"...Pick him up. That's it…." God, Des's head hurt. His ears still rang, his body sore, aching in multiple places. Where….?

Where was he?

"Set him down here. We need to get those bullet wounds treated, as well as that head injury." Des was jostled slightly as he was placed on a hard, cool surface. What… was going on? It hurt to think, it hurt to move… it hurt to breathe. Everything hurt. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Do you think he'll wake up?"

"It's a possibility. If he does, I have some sedatives that should knock him out again. There's no reason to keep him awake if he's in pain." Des thought, briefly, that he should let them know he was awake. Getting put on those sedatives sounded so good right now.

"Agent Owl." Des froze. He recognized that voice. Bronev.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"If he wakes up, keep him awake for questioning."

"Boss, he's hurt --"

"I'm aware. I personally made sure of it." Silence. Des kept his eyes closed, tried to keep his breathing calm and steady.

Oh, God, he knew where he was now. Targent had captured him. He had been shot multiple times, he had broken bones and he had suffered a kick to the head. The nurse finally spoke up again.

"Boss, don't you think we should let him start the healing process before putting him through the interrogations?"

"Agent, are you refusing to do as I said?"

"No, Boss. Not at all. I would just like to say that people are more prone to focus on their pain than the questions being asked, which ends up being more time-consuming in the end. If they aren't in pain, they can think clearly enough to answer."

"Not this one." Bronev's voice was a low growl. "He tends to answer more to the pain. If he wakes up, let me know immediately."

"Yes, Boss." Footsteps, then the click of a door. There was a sigh, then the agent's voice was close to him, soft. "I'm sorry this is how it has to be. Just stay asleep, alright? I'll check your wounds." His shirt was removed, and hands ghosted over his wounds. Another sigh, a few quiet tuts. "The boss doesn't like to bring people in unscathed. I just wish he wouldn't bring them in in critical health." Des didn't know why she was talking to him like she knew he was awake. For all he knew, she thought he was asleep. "Did you know a little girl was placed in my care quite a few years ago, along with her mother? I didn't think the Boss'd go so far as to almost kill a child, then bring her here. Targent is no place for a little girl. Fortunately, I was able to bring her back from the brink." A hand prodded at a bullet wound, his body twitched unwillingly. A pause, then the agent -- Owl -- continued. "I just finished hooking your friend up in the intensive care unit. He is lucky to be alive."

As the bullet wound was pulled open and a pair of tweezers inserted, Des processed what she had said. A friend… in the ICU? Nate? No… he didn't know where they had gone when Des said they were going to find the next of the Great Legacies. He didn't have many other friends except….

Des's blood turned cold. Raymond. Raymond was here. He remembered now. His eyes shot open, jerking and surprising the agent working on his shoulder. She pulled away, then placed a hand on Des's chest, pushing him back down.

"Raymond's here?" He gasped. The agent was wearing scrubs -- a nurse? "He can't --"

"Hey," Agent Owl said, brushing a strand of her graying hair behind an ear. Her caramel eyes stared at him. "Sh. We can't have the Boss knowing you're awake."

"But Raymond --"

"He's going to be fine. The reason why he is in intensive care is because he suffered a bullet wound dangerously close to his heart. It had to be removed immediately after you two arrived." The nurse stared at him for a moment before she focused, again, on the bullet wound on his shoulder. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Why?" Des hissed when she stretched open the wound again, tweezers being reinserted.

"It seems rude of me to call you a prisoner. You have done nothing to deserve this." The red-eyed man sighed. Might as well.

"I… Professor Sycamore." The nurse's eyes widened, and she tensed slightly, pinching a bit of muscle with her tweezers. Des bit his tongue to prevent himself from shouting. Her head shot up, and she stared at him.

"You're Mr. Sycamore?" Her voice was quiet. Desmond grit his teeth, then nodded. The nurse stared at him even more, eyes wide and incredulous. She shook her head, grip slackening on the tweezers before she continued once more. "I'm sorry about what happened to your family." Des felt his anger bubbling up.

"Like you even give a shit."

"I don't believe in violence for answers, like the Boss does." Owl slowly pulled the bullet out, contemplative. "You may have permanent nerve damage there," she muttered. She cleaned the area, then stitched up the wound. "Are there any other bullet wounds?" Desmond stared at her, not sure how to answer, especially when she was staring at him like she'd seen a ghost. Finally, he said:

"My leg. That's why I got captured."

