where did you even

get the gun

he's hurt

get the keys

can you get up

get the phone

what the

let's go

he's hurt i helped you i'm helping him we need him no we don't yes what's wrong with him i don't know let's go shut up we need to do this wake up wake up

Someone was bothering him, moving him. Just a few more minutes? No? What the hell is so important? Oh, Jesus, someone was smothering him, trying to choke him to death. Wake up wake up wake up wake up –

He shook his way into semi-consciousness, coughing, hands clawing wildly at his face. He found another hand there, pressing cloth over his mouth; he crushed its wrist in his fingers, and it was swiftly withdrawn.

"Goddammit," he heard, as he gasped for air, trying to focus. A woman's voice. He found her face hanging in front of him, then a name hanging in his head. Madison Paige. She looks pissed. Pieces flew together in his head: Mars-the alley-the standoff-the rain-the deal-the gun-the tripto. He was lying on his side.

Paige's face remained, wary, wet.

"You're still here," he said, wonderingly.

"Damn straight," Paige said. "And you owe me for that. Owe us."

Rough cloth was pressed into his hand. "Here," she said, "Keep this over your nose. It's slowed down, but you were gushing pretty badly."

He squeezed it into place over his face, and made a bid for verticality, his free right hand slipping on the wet ground. Oh, yeah, definitely still shaky. He heard her sigh, and then her hands were helping him lurch up into a sitting position. He noticed that her wrists were red and raw, and remembered to be surprised that her cuffs were off.

"Yeah," she said, catching the direction of his gaze, "You owe me for that, too."

He coughed in response, and pulled his hand away briefly to check the moisture he'd sprayed onto his wrist. I'm just going to hope those bloodstains are from the nosebleed. God only knows what's happening inside my skull right now. He leaned against the wall again, tilting his head back. Oh, ow. Ow ow ow. His head, his joints – everything was protesting at being forced into cooperation.

"What," she asked pointedly, "The hell was that?"

"I've . . . got . . . it's all right, it doesn't matter." He managed to identify Mars, who was sitting upright on the ground now, resting back against the dumpster. There was a gun held limply in his lap, again loosely covering Jayden. He looked angry. I guess nobody's plans are working out today. Jayden sighed and ran his free hand over his clothing, his belt, starting to take an inventory. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and stickily wet – oh, let it be water, come on water, nope, of course not. A look down showed him dark runners of blood through the fabric. Another shirt bites the dust.

"You guys look like bookends," Paige said darkly, standing to look down at the two of them. They probably did – miserable, blood-stained, sulking. "Right. I've decided that, as the only one who can remain standing up on a consistent basis, I get to be in charge, now. And I've got to tell you, whatever just happened to you, Agent, it matters. I'm starting to seriously reevaluate the value of the help of a guy who passes out while holding a loaded gun. No offense, Ethan."

"Where is my gun?" asked Jayden, already knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"What's wrong with you?" demanded Mars, bluntly, staring hard.

"Look, I get these migraines," he replied reluctantly. He'd practiced the excuse thoroughly in the mirror until he could do it by heart. "I could feel it coming on, but I thought I'd be okay, could make it through the . . . our conversation. Then it just hit me like a freight train. Was like getting stabbed in the brain. I just need a little downtime, my meds, I'll be okay." That was pretty good, Norman, he thought to himself, grace under pressure. He tried to look as though he still felt like he was getting stabbed in the brain, which wasn't too far from the truth.

"A migraine. You get migraines that make you bleed out of your face?" Paige looked vaguely impressed.

"Yeah, they're pretty brutal. My gun?"

"I've got your gun," replied Paige, "And your phone. And your pepper spray. And your handcuffs. And your handcuff key, that was a joy to dig around for. And you get them back when I say so."

"My car keys?"

"Same deal."

"My, uh – " He dove his hand hastily into the all-important breast pocket, and felt a shiver of relief. They were all there together – the ARI glasses, the glove, packed in on top of the slumbering tube of triptocaine. Must not have looked important enough to take, thank god. The tricks of my trade. The tricks of my trips. The truth of my tricks. Jesus, Norman, get it together. He tried to remember if there was anything else important. "Actually, where's my tie?"

"You're holding that," she said, "On your face."

"Oh, for – " He gave up and pulled his hand away to examine the wadded-up mess it contained.

"Trust me, it was a lost cause anyway," she said. Jesus, I think she's smirking. "Tell me, is an agent really supposed to be running around with a medical condition that stabs them in the brain in the middle of a standoff?"

"What?" Jayden was taken off-guard.

"We need to get out of here. Soon," Mars contributed, looking surprisingly disinterested in their exchange, more tired than anything. He'd let the end of the gun in his lap drift downwards until it was pointed aimlessly at the ground.

"I know, Ethan, we will. I'm just wondering if our agent friend owes us as much as I think he does. Owes us so much that we can ask him for a few favors."

