it’ll save time."

"Fast-tracking. That’s a good idea. You can translate all that medical garbage the doctors love to spout as well."

"I thought you’d be fairly adept at that by now, Chris. Especially when you consider how often Vin comes to grief. Whether on or off duty!" Nathan snorted wryly.

"Why don’t y’all jes’ talk about me like I’s not here?" Vin asked sarcastically, interrupting the animated discussion between his best friend and the EMT. "I told ya – I’m doin’ fine! An’ there ain’t gonna be no doctor crap, ‘cause I ain’t going to no damned hospital on account of a few stupid ant nips."

Chris frowned, his hazel eyes steely as he studied the sharpshooter. "I’m not arguing with you, Tanner. Nathan knows what he’s talking about, so you’re going – period."

Vin knew from the set look on Chris’ face that he wasn’t going to win, so the younger man got to his feet with an annoyed huff. "Yer just a pair of fussy she-wolves!" he growled.

"We’ll carry on with what we can while you’re gone, Chris," Buck informed his friend, who was deliberately ignoring the mutters and dire threats issued by the reluctant ‘patient’.

"Take care of yourself, junior!" Buck added gaily, slapping Vin on the shoulder.

"Ow! Watch it, Buck – a whole army of those pesky ants got me there! Take care?" Vin grumbled. "Easy fer you t’say that when you ain’t the one getting a needle stuck in ya!"

"I guess not. Well, try and snag that pretty Nurse Sabrina to give you the shot! That lady’s got a sweet, gentle touch – it’s a gift! And she’s real easy on the eyes, if you hear what I’m saying!"

"Do I look like I need your cast-offs, Bucklin? An’ you lot better not eat all the grub while we’s gone! I aim to sample some of the ladies’ fine vittles, an’ no flaccid shock’s gonna keep me from Inez’s chilli!"

Nathan laughed, despite his concern. "That goes double from me too, fellas. Did ya hear that JD? We shouldn’t be that long."

"No, we won’t," Chris affirmed. "And we don’t want any more accidents. I saw enough Tanner ant-ics today to last me a lifetime!"

The Texan groaned in embarrassment, shaking his head in mute resignation at what was probably the first of hundreds of jokes he’d have to endure from his friends. This silly incident would haunt him for the next six months… or maybe even longer. "Dammit! I’m gonna go get dressed. I’ll meet ya out front, Larabee."

Chris nodded in reply. "Okay… my feckless, formic friend!"

Vin scowled as his friends burst out laughing, and stomped off – as angrily as he could with bare feet and wearing not much more than a towel - towards the ranch house. No, he definitely wasn’t going to be allowed to forget this one in a hurry!

‘Tanner antics! You’ll get yers, Chris,’ the sharpshooter promised himself. That thought actually buoyed him up a little. Revenge would eventually arrive in Texas-sized portions - but first Vin had to take his medicine. He was a patient man – he could wait for the right opportunity to get even.