"I see. Would you be alright if I were to remove it? Do you know where it is?" Des grit his teeth as he lifted his leg, gesturing with a hand to his thigh. Owl's eyes widened as she reached for a pair of scissors to snip away the fabric keeping her from seeing the wound. "My word, Professor. I'm surprised you haven't bled out yet."

"How lucky of me." He gave a soft shout when she began checking the wound.

"If you would have bled out, your friend would have been questioned instead, possibly killed because he was close to you." Owl's voice was soft. "Raymond was his name?" Her eyes widened slightly again, as if she remembered something. "Yes, yes, his name was Raymond." A moment of silence stretched between them. "Did you know Violet missed you?"

Des jerked. "What?" He breathed out.

"When she woke up, she wanted you." Owl's voice was sad, wistful. "She wanted her grandfather as well."

"No, she wasn't brought here, was she?" Des couldn't find it in him to believe it. They were dead. They had been burned along with that house, they were dead. To his horror, Owl nodded.

"She was on death's door when she was brought in. A scrawny little thing. She wanted her family like nothing else."

"She couldn't have --" She was lying. There was no other explanation. "Did Bronev set you up for this." His voice was dead. "I know he was cruel, but --"

"I'm not making this up," Owl insisted. "Not at all. She's --"

"This is just to break me." Desmond nodded to himself. "That's all this is. They died."

Owl finished stitching up the wound on his thigh before straightening to stare at him. He was in denial. He couldn't accept it. "Mr. Sycamore, when you get better, I can see if I can get Violet down here to visit you." Des sat up, ignoring the small explosion of stars in his vision, head swimming. "Lay back down. You aren't well."

"No." Des was already swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm fine." He stood, wobbling a bit on his feet before his vision cleared. "I'm getting out of here with Raymond. Don't try to stop me."

"I told you before, Mr. Sycamore, I don't do violence." Owl shook her head. "I'm too old for it -- too soft-hearted." Desmond scoffed, buttoning up his shirt and starting towards the door. "But I will warn you. Once you leave this room, you're putting both Raymond and yourself in terrible danger, if not your entire family here."

Desmond knew. He also knew he'd be in more danger if he just stayed there like a sitting duck. Raymond would want him to escape. He gave one more glance to the nurse before he opened the door.

"I'm aware."

Raymond woke to the beeps and constant whirs of machinery. His head pounded, his chest hurt far too much; it felt tight, constricted. There were so many wires, so many needles, in his body. His breathing came in short puffs.

Surprisingly enough, nothing hurt. He knew he had been shot -- he knew he was at Targent. Was he in a medical wing? He laid there, turning his head slightly -- an IV was in his neck, preventing him from looking around too much.

A man walked into his room. "Ah. You're awake." Raymond didn't answer; he just stared at him. Messy black hair tumbled down to his shoulders, eyes small and beady. He approached the bed. "You know, it was a mistake working for that fool Sycamore. Look at how much trouble it's gotten you into."

Raymond shook his head slightly. "He needed me." His voice came out slurred, faint.

"I see. Let me tell you this." The man leaned down; Raymond could smell the cigarette smoke and alcohol on his breath. "Boss told me to shoot you if he tried to escape."

Raymond just nodded. He should have seen this coming. He should have been more careful -- Des was hurt, he was in trouble. If he had just kept him from jumping off that chamber -- he had wanted to bring Nate with him, to make sure everything would go smoothly; Des had refused. For what reason, Raymond would never know. The man smiled, mocking.

A long moment passed. The man had stepped to take a seat next to Raymond's bed, foot tapping the floor incessantly.

The man finally stood. "Do you hear those unsteady footsteps? Those must be his, no?"

Raymond blinked slowly, struggling to stay awake. He did hear those footsteps, barely audible over the whirring and beeping of everything hooked up to him.

The door burst open, Desmond stumbled through. The man immediately pulled the gun out, placed it against Raymond's head. "Come any closer, I shoot."

Desmond froze, eyes flitting from Raymond to the gun to the man holding it. Raymond gave Des a quick incline of his head.

"Leave me. Go." His voice was nothing more than a whisper. Des shook his head.

"I can't leave you." Des took another hesitant step forward, hands held up. The man pressed the gun harder against Raymond's temple. Des exhaled shakily, then took another limping stride towards Raymond, eyes wild and desperate.

"If you try anything, I'll shoot!" Des coiled, as if ready to pounce. Raymond heard the familiar click of a gun getting ready to fire.

"Run," Was all Raymond managed out before the loud bang of a gunshot went off.

Desmond's frantic eyes were the last thing he saw.