Springing forward, John brought out the knife and slashed it across Green's face. They tumbled over the arm of the chair and John tried to get a dominant position on Green's chest. Green brought the gun around and pressed the hot barrel to John's cheek. He flinched and moved just enough for Green's knee to collide with the small of his back and knock him free.

John rolled, knocking Green's gun away when the man tried to aim it at him, and dodged a kick. His knife slashed toward Green again, catching his hand and forcing the man to drop his gun. Kicking it away John saw Anna moving toward it on the floor. The moment of distraction gave Green enough time to tackle John through the small sitting room into the kitchen where they landed heavily on the tiled floor.

Sucking for air, John saw Anna get hold of the gun and as her fingers closed around it John moved out of the way. He collided with a kitchen chair, upending it toward the stove where it hit one of the gas burners to flick it on. John tried to stand to address it but Green caught his feet with another chair and John cracked his chin on the counter top.

The pain shot right up to his other head injury and John went down, dazed and confused. His blurry vision saw Anna as she aimed and fired. It hit Green in the side while he went to get at John around the table. The shot destroyed all of Green's forward momentum and he grabbed for the table but lost the support he needed to stand when his fingers could not find purchase on the slick surface. He hit the floor hard but kicked with enough energy to topple John as he tried to stand again.

John clacked his teeth against one another in his head as his right leg smacked the tile. He felt rather than heard the breaks snap again and John howled in pain. His arm on the floor tried to propel him forward but Green wrenched at his now twisted leg and wrenched it again. John kicked out, catching Green on the chin and he lost his grip.

Escape seemed the only option as Anna entered the room. She grabbed John under the arm and tried to help haul him out. But Green leapt toward her and grabbed the gun. They struggled with it between them, John grappling for purchase on the wall beside him as Anna abandoned him to give all her energy to her fight with Green, and watched the gun come ever nearer.

But it went off just off his shoulder and the kitchen exploded. All three were tossed backward, Anna and Green to the kitchen as John flew back through the kitchen door to hit the wall of the hall. By now the pain almost sent him into the land of the unconscious but the smell of burning gas forced him to crawl toward the sitting room door at the other end of the hallway.

It was still wide open and he pulled himself to as much of a standing position as he could. There, on the floor, Green had Anna pinned to the floor and tried to force the gun barrel toward her head. She kicked at him but he was too far up her torso for her legs to reach.

John, with the little strength he had left, dived forward and knocked Green away. The knife sliced across Green's arm and he dropped the gun away. This time John knocked it away with his hand but the motion lost him the seconds he needed to defend himself and Green kicked him in the face. The break of John's nose was the last straw and he blacked out.

But only for a moment. The will to live is a powerful motivator and the pain in his body combine with the discomfiting smell of burning from the kitchen that was now a blazing inferno forced him awake. In his daze he saw Anna picked up the Karambit knife he dropped on the floor and stab at Green.

He raised his hand in defense but she drove right through the skin. The screech of pain he emitted was swiftly deafened as Anna's knee collided with Green's head. Green fell back between two chairs and Anna leaned on one to catch her breath before working toward Green on unsteady legs.

She wobbled toward him, the room now crackling and burning around them as the fire spread. John forced himself to his feet, blinking through the smoke, haze, and agony of his broken and shattered body to watch Anna drop all of her weight onto Green's chest. The knife in her hand went under his chin, forcing his head back, and even from a distance John could see the fear there.

What also caught his eye was Green reaching for the gun. John coughed, trying to warn Anna, but it proved unnecessary. She knocked his bleeding hand away, twisted the wrist until it snapped, and then bent his arm the wrong way over her knee. Green screamed as Anna then grabbed his head by the hair and slammed it to the floor. He fell back, dazed and limp while Anna repositioned her knife.

"Do you remember doing that to me?" She hissed at him, her voice barely audible over the heat and the sound of the fire. "Do you remember what you did to me because I do. I remember it ever night."

Green could not respond, though his jaw moved as if he wanted to form words. Anna grabbed his head again, holding the knife tight to his skin. "I wanted to see you through the scope, the way I saw your father, but I realized I couldn't be that impersonal. I had to make this something that you'd remember. The way you made a nine-year-old girl remember."

The harsh scratch of Green's voice came over the distance to John. "It was just business. It wasn't personal."

