The loud blaring of a cell phone broke the silence of the quiet bedroom. It was a small bedroom, simply furnished, with a bed, bedside table, chest of drawers, and bench piled high with stuff. A lump under a pile of blankets was revealed to be a woman, when a head and then hand emerged, starting to fumble for the cellphone, which was STILL ringing LOUDLY.

"This'd better be good," was the terse, grumpy opening.

"Good afternoon to you too, sunshine," was Hana's cheery rejoinder. "And we have a case, so up and at 'em."

The woman threw back the bedcovers, emerging fully from her cocoon, and pushing herself upright with a groan. She flipped on the lamp on the bedside table, giving some illumination to the room darkened by the wonderful invention that was blackout curtains. The shadows the lamp cast threw her mussed hair and the dark bags under her eyes into sharp relief.

"Now? Today?" was the somewhat disbelieving question.

"Yep," Hana replied. "Why, you have other plans, Kat?"

"Yeaaaahhhh, sleeping," the other woman replied snippily. She sighed. "I'll be out the door in 15, and I'll be there however quickly the traffic allows." Even on a Sunday afternoon, New York traffic could still be a horrific mess.

"You're getting slow in …" Hana's response was cut off by Kat's finger mashing the disconnect button, as she muttered a few choice phrases in multiple languages.

Bloody h**l. Of all the days.

Kat, as most of her friends called her, scrubbed her hands across her face with another tired groan and then glanced at the clock. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon. She had been in bed and asleep for barely an hour. Crime waits for no man, but this once couldn't it have been tomorrow?

She scrubbed her hands across her face again, pushing her hair away from her face. Then with a sigh, she rose stiffly from bed and set to work. A current member of the FBI's Fugitive Task Force, Kat lived primarily out of a duffel bag, and packing was quick work.

Her dressing habits were as simple as her living quarters. Wool socks went on over bare, calloused feet. Then cargo pants. Then rugged boots over the socks. A dark green flannel shirt went on over a torso sprinkled with dark bruises and was buttoned with nimble fingers. A well-worn and comfy fleece vest, a washed-out shade of navy, went on over the black-watch shirt, and a leather jacket over all that would hide her Glock and badge. She stopped long enough in the bathroom to run a brush through her hair and get some water to swallow a slug of IB before repacking and restocking her duffel. Five minutes later, she was heading out the door after stopping in her kitchen to grab a cold bagel and a mug of cold tea.

Forty-five minutes almost exactly after he and Hana had to pull a few tricks out of their bag to get a hold of their incommunicado teammate, Kat appeared in the doorway that led into the team's basement headquarters from the parking garage.

Kat—only her partner called her by her full name, Kateri—was an unremarkable looking woman. Medium-height with a lanky build and a nondescript face, the former undercover agent rarely stood out in a crowd. Today, as usual, she was wearing her usual outfit of cargo pants, hiking boots, and about three layers on top. A grey beanie was pulled over her hair, and from the state of the hair under that beanie and the unpleasant look that graced her face, it looked like she had just crawled out of bed.

Kenny shoved the rest of the granola bar into his mouth and waved a greeting. Her head down, Kat either did not see the greeting or chose to ignore it, making straight for her locker toward the back of the room.

He drifted over toward Hana's desk, where the computer tech was still sitting, shooting an incredulous look at their teammate's back.

"Touchy," Hana muttered, having been on the receiving end of the just as grumpy phone call earlier.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Kenny replied, glancing at his watch. 3:15pm. "Though why was she in bed anyway at this time of day?" he wondered aloud, keeping his voice very quiet. The room was not that big, and he was not sure how much Kat was paying attention to them.

"No idea," Hana said, finally returning her attention to her screens. "She doesn't look sick."

"I can hear you, you know," Kat called, making them both wince.

So much for being quiet, Kenny thought.

