Kara held her breath, thinking quickly.

The sound of the car gave way to an errant idle and the slamming of more doors. She moved quickly to peer out the window, watching a man in the darkness pace along an east fence with an automatic.

She returned to the door, looking out and checking the clip in the gun. Four shots.

Nick winced, catching a look at the damage to her face in the wane light from beyond the door. It looked painful, unbelievable, and every bit as heartbreaking as it had been to witness. His face scrunched, watching her move and trying to figure out where she was going with her thoughts.

She stepped over the body, grabbing its hand with her good arm and pulling it from the path of the door. She closed the door, unable to lock it from the inside. Slipping the cuffs from her back pocket, she hooked one around the doorknob, the other in the remnants of a door chain on the doorframe. She pulled it; it wasn't going to open. It bought them a few minutes at best. One thing taken care of.

She turned, suddenly feeling Nick's fingers on her face, touching a laceration on her cheek and the bruise under her eye with his thumb. "Are you sure you're okay, you look half on an ambulance back to the hospital."

She nodded, looking at him through the darkness with narrowed eyes. Something odd passed between them, her face flinching from his touch; uncomfortable under the concern.

"We go down the mountain," she said, turning sharply to the window and prying at the lock.

He was silent as she undid the latch.

"Where are we…?" he asked softly, the heat of his body close behind her as he watched the same man pacing the fence disappear around the corner.

"Near Lake Mead. Access roads run up the side of the mountains for hikers. They also make really good places for people who don't want to be found to hide. It's six miles to the main road, hiking down through the trees. I came alone in Grissom's truck." She heard another door slam. "They're not due for another hour, we can't stay here."

She jimmied the window, pushing it out as she propped it without a sound, eyes on the watchman that moved back around the corner into their sight, walking away from them. She pulled her gun, climbing out first with it on point and crouched, beckoning Nick out.

She watched her breath a moment, eyes on the watchman again as he moved back around the corner and out of sight. Beyond the back of the run down building, there was a break in the fence, darkness into the trees beyond.

"When I move, we run. Keep your head low."

He nodded. They did not have a lot of time before Scruffy was discovered. She heard the door rattle, the cuffs clinking.

Too late.

She heard the door splinter behind them through the open window. Her fingers motioned forward and she moved toward the back fence at a crouched run. They crested a small hill and jumped into the darkness.

"Get in front of me!" she hissed. "Keep your head low"

He went to protest but she pushed him ahead of her, sliding her gun in the back of her pants as they ran, jumping over brush.

She heard the first shot zip through the trees about three yards to her right. Another bullet whizzed past her head in the darkness. She winced but kept moving, the slant downward increasing sharply as she started to slide. Her feet started slipping every other step as they descended.

Automatic fire began to rip through the darkness. Fingers on her bad arm grabbed his shirt, pulling them both to the ground with a grunt. Trees splintered above their heads, raining debris onto them as she suddenly began to slide down the hill as it became steeper, the loose dirt and rocks rolling under her as she felt Nick sliding down the hill next to her.

She couldn't stop sliding, hearing Nick's boot hit a tree sharply to stop himself. He reached to her instantly, feeling her forearm slide through his fingers but snapping his hand shut on her hand.

Her feet spun out into loose air, his name on her lips as he caught her.

He gritted his teeth, a dark growl through the clench as every muscle in his body strained to hold on to her. Debris kept sliding past them, bouncing down the side of a sheer drop off

The gunfire had ceased.

"I don't think we should go that way," he said with a lick of sarcasm, reaching down with his other hand to pull her up.

Flinching, she reached with her other hand to draw herself up. She caught her breath, looking up the steep incline; they had slid almost a hundred feet. They couldn't follow.

She got her grip, leaning her head back against rock, swallowing hard. The lip on the edge was wide enough to stand on.

"They were shooting blind into the dark…" she said, out of breath "They didn't know which way we went, they're more accurate than that."

Her eyes squinted, looking left and right to try and figure out where they were.

"Go left," she whispered, his hand holding strong to hers to balance as they crept along the edge silently, finding a foothold path to continue their descent.

The gun came out again on point. She knew better. She knew the others would probably not be the ones following them. There would be no more automatic fire or pursuit by thugs. This was personal, and Ricker would take care of this himself. It was now a game, and she had an extra game piece to worry about.

They ran downhill for almost an hour through the darkness, stumbling over rocks and brush. Her body ached, hurt, and bled. She was freezing, watching her breath curl ahead of her as her chest heaved.

Nick was faring a bit better, he had been in pristine health the last several days except for his concussion; but his head felt a bit fuzzy, distant.

"We need to rest… just for a moment," he finally said, his hands resting on his knees.

She looked at him quietly, kneeling as her fingers touched something on the ground. "We can't."

"Why?"

"Because we're being followed."

"By?"

"Someone we don't want to find us," she said quietly, looking at the brightening sky. "We need to find a place to hide. Too dangerous in the light."

"We need to keep moving."

"You need to do what I tell you," she said shortly.

Her eyes swept the landscape, shivering slightly, watching her breath. There was no sign of pursuit, but she knew better. Her Moriarty had the upper hand.

"There," she pointed in the darkness. Brush almost completely covered a deep crevice in a shrap of rock, hindered by trees. "You lead the way."

He nodded. She walked behind him, checking for incriminating evidence of their presence and dusting over any footprints they were leaving.

She winced as she pushed her way through the brush. There was a crawl space, barely big enough for two bodies. She instructed Nick to climb in first.

He paused. "I can't."

"You have to," she shoved him in and slid in behind him.

It opened a bit wider as it went in, tall enough to sit up in, and she was thankful no wildlife had moved in first.

"We will rest, get warm, and keep moving when it gets dark," she said.

He leaned against the back wall as she leaned next to him, catching her breath and resting her forearm on her knee.

