The day I left the hospital it was dark and rainy - a typical fall day. The wind was cold and blowing hard, bending the trees almost to their breaking point. The entire setting would later feel ominous when compared to later events, but for the moment, all I thought about was leaving the sterile environment of the hospital. I tried not to think of the place where they were taking me. I knew that it was on the outskirts of Chicago and that most of my belongings and my mother were waiting for me. Frank had informed me before we left that all the furnishings of our house had been moved to storage and our pets, a mutt named Sydney, a parrot named Jazz, as well as our fish tank, had been taken in by one of the agents for the time being. It surprised me to realize that I had not even thought of them once since the incident. I tried to tell myself that I had more pressing issues to worry about, but part of me hurt a little at forgetting them. But it was of no matter now, they were safe and well cared for in our absence and we had larger concerns looming around every corner. Frank also said, to my infinite surprise, that our house was being sold and that after everything was over, we would have to move. So there it was. I had now been stripped of my safety, security, friends, family, pets, and now my home. Carter had managed to take away everything I had ever wanted and worked for. It was almost amusing to think that he had done all of this to me and it was Frank that he had originally wanted to torture. I could not shake the feeling that, although I was attracted and indebted to Frank, this was all somehow partly his fault. Part of me wanted him to take on the responsibility of protecting my mother and myself because I wanted him close and the other part because I felt it was his duty after what his actions had caused to happen to us. But rationality caused me to see that what he had done was an accident and what was going on had very little to do with Frank and more to do with Carter's inability to deal with reality. But regardless of fault, my life was now changed forever. As we pulled up in front of the house that would be my home for a while, I was struck but it's appearance. It was a dilapidated, two-story house with cracked and warped wooden siding that was painted a hideous brown with white accents that were peeling and falling from the wood. The front porch was falling in on one side and the sidewalk up from the street was so old it was essentially a pile of gravel. The little strips of grass along the front and down the sides of the house were in need of mowing and the few hedges on the ends of the porch had grown up and covered the front windows. What windows I could see though were brand new. Frank, seeing the expression on my face as we arrived, whispered that the house was left in this condition on purpose and that all of the windows were bulletproof, as were the doors and the whole house was wired with a top-of-the-line security system. The other houses on the street looked as if they were in the same condition, save for the windows and doors, and I was informed that the two on either side of the safe house as well as the three across the street were abandoned. This explained the choice of building. If something were to happen here, there would be less of a chance of a civilian being injured. I guessed in another time this information would have been comforting, but as I stared down the dark street with it's abandoned cars and dead street lamps, the isolation was frightening. I waited in the car as Frank and the two agents in the front seat got out and stood in front of my door. As I emerged from the vehicle, they formed a human shield around me as they escorted me into the house. My legs, still weak from a month in a hospital bed, shook as I climbed the few steps up to the porch. The boards beneath each foot cracked and cried out so much with each step towards the door that I stopped a few times, afraid the entire structure would crumble underneath my weight alone. Frank kept a firm but comforting hand on the small of my back as he led me inside for the first time. A man in his early thirties opened the door. He stood to the side as we entered, watching the street behind us. A quick glance revealed that the first floor was separated into a living and dining room and from what I could see through a door in the back, a small kitchen. A narrow staircase arose to the right of the room along the outside wall directly across from the front door. The paint and wallpaper that still miraculously clung to the walls was in possibly worse shape than the outside of the house. The living room was strung with several folding tables, each holding enough equipment to launch a space probe. Buried in the center of the room was an old floral patterned couch and beat up coffee table. This table as well as the dining room table in the back of the room, was covered in large binders, file folders, and heaps of papers. Every other empty space, no matter the size, was filled with takeout food containers that once held everything from Chinese noodles to fried chicken. The hardwood floors were covered in electrical wires and computer cases. For all the mess, there were relatively few people in the room. A young man with a headset on sat at the longest table on the left side of the room. I could not make out what he was doing, but he was thoroughly engaged in what he saw on the computer screen before him. From what I could see of him, he looked like the stereotypical computer geek. He was