Kenny Crosby knew himself well and knew his own faults all too well. After years in the army, fighting and shooting, he could do well. Tech and communications, he could also do well. What he could not always do well was keeping a lid on his temper. He had anger management issues, and periodically Jess had to send him back to classes. Kenny, when his temper was up, simply exploded, usually in physical violence. Kat, on the other hand, when she was in a mood, never lashed out physically. Her tongue did all the work that her fists would never do, and she was unfortunately quite skilled at verbally eviscerating people.

What got her britches in a twist?

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Kenny looked at Hana, shrugged, and then went off to double check that he was fully packed before the team headed out. This was his first mission back after a lengthy, enforced injury leave. Three months earlier, a fugitive he had been chasing had tossed a fridge down a flight of stairs at him. Some fancy footwork had kept him from being smushed like a tomato underneath it, but getting out of the way had left him with a concussion, broken arm, four broken fingers, and three cracked ribs.

Lost in thought, Kenny flinched slightly when one of the locker doors slammed shut, much harder than was necessary even to get the oftentimes temperamental doors on the old lockers to actually shut.

It's going to be one of those days, he concluded. There were some days where Kat would reappear after a longer than usual break between hunts, acting like she was a wounded bull and almost everything anyone else did or said was a goad. The radical change from her usual good temper could make even Jess lose patience with her, and it usually took Clinton to get her to calm down and get a grip, though even he had trouble occasionally.

I hope Clint gets here soon. Jess was upstairs for the press conference. Clinton had disappeared to the armory upstairs before his partner arrived. Where Barnes was, Kenny didn't know.

"So, who's the lucky SOB this time?" Kat's voice was as rough sounding as she looked and was dripping with sarcasm.

"Thomas Gilman, family annihilator," Hana responded, "which you'd know if you watched the news or weren't late." There was the sound of papers changing hands.

All Kenny could catch of Kat's response was "bite me," before the door to the parking garage closed behind him. One of his spare mags was missing, and he thought it might have fallen out in his car. Not often that I'd wish Kat would shut up. The problem is usually getting her to talk.

Sometimes, rarely, Clinton did not know what to do with his partner. Sometimes he was torn between strangling her and hugging her. He had returned from the armory in time to catch Barnes start lecturing Kateri and Hana, who had apparently been attempting verbally going at each other. Who was originally at fault, he had no idea. Hana gave him a look after the group broke up which said, "It's one of those days."

Jess appeared from the elevator, the press conference declaring Gilman's place on the Most Wanted List having finished, before Clinton could get the chance to talk to his partner and find out what the h*** was wrong this time.

Wondering what was up with his partner, Clinton finished buttoning up his greatcoat and grabbed his duffel. Everyone was packed by that time, and they all headed toward the car pack, as Jess started parceling out assignments. Gilman had over a fourteen-hour lead by that point, and they needed to get to work.

"Sheryll will join me in interviewing Mrs. Gilman's bereaved sister," Jess began.

Kateri fell into step beside Clinton. Her bad temper had faded into a blank mask, and now she just looked tired.

"You should try doing that hand-holding bit by yourself sometime," was Barnes' quick rejoinder, as she twisted back to look at Jess even while quick steps kept her moving forward.

"My hands aren't as soft as yours," Jess replied, making Clinton chuckle internally at his brother-in-law's wit. Jess continued, "Clinton, Kateri, get with the ICE office in Port Chester. Tell 'em we want to talk to Mr. Gilman's coworkers today. Don't let 'em stall you. They had a bad apple. They've got to suck it up and cooperate."

"I'll sweet talk them," Clinton replied, tossing his duffel into the backseat of the car—his rifle was already in the trunk—and moving aside to give his partner time to do the same. He missed whatever Jess said next as he noticed a flash of pain cross his partner's face as she tossed her duffle inside and then slammed the car door shut. He filed the look away to be dealt with once they were on the road, where they could talk in private and Kateri couldn't avoid the issue, or rather where he would not let her avoid the issue.

