The gloom of the day deepened and became a cloying, drenched night where the stars were blotted out by the dense fog surrounding the old mill and the valley around it.

But inside, the old cast-iron stove sent warmth and comfort through the big room, the doors left open to let the heat out and dispel the chill. Shadows licked around the walls and both doors, one leading to the saw-bench shed and the other to a short flight of stairs up to a store-room.

Eliot lay on a lower bunk, bundled up in a sleeping bag, propped up on a rucksack so that he could keep an eye on everything around him, an ingrained response that was as natural to him as breathing.

He had feebly demanded that the bunks be turned around so that he had the main door and the two large windows overlooking the river within his radar, although Hardison had told Eliot he was delirious if he thought he could do anything about any breach of their safety.

Hardison sat down beside Eliot on one of the old, battered chairs and offered him some water.

"Here. It might help with the headache. Can you manage, bro, or do you want me to –"

Eliot scrunched up one eye and peered at Hardison with the other. His focus was shot all to hell. His good hand made its way out of the sleeping bag and shakily grasped the canteen mug.

"C'n do it m'self …" he muttered, and drank carefully, trying his best not to spill any water. The fever was wracking him with chills, but he was damned if he was going to let it show. The cold water tasted like nectar.

Hardison studied his best friend. Eliot looked dreadful. His skin was like ivory, stretched thin over gaunt features, and his eyes were bruised with fatigue. He was obviously dehydrated, and Hardison could tell that the hitter was trying not shiver.

Parker had checked his wounds and they did not seem to have worsened, but Eliot had exhausted his formidable strength and stamina. He had no more to give, Hardison knew.

Parker suddenly appeared beside them and sat down on the dusty floor, legs crossed.

"Okay, listen up, fellas! The place is wind and watertight, more or less, and there's a big wooden bar for the main door so we can at least barricade it. The other one just leads upstairs, and there's a big old skylight onto the roof with a lookout platform. The only windows look out over the river. The rear wall overlooks the race for the mill, so we're protected on two sides, at least. Happy now?"

She raised a questioning eyebrow at Eliot.

"It'll do," he grated. "It'll have to. Nothin' much we can do about it."

Hardison looked at Parker, who nodded.

"I'll be heading out in the morning Eliot. Hardison'll stay with you, make sure you don't do something dumb. I'll take both flares."

"Take … take my scope, you might need it," Eliot said, and then coughed, the pain wrenching him forwards, spilling what was left of his water.

Hardison was there in a second, easing the mug out of Eliot's hand and letting him work his way through the moment. When he saw that the pain was easing, he refilled the mug and handed it back to Eliot, who nodded his thanks.

"Just … just head along the road. You got a map, so figure it out. Think the fog's gonna lie for the next day or so …" Eliot ran out of steam. "Hell, you know what you're doin' … jus' … find a way. Can't think straight. Head hurts …"

His eyes were glassy, and Hardison caught the half-filled mug before Eliot let it slip.

Parker reached out and squeezed Eliot's free hand.

"It's okay, Sparky," she said softly. "I got it. I got you." She patted Eliot's hand and then unfurled herself, like a cat. "Going to eat now and then sleep. Got a big day tomorrow."

And then she was off, helping herself to fried bacon and pemmican.

Hardison smiled. The girl sure loved that disgusting, greasy stuff. He was still pondering Parker's decidedly weird eating habits when Eliot spoke so softly that Hardison almost didn't catch the words.

"She's my sister."

Hardison frowned, confused, and studied Eliot, who had let his head fall back onto the rucksack and closed his eyes.

"Say what?"

Eliot's lips twisted into a wistful smile.

"The scope … my sis gave it to me."

Hardison thought he hadn't heard right.

"Your … sister?"

Since when did Eliot have a sister? And then he remembered Eliot mentioning a nephew at some point, so it made sense he had at least one sibling.

"She … she bought it for me when I was …" Eliot hitched a breath, " … was in the army. You c'n buy these things, Hardison. It ain't rocket science," he added testily, answering Hardison's unspoken question. "I broke my scope … would've waited for weeks for a new one … tol' her in a letter …"

Hardison knew Eliot wasn't in touch with his family. Eliot had told him so once, in a rare moment of openness. He had hesitantly told Hardison about the argument with his father, and the fact Eliot hadn't seen him since he was eighteen and went off to do good in the world by protecting his country. But a sister was something new.

