String and St. John carried Mike up the steps of the cabin as carefully as they could, but they were nearly knocked over as a small blond boy of about 8 burst through the door of the cabin, Caitlin trying in vain to stop him.

"Uncle Mike! Uncle Mike!"

The boy stopped cold as he saw that they were carrying him. String and St. John looked at each other, both wanting to tell the kid that Mike would be OK, but knowing very well they couldn't promise. They didn't have long to think about it anyway. They quickly had to refocus their energies on Mike. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but the young boy's sudden cries were stirring him awake, and the alarm in the kid's voice was obviously stirring a protective streak in Mike. Semiconscious and confused, he began fighting them and he nearly kicked String over.

"Let's get him inside before we hurt him, " St. John said as he scrambled to keep his grip.

"Or he hurts us." String said dryly. "Boy kicks like a mule even half dead."

"String!" Caitlin said harshly, pulling the boy in closer to her. St. John wisely started them moving again before an argument ensued.

Caitlin glared at the men as she restrained the young boy. He was damned near hysterical, and with good reason. He'd just recently watched his parents die, and now, after what he'd just seen and heard…

"Michael," she said calmly, although in truth she was just as alarmed as the child was. "Michael, calm down."

"Everybody keeps saying that, and worser and worser things keep happening!" he shouted.

"I know," she said as she watched the others file in. Jason had a grim look on his face but nodded to her as he walked past. Jo just looked vacant, on autopilot, and didn't seem to notice them at all. Been there, done that, she thought.

"I want to see Uncle Mike!" he protested as he took a step towards the door. Caitlin pulled him back and wrapped her arms around him.

"Let them get settled in first," she said as she sat down on the top step. "Then we'll go take a look-see, check on how he's doing."

"What happened to him?" the kid asked pleadingly, looking back at the cabin before sitting down beside her. He hadn't known Mike long…hadn't known any of them long, and Mike had been the first one to be able to get him to talk.

"Some bad men hurt him," she explained, putting an arm over his shoulders. "but we're going to help him as best we can."

"The same ones who hurt my parents?"

"I don't know. I don't think we know who did it yet. We can ask him when we go in to see him, if he's awake."

They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the sun rise over the horizon. It was too nice of a day for something like this to be happening, she thought. Then she closed her eyes to calm herself, and that's when the kid asked the scary question.

"He's going to die, isn't he?" Michael asked, wiping a tear from his eyes.

She looked at him before answering, and she knew that she had a tear in her eyes too. Oh well, she thought, wiping it away. Good for the kid to see that adults have emotions too.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But we're going to do everything we can to try to make sure he doesn't."

"But isn't that why he's here?" Michael spoke warily, blue eyes glistening with tears he was trying to hold back. Too much sorrow for someone so young. And he'd seen the people who'd killed his parents.

"My Great Aunt Becky came home, and I thought she was getting better." He paused to sniff, and leaned his head on her shoulder. "But everybody was so said, and all these strange people kept coming and going. Mom said they were hostess nurses."

"Oh, I see." Caitlin let her brilliant red hair fall forward to hide her face as she wiped away another tear. "That sounds like a hospice nurse."

""What's that?" he asked.

Oh, boy, how to handle THAT question. How'd she open that can of worms?

"Well," she began, swallowing hard before she continued, "Sometimes when someone has been sick for a very long time, their body just gets really tired and can't keep going."

"And they die and go to heaven?"

"Some people think that. But when doctors know they've done all they can do, the person can go home to be more comfortable. Some towns have places called hospice, and people can either stay there to get cared for, or stay in their own homes and hospice will send nurses out to care for them. They also have people you can talk to if you're sad about someone who has died."

Caitlin looked at him sideways to gauge his reaction. The only thing she got was another question.

"Then why not be in a hospital, where the nurses already are:?"

Caitlin looked at him carefully.

"Michael, have you ever asked anyone these questions before?"

"No," he answered. "I was only 6 when Great Aunt Becky went away. I was just a little kid and didn't know the words to ask what I wanted to ask., or to say what I was feeling."

"I know what that's like." she said, and she thought he looked relieved. "You've been thinking mighty hard about this, haven't you?"

"Yeah," He looked up at her and shrugged. "Especially lately."

"Things have been scary, huh?"

"My mom was scared," Michael said. "I think my dad was scared too sometimes, but he never said."

"Adults get scared sometimes. I get scared."

"You do?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

She waited to see if he seemed to feel better about being scared, but he only said, "So, why not a hospital?"

Damn. Guess she wasn't getting out of that question either.

"Well, hospitals are noisy, and lots of times if people have a choice and have time to think about it, they will choose to be at home when their time comes. That way friends and family can come and go without worrying about visiting hours. To spend time with people they love, and say goodbye."

Michael looked at her suspiciously, and with his expression she could almost see a resemblance to Mike Rivers, with his angelic eyes and little blond curls.

"That's not why he's here?"

Caitlin studied the child carefully before deciding how to answer. The kid was holding up well, all things considered, but he was definitely connecting the dots between whatever had happened to the major and what had happened to his parents. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands in front of her.

"The people who hurt Uncle Mike still want to hurt him, so we need to hide him. We have to watch him very carefully because he can't defend himself right now. So we brought him here. The people we work for are going to send a doctor and some medical equipment."

"Like hospice?" he asked warily.

"Mmm, yes and no."

"How can it be both?"

"Yes because hospice does do things like that, send things and people to their patients' homes. And no, because that's not why we're doing it."

"We're keeping him safe."

"Yes."

"Can I see him now?"

She was about to suggest that they go in and check when a large white Bell helicopter appeared over the tree line.

"Archangel." String said from behind her. She jumped; she hadn't heard anyone come outside. Yet there he stood, coffee mug in hand, leaning casually against the door.

"Go on inside, Michael." he said, winking at the boy in amusement over her reaction. "St. John will let you see Mike if you ask him."

That was all the encouragement the kid needed to rush inside.

String stood back and watched him run in, then leaned against the doorframe again.

"You're good with kids," he offered, taking a drink of his coffee and ignoring her glare.

"He just needed someone to explain to him what was happening," she yelled over the noise of the landing chopper.

"How is he?" she added more softly as the rotors slowed to a complete halt.

"Better now that he isn't being carried around like a sack of potatoes," String answered, taking another sip of coffee. He glanced up at her over the top of his mug and added quietly, "I wanted to say something to him, you know."

They watched Archangel and a man they presumed to be the doctor get out and start their approach. Caitlin stood and leaned into String, and he wrapped his arms around her and let her sink into him.

"I know," She sighed, enjoying the small comfort. "You can't make promises in situations like this. Besides," she added, her eyes twinkling, "You were too busy trying not to get your ass kicked good by an unconscious man."

"I didn't mean for him to hear what I said."

"What did you say?" Archangel asked as he approached the front steps.

"Nothing." Caitlin gave String's hand a squeeze and took a step towards the edge of the porch.

"Ah," Michael gestured to the middle-aged man behind him with two med-tech cases in hand. "This is Dr. William Carter. And on that segue, how is our patient?"

"Blissfully unconscious when I stepped out here a moment ago," String answered as he glanced back towards the door. "The last dose of morphine St. John gave him will be wearing off soon, though, and he's going to wish he was unconscious then."

"Ouch."

"That's an understatement." String opened the door and looked around. "Well, are you coming in?"

"We're not here for a quilting bee," Caitlin added. "The boy's hurt. Go help him!"