Coming back from the cave, after dealing with the bank robbery, Blake and Nelya went over to her apartment to have a well earned dinner.

Going to unlock her door, she discovered it was broken open. She turned to Blake to keep quiet, wide eyed indicating the door. He nodded and they both tensed, tired but ready for another fight that night.

Pushing the door slightly, Nelya took one step in and flicked the light on. Her living room was just as it was when she left, cluttered, but clean and normal. Blake went to check in the bedrooms, giving the all clear. Coming back, he saw her in the kitchen; she was leaning heavily on the table, a scrunched up piece of paper in one hand, the other holding her head.

There was a sacrificial dagger standing on the table next to her, the tip of the blade buried in the wood. He studied her form, approaching her cautiously, "Nelya, what's wrong?" He asked, placing a gentle hand on her back.

"You need to leave." Her voice was steely calm, level. But he heard a faint crack when she said 'leave'.

"What?" He demanded, confused, "Why?"

"Just go!" She shouted through gritted teeth, grabbing the dagger and holding it towards him, "Go before I do something I regret."

He held his arms up in a position of surrender, "Tell me what's happened, and I'll leave. What was on that note?"

"Blake, do as I say. I don't want to hurt you." Her words were harsh but she pleaded almost hysterically with her eyes.

"Nelya, we're friends aren't we?" He said, watching her face instead of the dagger, thinking about helping her instead of the many ways she could probably kill him without breaking a sweat.

She was silent for a long moment, refusing to look his way.

"Aren't we?" He repeated more forcefully.

A small nod. The dagger lowered a little.

"And friends help each other out. Tell me what the hell is going on and then I'll go and won't come back until you say, alright?" He slowly lowered his arms and took a step closer to her, intending to take the dagger from her.

She raised her head to meet his gaze then, her eyes flat and hard, "No."

Blake accepted defeat, he let out a weary sigh and passed a hand over his face, "Fine. But you're not going to deal with this alone. I'll come round tomorrow and we will talk about whatever the hell this is about."

He waited for a quick retort, a witty comment, anything. Instead, he was met with stubborn silence. Sighing, he made his way to the front door. As he reached for the handle Nelya screamed a warning, "Blake, stop!"

Too late she alerted him when he turned to her. The door opened to reveal a tall man, face hidden under a deep hood. He raised a hand and brought it down on Blake, knocking the wind out of his lungs as he hit the floor.

A dozen more men filed in, each as deadly as the one that took him down. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Nelya shooting forward for the man, face a deathly mask, her assassin training revealing itself.

And he remembered thinking, 'That's my girl.'

Seeing Blake fall was the last thing she wanted to happen, the very last thing.

Charging at the men marching through her door, she leapt over Blake's body landing deftly and hooking her leg around the first man's calf. Her first mistake was not recognising who it was.

When he grabbed her foot and sprung up, she was rendered motionless by the other men. They were too many master assassins. Too much for her to handle.

They bound her hands and feet, sitting her on one of her kitchen chairs, doing the same to Blake. She watched them pick up his heavy, lagging body and tie him to the chair, looking for signs he was alright. Steady breathing and the odd twitch of a nerve in his neck reassured her.

The man that struck down Blake stood in front of her, "Anything to say little girl?"

Nelya sincerely hoped the many obsenities running round her head were being conveyed through her very angry eyes. She knew this man, Nathair he called himself. The name fit; a Scottish name meaning 'snake'.

And did he look like one.

His eyes were beady blue, constantly fixed and focused, with a permanent frown to match. Wearing a long black jacket and leather shoes, he cast a very intimidating persona.

Just not intimidating enough.

Nelya narrowed her eyes at him as she ran over her options. Blake was too out of it to run away, and if she tried to carry him, they'd be in deep trouble. There were a dozen men, each a trained assassin and almost as deadly as her. Almost. But she was definitely outnumbered.

In the end, she reached the painful conclusion of waiting this one out, wondering what Nathair was going to do next.

He nodded to the guy stationed behind Blake, who then touched two fingers to the crook of Blake's neck. She knew what they were doing, getting him out of his unconscious state. After applying slight pressure, Blake's head snapped back, eyes flying open and settling Nathair. Nelya saw his jaw clench, lips sneer, "Damn son of a-"

He was cut off, "Yes, yes," Nathair huffed, "Just gag him."

He turned towards Nelya, "Now let's figure this out..." He tapped his chin, glancing between his two captives, "He's special isn't he?"

Taking Blake's chin in his hand, he turned it up to face him, "A lover, eh? You've never had a lover before."

Nelya's eyes widened, she glanced at Blake, who was suddenly very interested in the floor. Nathair focused his attention on her, "My dear," he leered, "What will the Dragon have to say about this?"

He leaned back, letting go of Blake's face, "We've been watching you." He said matter-of-factly, "And we have seen the way you two look at each other. Deny it all you want, the Dragon will be very displeased with you."

He nodded to the men standing behind them, "I believe we should pay the Dragon a little visit, shall we?" The men reached round with a piece of folded white cloth and pressed it against their faces.

Nelya and Blake tried not to breathe in the chloroform soaked cloths, struggling against their grip, but to no avail.

Everything went black.