Joe had heard enough. He pushed to his feet, started for the patio doors. He just wanted to get out and calm down.

"If you go out again," Mar hadn't lost the calm quiet, not once, "be back for dinner, please. Joshua wants to talk to you both when he gets back."

Wonderful. Someone else to yell at them. Joe made it out onto the patio; Frank was right behind him and stepped out before Joe shut the doors completely. Frank went to the end of the porch, out of line-of-sight of the doors, and settled to lean on his arms against the rail.

"You believe her?" Frank said.

"About Dad?" Joe couldn't look at him; Downs' taunts still echoed in his head. "I think she's telling the truth, as they know it. You know there's stuff Dad won't talk about."

That despite their dogged determination to try to uncover those things when they were kids and excited about Dad being involved with super-secret spy stuff. Dad had never quite discouraged them; he'd always seemed pleased — and exasperated — when he'd caught them at it, even as he lectured them on client confidentiality. He'd been proud of his sons taking after him.

Until New Orleans, anyway.

"Maybe." Frank's gaze was on the Bay. "There's something else going on. Those people don't want us here, but Mar and Josh bring us here anyway. Mar talked about the government wanting Gifts under their control, and all I could think was that this place wants the same thing. And us, under their control."

"What Hammond said," Joe said.

Frank didn't answer.

"Mar's never lied to us, even when we didn't believe her," Joe said. "Why lie now?"

"To get us disaffected. To separate us from Dad. From — I don't know, from the government, maybe. To get us more loyal to this place than to anything else."

Dad had been doing a good job of that himself, without any help. Joe sighed. "They're going about it a really stupid way."

"I know," Frank breathed it out, a frustrated sigh. "That's the one thing I can't get around."

Still, Frank had a point. Joe knew better than to ignore Frank's doesn't-make-sense. Why bring them out here, if people were against it? More: Hammond had to have a reason for the obvious fishing expedition back in Bayport — and, thinking it over, Joe couldn't see a seasoned FBI man trying to recruit two raw, unknown quantities as agents. It'd sounded more as if Hammond had been trying to figure out where their loyalties were.

One side upset because they thought Joe and Frank were agents, the other side thinking Joe and Frank were converted recruits. Wonderful.

"Guys." From below the patio. Kris stood there, looking up. "Your voices really carry. You're going to get overheard."

"You were down there a long time while we were talking," Frank said as she came up the stairs. "You running to tattle to Mar now?"

"Frank," Joe said. Frank's snarling at Kris — it wasn't anything like him. Not his calm, collected brother.

Kris paused at the patio doors. "I can't listen to this." She sounded defeated. "Have it your way, Frank. Leave. No one'll stop you. You won't see any of us again."

"Just like that," Frank said. "After all the noise that idiot made about Dad being CIA, this place'll really just let us go."

"Neither of you know jack about anything at this point," Kris said flatly. "So go home. We don't care. No one twisted your arm to come here."

"Yeah, right. You've been forcing us all this time, you and the psychic crap. You wouldn't let it rest, and because of you, we got dragged in!"

"Because of me, nothing! Let's say I did keep my mouth shut. Screw it, let's just go there and say we never even met."

"Kris," Joe said, "don't."

"You're right," Frank said, over top of Joe. "We should never have met. We wouldn't be out here, we'd be okay, Dad wouldn't —"

"You'd be dead."

Silence.

"Go on, Frank." Her voice shook; Kris looked pale, but stood her ground. "Me not being there? Thatcher still would've targeted you two. You still would've gotten those dolls. And this time —"

"I wouldn't have known what to do about them." Joe didn't want this escalating. His heart hurt, his whole chest ached, and he was struggling not to break down, caught and trapped in the middle. Kris had never blown up at them like this, ever…

…but Frank had never blown up at her, either…

"Wow," Kris said. "You admit that. There's actually something you don't know."

"I'm not the one yelling at you." Joe wasn't going to blow up. He wasn't. "Kris, please —"

There were tears in her eyes. "All I've ever done is try to wake you up so you wouldn't get caught like that." With that, Kris slammed through the patio doors. Joe heard her snap something at Mar, loud and angry even through the thick glass. Mar didn't react, only turned, saw Joe watching from the doors.

Joe looked away, towards the trees and the Bay. Head bowed, Frank was leaning on his arms against the deck railing.

"We still would've gone to Mardi Gras," Joe said. "Thatcher's magic would still have been real. I would've been grabbed by that lure. Okay," Joe raised his voice, as Frank opened his mouth, "maybe not. But we would've been drawn in, one way or another. You tell me what would've happened after that."

"We would've figured Thatcher out."