a little thin and pale, with curly brown hair, and was wearing a gray long-sleeved T-shirt and black cargo pants, both of which were a little too large for him. There were two women standing over the dining room table. One was a young black woman, with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing jeans and a short black leather jacket, the other had pale features and short reddish-brown hair, and was wearing a black pantsuit with a blue button-down shirt underneath. The man who had opened the door for us stepped in front of me for a second to move some boxes out of the entranceway. He was younger than the rest, black hair, dark eyes, and handsome Latino features. With one glance into those eyes you saw someone who had seen more than one would guess for someone his age. With a second glance, you could see the eagerness and uncertainty of youth still clinging on to existence. "Kate, I'd like you to meet my team," Frank announced as we stepped further into the room. "Over at the computer is Cody, he's in charge of communications." Cody nodded sideways in recognition, never taking his eyes off the screen. "In the back we have Monica and Alex. Monica does the psychological analysis of suspects, gets us inside their heads." Monica, the young woman in the leather jacket, nodded businesslike, a slight smile crossing her face briefly. The other woman looked up and smiled broadly but briefly before going back to the files in front of her. "And Alex handles most of the actual 'field work' mainly, as does Jake." The young man next to us stepped forward to shake my hand quickly. "We each have our designated duties but can step in for one another if necessary." He turned to the two agents who had driven us from the hospital. "You've met agents Hill and Turnquist. They're on loan from the Bureau's field office. They'll be handling surveillance, keeping watch outside." The two men stood stone still during the introductions and did not move off until Frank excused them to their posts. The agent Frank had identified as Alex made her way across the room after a few seconds. "Miss Connor," she began in a friendly yet business-like manner, " your mother has already turned in for the night. We weren't completely sure you would be able to leave the hospital today so I managed to talk her into going to bed early. There's really only so much cleaning and cooking a person can do in a situation like this. Plus the fact that she's so nervous here, I thought she could use the extra rest." "Yeah," I said thoughtfully, " that sounds like my mother." A smile crossed Alex's face briefly before she offered me something to eat. I declined, thinking privately that the slimy substance in the Chinese takeout box that had just been presented to me looked more dangerous than the hospital food. "If you'd like Kate," Frank started, turning my attention towards the stairs, "I'll show you to your room." I nodded to Alex, who turned and walked back to the stacks of papers on the dining room table, and then slowly began to ascend the stairs to the bedrooms. As we came to the top of the stairs, I could see only four doors. Frank noted that the two that were shut were the entrance to the attic and my mother's room. The other two, doors opened and revealing little more than a small, twin-sized bed and a floor lamp in each, were at the very top of the stairs where one could see almost see straight into them from the first floor. Frank stepped into one of the rooms and sat my brown leather knapsack onto the bed. "Your personal belongings that we brought from your house are in the boxes in the closet. We didn't bring much, just some of your clothes, your paperwork, laptop, discs, things like that. If there's anything else you need I'm sure we could have it retrieved from storage in the morning." "I'm sure everything's fine," I said uneasily, suddenly uncomfortable about being alone with a man I had just recently been kissing. I looked around the room, cringing inwardly at the water-stained ceiling, mint green paint on the walls, and the tattered bed sheet strung up over the window for a makeshift curtain. The wooden floor was scratched and scuffed and the knob on the door was falling off. Frank watched uneasily as I surveyed the room and then with a nod, crept quietly out the door. After Frank left the room, I began pulling boxes from the closet. There were six file boxes tucked in the back under what clothes were hanging from a old pipe that had been jammed between the walls of the closet, masquerading as a clothes rod. The first box contained my laptop, Palm Pilot, cell phone, CDs, and floppy discs. Each item now had a shiny metallic sticker on the back or bottom, which I assumed meant it had been searched and secured by the agents. A quick rummage through the rest of the boxes revealed little more than some of my research files, old textbooks, and my more intimate apparel, due to the lack of a chest-of- drawers, or any other kind of actual furniture. I was surprised and a little scared when I noticed that my financial records had not been packed. I could only guess that the fact that they had been omitted meant that I would no longer need them and that meant Frank was right, my life as I knew it was over. For the time being I set aside that idea and sat down on the bed, my back against the wall and my computer in my lap. I waited for the familiar chime signaling the star-up after I pushed the power button and embraced the cool glow of the liquid crystal screen as it lit up the darker corners of the room. I