Frank didn't reach him in time, but someone else did.
A figure in a black trench coat knocked the enemy cyborg off, and he shoved Adam to the ground before whipping out a large gun and shooting the Paladin. He turned swiftly to the second attacker, firing at him with something else.
It was anti-climactically silent as the man in the trench coat stared between Adam and Frank for several moments.
"Uh, thanks," the ex-SWAT said, leaning back on his hands as he sat up from the sidewalk.
The man held out his hand, helping the cyborg up. "If you want to thank me, enroll your daughter at Tarsus Middle School," he said, simply.
"What's that?" Frank asked, speaking for the first time. "Who are you?"
"You can call me 'Paul,' and I'm a friend. Tarsus Middle is part of a program I'm working on setting up where kids'll be trained to use their nanite biomods. We give them the infrastructure and the infusions to use, once they've completed the program. That'd be maybe when they're 25, 26."
Frank scowled. "It sounds like you're training soldiers or mercenaries."
"They'll be free to accept or reject whatever missions they want. They're free to leave at any time. Maybe we're making fighters, but in such violent times, that's how they're going to survive."
Adam raised an eyebrow. "What do you get out of all this? It sounds expensive."
Paul smiled. "Research, Mr. Jensen. Technological development. A safer world. And tuition would be affordable."
"You know me?" the ex-cop asked, increasingly suspicious.
"Everyone in the field of augmentation knows you, Mr. Jensen. You're the one who made it possible."
Adam didn't know how to reply to that, and was thankful when Frank cut in. "Thank you for saving our lives, and we'll look into Tarsus when she's older. We won't make any promises, but if it's the right thing for her and what she wants, we'll try it out."
With a nod, Paul turned to leave. "That's all I ask," he called over his shoulder, walking away.
The two men looked down when they felt a tug on one of each of their hands, and saw Alex appear, glancing between them.
"I almost lost you," the writer murmured into the crook of his husband's neck that night, laying half on top of him in their bed. "I'm too old for this."
Trailing his hand rhythmically across Pritchard's back, the ex-SWAT sighed softly. "I'm sorry," his voice came out quietly.
The ex-hacker lifted his head to look down at the other man. "Why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong."
The cyborg turned away. "I was useless. Worse than useless. You were rushing over to save my ass, and you would've been slaughtered, Frank. Alex would have lost another set of parents- yes, I know, she doesn't want to call us that, but it's what we've basically been to her- and then who knows where she'd have ended up."
Frank frowned, tilting his husband's head back to face him. "Adam," he said, both firm and gentle, "even if that had happened, it would not have been your fault. Without you there, they'd have snuck up on us and killed us before we had a chance to escape. You cannot shoulder the actions of evil men."
"I know," the ex-cop replied, his lips turning up just slightly. "I guess I just needed the reminder."
Their kiss was long, full of reassurances, and they didn't part until the urgency gave way to relaxation.
"It's strange," the writer mused, "but seeing that guy, Paul... it was like looking at you from when we first met."
"Yeah, apparently everyone looks like me, now," the cyborg grinned. "Sarif was certain Alex and I were related."