Disclaimer: The premise and characters of 'The Pretender' are the property of MTM Enterprises and 20th Century Fox. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Based on the 2nd Season episode, 'Scott Free'. Dialogue lifted directly from the show. Rated for a bit of language. A one shot, for now . . .

Summary: Trust. It's on every coin, every bill, every buck, and every bond in this country. And it is still the one thing that you can't buy. Argyle. 'Unforgotten' (2nd Season)

TRUST

I don't know why the hell I did it.

I look back now, and tell myself I was at the end of my rope. Nick and Dewey had Shawn – and I knew up to the minute how long he'd been missing. Seventy-three hours, fourteen minutes Avani'd had that bastard hold my son from me, just to make sure I'd be with him on the hit. Twenty million dollars in diamonds was too much for him to give up. I'd have traded it all to have my boy back.

Nick pushed me. I'd lost my life for seven years for him. I got out, and he waltzed in like he owned me. I'd do the job, just to see the back of him. One job was worth the risks. Then, he pushed me. He took Shawn.

So the gun at his neck was my answer. I'd told the new guy, R.H., that looking scary was enough, for me. Now, it wasn't. I'd get Shawn back, or kill Nick trying.

I was going to do it – because it was the only answer I had. Nick'd be gone, and no more Avani meant no more threat to Shawn. Dewey'd be rudderless, and I'd get my boy back alive. Somehow.

I needed to tell myself that, just to load the damn thing. It was a heavy weight in my pocket, burning a hole through my coat. But I was going to do it.

"I want to know where Shawn is and I want to know right now!"

I told myself it would work, that Nick would finally take me seriously, that I could get Shawn and go home, right up until the moment I had the muzzle jammed into his neck. Then he looked at me. Nick Avani looked at me like you'd look at a street bum begging for a buck, sleeping in a box. I saw the pity, and I saw the triumph. I had the gun, but somehow he'd won. The next five minutes didn't matter, because no matter what, he'd won. And I'd lost Shawn.

"You pull the trigger on me, you pull the trigger on Shawn."

What the hell was I going to do?

Then the new guy, R.H. Cross, started to talk to me. "Scotty. Let him go."

"Where is Shawn? Where's my boy?" I ignored him, even though I hadn't heard anyone speak so gently to me since my mom had died. I needed my son. Nick was the only way.

"We finish this job, you and Shawn will be back together again, I promise." The sincerity caught at me, made me stop screaming inside and think. I barely knew R.H. from Adam; so we'd worked together, done a job, talked a little. Business. A business I'd thought I'd left in prison. But my eyes never left Nick. He and I had to finish this.

"Give me the gun." The soft voice again, confident in that promise.

"Give me the gun." R.H. sounded tense, now. A warning in his tone. He was worried, for me. Which didn't make any sense, but I knew it was true.

Then the damndest thing happened.

I trusted him.

So R.H. got my gun; no way was I giving Nick a loaded weapon. Not after I'd tried to shoot him with it. I left, but I heard him, smug and fat with it, before the door slammed behind me. "Never underestimate the father-son bond."

Seventy-three hours and fourteen minutes Shawn had been kidnapped. At seventy-three hours and fourteen minutes, I heard R.H. call my name. The drill bit had broken; it had to be fixed, fast, or we were cooked.

"Scotty, I gimme a hand over here, willya?"

"Yeah, one second. I'm nearly done."

"Now."

I was surprised by that. Same tone of voice, warning, worried, I'd heard in the warehouse. It got me worried, but I went to him. Something was going down. "Yeah, sure."

I found out just seconds later what he was up to. I couldn't believe my ears.

"I want Scotty's son brought back to him."

"Open these doors." Despite being locked up, Nick didn't lose his cool.

"Maybe you don't understand English. I want Shawn released. I know Dewey's got him. So you call him and you tell him to cut him loose."

Nick was chained, and had a gun on R.H. "You open the door or you die."

"Go ahead."

I thought R.H. had a death wish, for certain.

"You tell him, Scotty." Nick knew I knew what he'd done to stay free; he was counting on me to talk R.H. down, like R.H. had talked me down in the warehouse.

"Nick, don't." It was the only thing I could think to say.

R.H. shrugged, but I didn't take my eyes off the gun. He was gonna get himself killed, trying to help me. What did he think he was doing?

"Shoot." A challenge, to Nick? R.H. was crazy.

Nick didn't waste any time pulling the trigger. But then I saw what R.H. was up to. Nick stared at the flame dancing from the muzzle of the gun, which was really just a very fancy, realistic, and expensive lighter. And relief hit me like a drug. Hope wasn't too far behind.

"You see, sometimes looking dangerous is enough," R.H. repeated what I'd told him, days before. "And sometimes it's not. Now. Call him." Dangerous tone of voice, then. I glanced over at R.H., and saw his eyes. Wide, intent on Nick. Deadly. "Dial."

I saw the phone go out, saw Nick dial, and prayed he wouldn't be stupid enough to cross this man. Dangerous as R.H. was, he was on my side. "Come on."

R.H. waited, listening to the phone. I watched him hold it out to Nick, and the next words he said made my world right again.

"This is Nick. Let the kid go. Yes. Right now!"

Then, he hit the phone viciously, turning it off.

"The phone?"

Nick threw it through the bars, toward R.H.'s bum arm. Thought he was going to win, make the other man bend and pick it up when the plastic bounced off.

And that's when I found out how well I'd placed my trust. The dead left arm, the one he'd been dragging around for days, rose and effortlessly caught the phone. Nick lost again; and whoever the hell this guy was, he was proof that Nick had been going to lose since the beginning.

"Mm, mm, mm. You should have called Trinney."

Shock was a good word for it. I tried to find my tongue, and managed to look up from the floor long enough to catch the gaze of the man next to me. The man who had gotten my son back.

For the first time, his eyes were open to me. To see into the heart of a man, you need to strip away the lies. Threats will do that. I'd held a gun on him, seen emotions I couldn't understand. A man who thinks he might die from a bullet in his heart doesn't feel resignation – unless he's been expecting it. But where, then, had the betrayal I'd seen come from? It was hidden more deeply than the fear, but it had still been there.

Now, I saw something I never expected, not out of a criminal safecracker outta Brooklyn. Kindness. Sympathy, telling me that he knew what I was going through. And dancing behind all the others, mischief. I'd seen it long enough from my son to recognize it now.

I don't know why the hell I did it.

But it brought my son back to me.

Trust.