He looked uncomfortable, his eyes closing as the world seemed to follow suit around him.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded.

She watched the opening, shivering. "You want to tell me why you're lying?" she asked.

"Nope."

His eyes cracked slightly to notice the shivering. He wanted to help her, but decided against it.

"If I'm not awake at dark, take the gun and go, straight down the side and you'll hit the main road," she directed, looking at him with dark eyes. "Run like hell."

"And what about you?"

"This isn't about me, it's about you," her voice was calm.

"And what about you?" he echoed.

She pressed her lips together and looked back out the opening, her finger taught on the trigger.

"We're both getting out of here," he said.

Her face was unreadable.

He was perceptive. Her eyes kept fluttering, too heavy to keep open. If she slipped under, he would be on his own. If Ricker found them, Nick would be killed. He was a leverage to get her cooperation, and there was no way she would watch him be tortured for her.

Her head turned to look at him forebodingly.

He returned the look, fear and question around the edges of his eyes.

Doubts, she had developed severe doubts she could make this happen. She didn't have any resources, she couldn't think. They were not going to make it out alive.

Her eyes were too heavy to remain open, the last thing she remembered was him speaking to her, but the words were lost to fatigue.

She was exhausted, and her dreams were strange, fading in and out of consciousness. She smelled the sea, heard her father's violin, and Nick's voice. Nick was talking to her, his words fading in and out as she faded in and out of consciousness. She was no longer shivering. Her legs and feet were cold, her nose was cold, but her body was warm. He had pulled her to him, leaning her against his chest and wrapping his coat around the both of them. Her head had been tilted her head to one side, keeping it from tipping back. There was no linger any blood on her face; he had probably wiped it off.

Her eyes finally opened, clearing. He was talking about a family barbecue. Someone had slipped off a picnic table and broken their arm, and his father had carried them to the hospital down the street.

"My father was a musician…" her voice was quiet. She didn't know where the comment came from.

He smiled slightly.

"Welcome back," he said.

Her head hurt, jaw hurt to move. She was incredibly stiff. "How long…?"

"Most of the day, we have an hour yet, at least."

She drew a deep breath, listening to the wind move the brush outside, content with where she was leaning for now.

"What's your real name?" he asked gently.

She didn't answer. She stared out the opening, a dark red hue signaling the setting sun.

"How come you won't tell me?"

"Because when this is all over, it won't matter to you."

"If it didn't matter, I wouldn't have asked."

Silence.

"Why are you so interested?" she said finally, her tone calm.

"Because I'm trying to understand you."

"There's nothing to understand."

"I found your rifle at the house, and your guns, and your coke," he let it hang a moment. "I want to understand that."

She said nothing for a long time. "And I'm sure if I searched through your things I'd find your skeletons too."

She was shivering again, he gripped her tighter.

"I kill killers," she sat up, suddenly uncomfortable, running her cold hands over her face and retrieving the gun setting next to his leg. She turned, looking at him, "Is that what you want to hear?"

He flinched. She had dark bruises; the injuries from last night had set.

"How does one come to… kill people for a living?" he asked, his voice barely there.

She was silent for a long time. "I don't kill people; I kill killers." Her eyes flashed, watching back out the opening. "You have to have nothing to lose."

"Nobody has nothing to lose," he answered, matching her tone.

She glared at him.

"So you get beat up for nothing?" his face was set, jaw ticking at the thought.

"I take care of things that normal people can't deal with; my work keeps people like you safe."

"Who keeps you safe?" he asked.

She look to the ground, then back to him with renewed anger.

"I'm not going to apologize for what I do, including using you to do what needed to be done."

"And what if they had killed me?" he said calmly.

Her lips pressed together, and she turned her back to him, facing the opening.

"What if they had killed you back there?" he posed another question.

"You'd be in a ditch, and I'd be dead and a star in a book somewhere."

"I can't accept that," his voice was stubborn.

"I never asked you to," she said bitterly.

His chest hurt for her. He couldn't accept it, even though she was selflessly comfortable with the abuse.

"Going through life alone, no one for friendship, no real love, no one to mourn your death or pay proper respects when you die…" he started.

The pistol snapped up, the aim true at his face.

His nostrils flared as he froze, words still on his lips.

"I don't need you to remind me what my life consists of," her voice was extremely dark.

"Kara, I'm sorry…"

Her face flinched several times, the gun flickering as her elbow began to shake. Tears edged the corners of her eyes.

"So am I," she said softly.

He moved forward slowly against her aim, removing the gun from her hand.

She watched his tentative stance, he was scared of her. Everyone, anyone she would ever know would always be scared of her. She was a bringer of death, a killer, and would die doing the same.

He reached up to rub his thumb across the cut on her cheek that was bleeding again. It needed stitches.

She flinched from him.

His anger burned at the flinch. He reached in his pocket and took the piece of her tee shirt, holding it to her cheek.

He rested his forehead on hers.

"We're gonna get out of this, you hear me? We. Don't do anything heroic," he said.

She nodded slightly, her nose touching his for a split second.

She kept it there… drawing a slow breath as his kiss was warm, unexpected.

His fingers touched the back of her neck gently, her hair like silk over his fingers. She had begun to shiver again. She drew a slow breath; feeling his fingers still pressing the cloth to her cheek. For a moment she was someone else, a person that had only ever been real for a fraction of time. She'd spent more time pretending than she had ever spent existing.

A stick sharply cracked, the moment shattering as the gun was back in her fingers, and she'd whirled to point at the opening with explicit attention.

Her eyes narrowed as she crept toward the opening, moving out and checking her corners with intense expertise.

The butt of a rifle cracked the back of her neck and she hit the ground sharply, spinning to meet the face of an enemy…

…and the business end of a rifle.