"No?" Anna dug in with the knife, cutting across his neck slowly. "Then it was just business when you beat my father to death? Just business when I shot your father from across the street and you wanted vengeance? Just business when you came after my mother?"

"Yes." Green managed, his hands scrabbling toward his throat."

"No," Anna shook her head, "There's a difference between business and personal that you don't understand."

There was no response from Green as Anna finished cutting across his throat with the knife and a spurt of blood stained her shirt. She stood as Green's good hand went to cover his neck. He floundered the horrible choking sound setting John's teeth on edge.

But Anna just stood over him, shaking her head. "This was personal."

The joined noise of something electrical exploding in the kitchen and sirens sounding outside had Anna hurrying over to John. She dragged his arm over her shoulders and helped to the front door as firemen kicked it open. Those there took John and Anna, shuffling them away from the scene, as others hurried inside.

The rest of the evening and into the next morning was a blur. John faded in and out of consciousness, barely aware of the two men who had to hoist him onto a gurney while another one forced an oxygen mask over Anna's head. They were all but shoved into an ambulance and hurried to the nearest hospital.

Doctors gaped and tittered around them, each consecutive one ignoring John's plea for a telephone until finally a nurse handed over her mobile in a quiet moment. John hurried and dialed Henry's number to update him on the events of the evening. Henry's response, however, was not what John wanted to hear.

"Carlisle's been by and he's furious. He's looking for you since he heard something about Green being dead up in Whitby."

"He is dead."

"What's he doing dead in Whitby, John?"

"Complications." John winced as the nurse adjusted his reset leg in the plaster cast. "But it's over."

"For him and us."

"Carlisle already signed those papers. We're still immune, Henry."

"Not anymore. He's double crossed us and now he's got people banging down the doors of our old haunts looking for you."

John tried to sit up but the nurse pushed him back down and tapped her watch. "What do you mean?"

"He's used our 'help' as evidence, John. Tom and I are scrambling to get everyone out and undercover but it's going to be close."

"How close?"

"Call this number in five minutes and I won't answer close."

"Right." John rubbed at the bridge of his nose, one of the last places on his body that did not ache. "Leave me the information the old fashioned way and then go dark."

"What about you?"

"Don't worry about me." John soothed, "I've got a plan. Promise."

"It's been an honor, John."

"Give my regards to Tom as well yeah?"

"Will do. In another life John."

The line went dead and John handed the mobile back just as the door to his hospital room opened. There stood Carlisle, red faced and all but seething. John nodded at him and then turned to the nurse.

"I've a feeling this'll be a private conversation."

"Nothing too heart-pounding I hope since you're near the edge of a sedative already." She warned, turning to Carlisle. "And if you do anything to upset my patient you'll be in trouble with me and that's not a place you want to be. Understand?"

Carlisle flicked a hand at her and stalked toward John's bed. "What did you do?"

"What do you mean what did I do?" John held Carlisle's gaze. "And please don't try to intimidate me. I've not slept in almost thirty-six hours, I'm broken in a number of places, and I faced down two people who I hope are burning in Hell right now. You're the least frightening thing I've seen today. Or yesterday."

"I warned you." Carlisle leveled finger at John. "You were supposed to leave Green to me."

"And if he stayed in London he would've been all yours." John barely suppressed a smile. "Now he's the medical examiner's and then he'll be the morticians before he belongs to the earth. "That's how it goes."

"You think this is funny?"

"No, I think my body's trying to release all the tension that's been tightening in me for the last day and a half." John settled back against his pillows. "In the future, Mr. Carlisle, if you want to speak to me you'd best have a lawyer present in the same room."

Carlisle gave a snort of his own. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you Mr. Bates?"

"I think I've got my rights and I don't want to be meeting you in my hospital rooms ever again unless I'm in custody or I've got a lawyer present." John pointed to the door, "Now get out."

There was nothing more for Carlisle to say and he stormed out of the room. The nurse entered, holding a bag in her hand, and gave it over to him before making a note of his vitals. "He's a horrible man isn't he?"

"He's rather nasty." John frowned at the bag. "Who got my phone?"

"They found it next to the body of that poor woman." The nurse shook her head. "What a horrible thing to have happen to someone. They think she was calling for help."

"How do they know?"

"The SIM is still intact and they think they could pull details off the phone." The nurse nodded at him, "Now you need rest and I've got to see to that other woman with a bullet hole in her shoulder."