"Ain't seen her in over twelve years," Eliot whispered.

Hardison saw that Eliot was lost in memories, his eyes dark with pain. Not normally a man who could keep his mouth shut, Hardison just sat and waited. He knew Eliot needed to get this said for some reason.

"Kept in touch when I left home. She … she told me how dad was … how he was doin' … she never asked what I did … never told her." Eliot smiled bitterly. "I've never met my nephew. When … when Moreau … happened … I … I stopped writin' … callin' …" Eliot reached out and clutched Hardison's arm." "had … had to keep her safe, y'understand? Keep the boy safe …"

Hardison nodded numbly, and felt Eliot's fingers tighten on his forearm, feverishly reaching out for some kind of understanding.

"I've kept tabs on 'em though. I know … I know they're alright. That he's doin' okay at school." Eliot managed a shallow, rasping breath. "He's a good kid."

Hardison put his hand over Eliot's, letting the man know he understood.

"El … when this is over … why not go home? See your sis. Meet your kin."

Eliot's mouth was a grim line and he shook his head.

"Nah. It … it's too late now. It's for the best. Safer this way."

Hardison frowned, pushing the issue.

"Listen, El –"

But Eliot had let go of Hardison's arm and turned his face away. As far as the hitter was concerned, this conversation was over.

Hardison ran his long fingers over his head, scratching impulsively at the shaven curls there, and let out an explosive sigh. He could hear Parker muttering to herself as she helped herself to another pack of pemmican. She obviously hadn't heard Eliot's revelation, or else she would be busy poking Eliot with a sharp little finger and asking highly invasive questions.

He leaned forward and rested a hand on Eliot's good shoulder. He could feel the tremors running through the stocky body.

"Rest easy, m'man. It's cool. Maybe if you feel like it, we can talk some more someday."

There was no answer.

Hardison relaxed back into the old chair and let his eyes wander to the glowing fire in the stove, the shifting colours and welcome heat relaxing him after one helluva day. He thought about Eliot and his shattered family, and he thought about how he might feel if he couldn't see his Nana ever again. After a moment or two, he realised it was a place he really didn't want to visit.

"Damn you, Eliot. Damn you," he said to himself.

And settling deeper into the chair, he tried to doze.

Parker was ready to go just before dawn. She unbarred the heavy main door, wandered through the saw mill and looked at the burgeoning day. The fog had settled into a grey mass of dampness, dulling everything and turning the world into a sodden, colourless landscape. Not that Parker could see much of it, even when everything lightened as the sun came up.

She returned to the main building and packed her rucksack, including her new rig and some climbing gear. If she had to spend a night outside, she would sleep in a tree. She left a couple of spare ropes and carabiners in Hardison's rucksack, not wanting to be weighted down.

Hardison had placed Eliot's scope for her on a table, and she packed it carefully away beside the map. She had a compass, and she had food and water. She had purloined a few of Eliot's pemmican balls, and that made her smile. She just loved pemmican. And finally she packed the flares. She needed ready access to them when the time came, so she placed them at the top of her rucksack. She was ready.

Turning, she saw Hardison sprawled in his chair, looking uncomfortable but sound asleep.

Eliot was dozing. He had been awoken by nightmares several times through the night, leaving him disorientated and confused. Parker and Hardison had taken it in turns to settle him, soft words and comfort making their way through his fevered thoughts, and then he had sipped a mouthful or two of the wonderfully cold water, bringing a little clarity to his pain-filled existence.

Parker wondered if she should wake them, but decided against it. They were both worn out, and Eliot was so sick … Parker chewed her lower lip for a second or two. Then she noticed the dirty mirror on the wall.

She grinned suddenly.

Lifting it off the wall she propped it on the table where it could be easily seen and then wrote with her finger in the filmy dust.

That done, she hefted the rucksack onto her back, opened the door to the rest of the world, and was gone.