had the cursor looming over the file of my most recent research paper when I felt someone approach. It was Frank. He was carrying a tray of food and was waiting, in a moment of seeming uncertainty uncharacteristic of his nature, for me to bid him enter. "Is it all right if I come in," he asked cautiously. "Of course, don't be silly," I said as I absent-mindedly double- clicked on the file, seeing it begin to opened out of the corner of my eye as I sat the computer to the side and threw my legs over the side of the bed. "Cody, Alex, and Monica have gone back to headquarters. Jake and I will stay here tonight. Turnquist and Hill are on lookout in a car across the street," he went through the roll call as he sat the tray on the bed near me. He scarcely made eye contact as he opened a brown paper sack and handed me a sandwich. I could sense his confusion and caution as he poured hot tea from a Thermos into two paper coffee cups. He had been tense and unsure ever since the kiss we had shared in the hospital room. I knew it must have been a conflict for him to have to deal with his feelings for me while he protected me. I could tell by the way that he addressed me in front of others that his job would be all the more simple if I were just another witness. I understood his feelings because I knew for myself that my feelings would be simpler if he were just another agent and I was not worrying about his as much as my mother or myself. "I apologize for the food," he said, not making eye contact as he handed me one of the cups of tea. "It was the best I could find around here." "It's fine, thank you," I said as I studied his stern expression as he brought his cup to his lips. He stood uncomfortably, staring down at the tray on the bed. "You know you could sit down," I ventured cautiously. "I'm fine. I should get back downstairs," he barely glanced at me as he said the words. "Oh," I said, unable to think of anything that might entice him to stay. "Well, I wouldn't want to get in the way of your work." "You are my work. That's the problem."

"Oh, so now I'm a problem. I'm so sorry to inconvenience you, Mr. Donovan." "Kate, that's not what I meant." "Isn't it?" I exclaimed, standing to face him. I know now that I wanted to pick a fight with him. I wanted to vent the anger I felt towards Carter and his goons and the entire situation I was in right then. But he would not allow me to lose myself to the anger. "Kate," he said, calmly putting his hands on my shoulders, "we're in the middle of a very real and very dangerous case here. My primary responsibility is to keep you safe, as a victim, as a witness, but more importantly, as someone I have come to care a great deal about. My emotions, however, should not have a part in all of this. I should be handling this as though it was any other case - no personal attachments or agendas. But that is a convenience I don't have anymore. So the only way for me to assure your safety is to remain as detached as I can for as long as I can so that I can react and plan in a manner that is more suited to your safety than your feelings. Do you understand?" "I understand," I said as my head dropped. I realized I was being stubborn and childish but a part of me would have preferred to ignore the threats around me, the reality of it all was too overwhelming. "I understand," I repeated softly, my eyes searching the floor, "It's just that.I just want.I don't know.I don't know anything anymore." I brought my hands up to my eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but I instead rested my head on Frank's chest and the opened the flood gates. As I sobbed violently, I felt his arms encircle my torso and I fell into his embrace. Time disappeared momentarily as the compounding stress of the days past was released at last. Finally too tired to continue weeping I lifted my head, wiping what tears I could from my face, and looked up into Frank's eyes. I had searched his eyes so many times before and every time I had convinced myself that all I could see was stone cold resilience. I had never thought his emotions could show. But in this one instance I saw in his eyes empathy and understanding that I would never see in anyone else's eyes ever again no matter how hard I looked. "Kate," he spoke softly, "I know none of this makes sense. I know it's all too much to take in right now. But I promise you, when this is over, it will be the last time you ever feel this much pain, I'll see to it personally. But for now, I need you to be strong, as strong as were for me in those tunnels. Maybe even stronger." I nodded, wanting to say something, but before I could he lowered his head and laid his lips gently on my own. I was surprised but my surprise soon disappeared and I surrendered for one brief second. Allowing myself to feel every point of contact between my body and his. I slipped my arms around his waist and pressed my body as close to his as I could as the kiss deepened and his hands ran across my back, his fingertips brushing across the sliver of skin exposed along the hem of my tee-shirt. I in turn pressed my palms into his back, memorizing the sensation of his muscles under the tightness of his black sweater. As the tension between us built, we each suddenly stopped and stepped back a little from each other, simultaneously realizing that this was neither the time nor place for such distractions. Breathless, we stared at each other, our hands only slightly touching. "I really should get back downstairs," he said, a quickly disappeared through the door.