"No. You were all for following him. You believed his story, because of that lure. Don't you get it? This stuff's real no matter what we believe."

There, right there: the whole problem. It was all real, and Frank — solid, grounded, everything-has-to-make-sense Frank — was getting it shoved in his face about how wrong they'd both been. Shoved in both their faces, so hard that they'd nearly died over it, that Joe had been crippled because of it.

"Maybe you're right." Joe looked away. "Maybe we would've figured Thatcher out. And then what? You said it yourself: we couldn't fight something like that. I tried. Look how far I got."

Frank said nothing.

"Tag's right. Let's just go home. Forget this place even exists."

"Joe —"

"I can be an accountant," Joe bore on. "Something safe. Like Dad wants. You can go on, follow in Dad's footsteps, forget about everything we wanted to do, everything I wanted…"

The words choked him. Swallowing the rest, Joe limped through the patio doors, made it back to the sanctuary of his room and collapsed on the bed.

Eyes closed, Joe curled up, willing himself not to break down. They'd just gotten here. They'd just arrived, and already everything was screwed up beyond repair. If you stay, Joshua had snarled at them; go home, Kris had said.

How long you gonna last now?

It was over. Done. Two people who'd been wanting them here, one who'd been a close friend — a sister — for years, had given up on them, too. Hopeless, useless, no good for anything. He and Frank hadn't even been here a full day, and already it was total failure.

"Joe?" Frank, from the door.

Joe didn't answer.

Weight settled on the end of the bed. "You'd make a lousy accountant. I know your math."

"Which means I'd be a great embezzler. It'd be too messed up for anyone to read the books."

Silence stretched out.

Finally Frank sighed. "What a day. Already washed out, and we haven't even started."

"Boys?" Mar, from the hall door.

Might as well cap it off and end it completely. "Yeah," Joe said.

Mar stopped in Joe's doorway. "I'm going to the farmer's market. Anything you want me to get? I've already got swiss cheese and bologna on the list."

"You mean we're going to be allowed to stay long enough to eat?" Frank said.

"Do you want to stay?"

That brought both their heads up. "But Kris said —" Joe started.

"You're my guests. You're here until you choose to leave." Mar cocked her head. "You were never ones to run from trouble."

"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything." Joe couldn't look at her.

…run away again, you and your crippled baby brother…

Mar came in, knelt to look Joe in the eyes; her warm hand gripped his shoulder. "My son, you're exhausted. It's so deep in your face that I'm surprised you're even awake." Her gaze moved up. "And Frank, dear, every line of you is a coiled spring ready to snap." Her gaze became stern. "You didn't eat much this morning, either. Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that you both skipped lunch?"

"Yes, mother." Joe couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"You mean everything looks bad because we're hungry and tired," Frank said.

"Always the sensible one," Mar said. "So. Remedy both. There's not much in the kitchen at the moment, but just ask anyone in the commons to point you towards the café."

"Café?" Joe said. "You've got a restaurant here?"

"It's a fancy word for 'jumped-up cafeteria'," Mar said. "Tell them you're with me. You're covered for the summer as my guests."

Frank helped Joe up; Joe let his weight rest heavily on the crutch. Mar was right. Exhaustion was an extreme understatement.

"Mar," Frank said, "I'm sorry."

"Accepted," Mar said. "Now go eat, and then rest. That's an order, both of you."

But both Frank and Joe pulled up short the moment they cleared their hall door — Kris was waiting, unsmiling, with shadowed eyes and crossed arms.

"For your information," she said, her voice neutral, controlled, "that idiot is a pain in the neck. Get your terms right."

For a moment, Joe had no clue what she was talking about; from Frank's expression, he didn't either. But then Joe's brain caught up. "Harold Downs?"

She nodded. "He's good at getting under folks' skin. Hitting right in the sensitive spots. And for your further information, me and Josh have a bet on which of you is gonna take him out first."

"You do?" Frank sounded surprised.

Mar brushed past the brothers; Joe caught the hard look she gave Kris. "Yeah," Kris said. "But in Drake's sessions. I was hoping to win that bet." She looked down. Quieter, wistful, "I was really looking forward to showing my big brothers around my stomping grounds."

Silence for a moment. "So am I," Frank said.

"Who are you betting on?" Joe said; his gut relaxed.

"Not telling," Kris said. "I don't want Josh claiming a foul when I win."

"When," Frank said, smiling a little.

"Yeah, when. If you choose to stay, I mean." Kris's gaze at Frank was steady, direct. "Um, and the bet's not over whether or not you'll be able to take Downs out. We know that already. Now…I don't know about you two, but I'm starved. C'mon. Boudin's, my treat."