Jayden had to stare at her for a long beat before he caught her meaning. Oh shit, she thinks she's got me over a barrel. She thinks she could rat me out so I'd get benched on a medical. If you only knew, lady. He wanted to laugh, then to throw up. If she tried, though, Norman, if they hauled you in, you know what they'd find. Lucky, lucky bitch. He threw the ruined tie away from him and ground the heel of his hand against his eye, trying to scratch the itch that was inside his pounding head. Paige was looking hard at him.

"My name is Norman Jayden. You can use whatever part of it you'd like, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop with all the just plan 'agent' stuff. It's not necessary, that tone," said Jayden, sadly. "All this isn't necessary, this . . . coercion. I was going to keep up my end of the deal. I am going to. I want Shaun Mars safe as anyone here," he added, glancing towards Mars. "I mean that genuinely. Please. Let me help."

"Madison," said Mars quietly, "I still don't feel so hot." He didn't look it, either. I can sympathize, pal.

She'd flushed a little at Jayden's last speech, looking slightly ashamed, and now bent over Mars with concern. "Where's the car? Agent . . . Jayden?"

He put one hand down and started to get to his feet, but she motioned for him to stay put. He could see her working through her options. "Listen, I think I trust you enough to leave you here without handcuffing you to a drainpipe, but I know I don't trust you enough to let you drive a car with me in it right now. If I let either one of you two behind the wheel, we'll end up in the river."

"I bounce back pretty quick, usually," he said truthfully, feeling guilty that there was a usually involved, but she shook her head at him. He had to think for a second; it was hard to remember what direction he'd walked in, following the ARI. "I . . . let's see, I came into this place from the right . . . no, I remember. Block and Wolfe. Corner of Block and Wolfe. It's a black Ford."

"All right," she said, still looking at Mars. "Ethan? Can you stay awake for a little bit until I get back with the car? Just keep your eyes open, okay?" He nodded wearily. "Just concentrate on that."

I see. You trust me enough not to handcuff me, but you're leaving me with Mr. Crazylogic and his gun, just in case.

She stood, gave them both a lingering, doubtful look, and ran off into the rain.

There was an awkward silence after she left, the two men avoiding eye contact. Jayden dipped his hand into a puddle, wishing he knew where he'd thrown the tie, and used his wet hand to try to wipe down his face. He looked towards the other man. All right, Mars, what's holding your crazylogic together?

"Does my face look better," he asked tentatively, "Or am I just smearing it?"

Mars looked reluctantly up and back at him. "You look more dirty than bloody, now."

"Better than nothing," Jayden shrugged, standing jerkily. His tailbone was slightly numb from pressing into the concrete, his spine ached from grinding into the wall, and he thought he felt a bump on his head from where he'd probably hit the ground, a collection of sore and tender places. Not to mention the bruises he'd gotten from his fight with Korda. Thank you, sir, may I have another? Ethan watched him warily, but left the gun down. "So where'd you find her? She Who Must Be Obeyed?"

"It's a long story. She found me, sort of."

"I'm not surprised. How long has she been helping you out?"

"We met yesterday." Mars abruptly gave up on the gun entirely, placing it on the ground, and lowered his face wearily into his right hand.

Lady works fast. How did she find him? "That's a pretty short long story. How much does she know about what you're doing?"

The other man was silent.

"Mars? Hey, Mars, what's wrong with you?" Jayden moved cautiously toward him, hunkering down. "Ethan? Where are you hurt?" Mars' eyes blinked open, and he leant his head back again, shifting uneasily as Jayden put one hand on his shoulder and peered into his face, squinting. "Is that a head injury? When did you get that? Have you had it looked at?"

"It's all right, it's just a cut. Madison cleaned it. It's from . . . from yesterday. I'm mostly just . . . there's a lot of pain. All over. And I'm. Tired."

"Yeah? What's with the hand?" Up close, Jayden could tell now that it looked like it was wrapped in a scrap of a black plastic garbage bag, tied off around the wrist.

"Hurt it. Lost part of my finger."

Jesus. "Can I see? I've got my CPR certification."

". . . what does that have to do with . . . ?"

"Exactly jack and shit, but I never use it, so it made me feel better to mention it and pretend I was using it."

There was no answering smile. Tough crowd. But Mars let him gingerly tear apart the black plastic, and Jayden was taken aback at what was revealed: underneath, the hand was wrapped in strips of blood-spotted newspaper, which he began to cautiously peel away. He caught Ethan's quiver and sharp intake of breath as the stump of bone hit the open air. Holy god, that woman was determined to make a bandage out of something. She's creative, at least. Way to plan ahead, Norman, now that you're looking at it, what are you going to do about it? The hand was curled into a claw, smeared with blood and newsprint.

"That . . . that looks neither comfortable nor clean." He hesitated, then began shucking off his suit jacket. "This won't be, either, but I promise it'll be slightly less disgusting."