"Yes." John tapped the shattered phone against his hand, the bag muffling the noise slightly. "She needs some treatment."

He leaned back on the pillows, still tapping the phone against his hand. "We all need a bit of treatment I think."

It was a week before the hospital would release John or Anna. They managed the drive back to London far more slowly than they had sped to Whitby but it was with the weight of accomplishment on their shoulders. Anna's mother was buried beside her father in the cemetery and her stepfather now shopping for a new house on whatever money he had saved since the insurance refused to cover an exploding kitchen as result of a gunshot.

The police had not been much happier either but since all of John and Anna's actions were justified by self-defense, and their numerous injuries bound to bring out sympathy from the jurors in terms of the death of a known criminal gangster, they closed the case. Even from the waiting room John and Anna could hear Carlisle's angry storm that brought him nothing but the boot from the Whitby police. He glared at them as he passed and John distinctly heard him say.

"You'll be back in London soon enough."

But it was another three months, after physical therapy and two more surgeries, that John actually saw Carlisle again. With his grip tight on his cane and walking out of Mrs. Patmore's restaurant, John caught sight of Carlisle waiting outside the building. He held up a piece of paper, all but flaunting it in John's face.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Paper, by the looks of it." John leaned on his cane, wincing at the spark of pain up his leg. "Why, do you think it's something else?"

"It's a warrant for your arrest in connection with a few crimes I think you'll find are completely justified."

"Are they?" John squinted at the sheet and whistled. "That's quite the list you've built there. It's an impressive bit of police work."

"Thank you." Carlisle tucked it away, "Please tell me you'll make it difficult so I'll have to subdue you."

"I'll make it difficult but not for the reason you think." John pulled out his phone and swiped it to pull up something. "It's more that if you take me in you'll have to deal with this."

John hit the button and it replayed their conversations, in order. With each word Carlisle's face paled until it was as white as the paper next to him. Another tap stopped the recitation of the conversations and John stowed his phone away.

"I'm sure you can appreciate, Mr. Carlisle, that a person like me has to protect myself in the face of possibilities like this."

"You-"

"Didn't enter into your deal blind? Shouldn't have seen this coming?" John laughed, shaking his head. "This is a life I've led for a long time, Mr. Carlisle, and you'll have to get up very early in the morning to beat me at this game. I was made for it and you, unfortunately, weren't."

"I… How…" Carlisle purpled, practically seething and foaming through his teeth. "You can't do this to me."

"The way I see it, you could maybe prove a third of those allegations but I'd be out in three months, maximum. Further, if anyone knows you once initiated ties with a now defunct organization it'll ruin your perfect 'Mr. Untouchable' reputation and you can't afford that. Not now and never if you're hoping to win that election you've lined up." John shrugged, "I'm sure you understand that you're not the first who's tried this."

"I'll get the rest of your crew."

"What crew?" John opened his hands, immediately regretting putting any weight on his leg and trying to replace his cane as nonchalantly as possible. "Robert Crawley's pub is now owned by someone else, there aren't anymore people attached to whatever he ran, and you couldn't find them if you tried. They ran to ground while you kicked your heels up north and it's too late to get them now."

"I'll get your hitman."

John laughed harder, "You won't with that attitude."

"Why not?"

"Because, Mr. Carlisle," John reached for his now buzzing phone. "The hitmanis a hitwoman."

He swiped the indicator to the side. "Hello."

"Mr. Bates?"

"We were just talking about you." He smiled, turning to Carlisle. "Something about someone coming after you."

"I'm sorry."

John's face changed and he blinked before looking up. "Sorry about what?"

"It's the end of the year."

He took a deep breath, "I thought you weren't going to warn me."

"I wasn't but…"

"But what?" John did not move. "But you can't do it?"

"I've got to do it John."

"No," He shook his head, looking toward the most likely rooftop. "You don't have to."

"If you move I could miss."

"I won't move." John stayed rooted to the spot. "You'll have to choose."

"Don't do this to me."

"You'll have to choose Anna." He murmured into the speaker. "Because I love you and I don't think you'll-"

"Goodbye John."

Ripping pain exploded in swift triplicate through John's chest. He dropped the phone, fell back to the ground, and struggled to breathe. The last thing he thought he saw was the glint off a disappearing sniper rifle on a far rooftop.

Then he saw nothing but black.