Hardison awoke with a start. While asleep he had slid down the chair until the edge of the hard wooden seat was digging into his lower buttocks, and his ass was as numb as all get out, dammit.

He eased himself upwards, and winced. Pins and needles began to work their way through his behind, and his back felt as though it was about to snap in two. He felt something crack.

"Ow," he said loudly.

"Huh?" said Eliot, drowsy and befuddled. "Wasshappenin'?"

Hardison stood up and stretched, muscles protesting at the sudden movement. He felt as though he was ninety years old.

Eliot was stirring, trying to sit upright on the edge of the bunk and failing miserably, his damaged body not wanting to do as it was told. The effort left him gasping.

"Easy, man," Hardison scolded, "wait a sec an' I'll help you up. I can't feel my ass. Dang chair, hard as a board, no respecter of a man's bee-hind …"

He stopped when he noticed something – someone – was missing.

"Parker's gone," he said.

The hitter lifted his head and did a quick Eliot-radar check of the room. Yup. No Parker.

"She left," Hardison said irritably. "An' she left a note."

He lifted the mirror off the table and showed it to Eliot, who squinted and read the words written in the dust.

HEY SPARKY, LOOK AFTER HARDISON. DON'T LET HIM GET EATEN BY A BEAR. SEE YOU SOON, PARKER.

She had finished her name with a stylish little squiggle.

Eliot let loose a soft, raspy chuckle, that low, husky laugh the whole team recognised as Eliot being genuinely amused.

"Har, har," Hardison complained. "Ain't no joke. Damn bear's out there someplace. I jus' know it."

Putting out a hand, Eliot gestured at Hardison.

"Gimmee a hand up, man. 'M tired a' layin' here. Need … need to sit up."

Grumbling, Hardison did as he was asked and helped Eliot out of his sleeping bag and to swing his legs down onto the floor, tipping the hitter upright. It wasn't graceful, and it certainly wasn't painless, but once he was sitting upright, Eliot immediately felt better. A man could only do so much layin' around. Unless it was with a pretty lady. But Eliot shook that little thought from his mind, and set himself his next task, which was getting to his feet.

Once again Hardison obliged, still complaining, and although he swayed and was as weak as a kitten, Eliot managed a few shuffling steps.

Thoroughly pleased with his efforts, he slowly lowered himself into one of the chairs by the table, even though he sat down a little too hard and the jolting pain in his shoulder and side made his vision blur for a few seconds.

"Whoa … "

He blinked furiously, dizziness threatening to tip him from the chair.

Hardison caught him before he fell, and finally Eliot felt secure enough to stop gripping the edge of the table so hard the knuckles of his good hand gleamed white. He was shaking with the effort, in pain, and the high fever was knocking him sideways, but he'd made it. He was upright.

Hardison hung onto him for a minute or so, making sure Eliot wasn't going to keel over, but he tentatively let go, realising that Eliot – at least for the moment – was in control of his own body.

"You okay there for a few minutes, man? I gotta go answer the call of nature an' get some more wood for the stove, then we'll eat. Think you can get some food in you?"

Eliot blinked out from beneath a curtain of hair. The effort of just sitting was exhausting him.

"Reckon so. Not hungry, but … "

Hardison shook his head.

"Yeah, El, I know. But you should get somethin' in you."

Elliot nodded wordlessly. He would try.

Pulling on his heavy coat, Hardison headed through the main door and out into the saw mill. The fog had even made its way into the building, and it hung around in whisps. But as he emerged into the outdoors Hardison noticed that the fog was brighter. He looked up and to his surprise he could vaguely see the outline of the sun above. Maybe … maybe the sun would burn the fog off as the day warmed up, and it cheered him. It would hopefully make Parker's mission that little bit easier.

Within minutes he had performed his ablutions, and zipping up his fly and his jacket, he turned and began the walk around the mill to the small pile of logs he had found the night before. He was already tasting the freshly cooked, crisp bacon. His Nana cooked the best bacon in the world, crunchy, tasty, with a hint of smokiness … mmm-mmm!

And with all this in mind and with a smile on his face, Hardison turned the corner of the building.

And ran slap-bang into the ass-end of a very large grizzly bear.

To be continued …