Kenny appeared from the direction of his jeep. He's looking good. Considering Kenny's legendary, or perhaps infamous, appetite, Clinton found it somewhat ironic that the young man had almost gotten crushed by a fridge of all things on that nearly disastrous mission three months earlier.

"Young Agent Crosby, how are those guns? All mended?" Jess seemed especially pleased to see Kenny back and looking well. The former soldier had been recruited by Jess, who had taken him under his wing, and Jess had taken the accident particularly hard.

"100 percent, boss," Kenny replied, striking a muscle pose and then playfully sparring with Clinton for a moment.

"Excellent. Do us a favor: next time a fugitive throws a refrigerator down a staircase, don't try to catch it."

Barnes smirked, and beside Clinton, Kateri gave a muffled snort, pulling her hat lower down over her ears and then hunkering down into her coat. It was surprisingly chilly for early-March.

"Now," Jess continued, "We all know what Mr. Gilman did to get his spot on the most wanted". Clinton knew all too well. It was going to be a long time before he stopped seeing the photos of the children's body from the crime scene when he closed his eyes. "Our job is not to bring justice to Mr. Gilman. Our job is to bring Mr. Gilman to justice."

The briefing complete, everyone scattered to their cars. Port Chester was a roughly 45-minute drive from FBI HQ, less from the Gilman place, depending on the traffic.

Better to go in person. Less stalling they can do that way. Gilman's bank is up that way, too, from Hana's searches. Might be worth a stop.

Hopefully plenty of time to figure out what's up with the kid, too.

Got to hurry though. We're running out of daylight.

Clinton took the chance to study his partner out of the corner of his eye, as he wound his way out the parking garage following the other cars. Kateri's silence had turned morose once she had climbed inside, and she was curled against the door, eyes closed, head on the window. There were usually two main causes for her moods: (A) she was scared, or (B) she was hurt. What had caused A or B was usually less clear. For her, anger seemed to be a defense mechanism. She lashed out to keep herself from looking weak.

From studying her, Clinton was leaning toward B. After being her partner for several years and spending a considerable amount of time off-duty with her, Clinton knew her, her quirks, and her habits quite well. He knew that her drumming her fingers on her chin meant that she was thinking and that twirling her watch around her wrist meant that she was nervous. When she slept, she almost always kept one hand tucked under her head, except when she was hurt, and now she had both arms wrapped around her abdomen like she was trying to hug herself. He was not even sure that she consciously recognized what she was doing.

Further, her mug was full of tea, not coffee, which she usually drank when she was not feeling well, and periodically one hand reached up to rub at her forehead. Inside the parking garage, her closed eyes had a pinched look, but when they pulled outside into the sun, Kateri opened her eyes for a moment and then immediately squinted, even though it was not that bright.

"If you were almost anyone else," Clinton's voice broke the silence in the car that had stretched on and on since they left headquarters, "I'd think you had a hangover."

Kateri had been expecting the questioning, but when the silence had lingered, she had zoned out, and the sudden noise made her flinch.

"Except that I know you never go drinking on Saturday nights, because you go to mass the next morning," her partner continued. "So what the h*** has you acting like an animal with its foot in a trap?"

Clinton Skye was one of the most even-tempered, adaptable people Kateri had ever met in her 30-odd years. She could count on one hand the times she had ever seen him lose his temper since she had joined the team, and it was just as rare that he ever swore at her.

Not that I can blame him. Kateri never intended to get so crabby, but the filter on her tongue evaporated in direct proportion to how badly she was feeling. The therapist she occasionally had to see called it a defense mechanism from a problematic childhood: "Being seen as weak was dangerous, blah, blah, blah."

She sighed. You need to apologize to Hana later, and Barnes for that matter. You've been abominably rude. They all had their struggles and were used to each other's moods, but it didn't excuse her manners or lack thereof. Filter or no filter, you still control your own actions.

"I got sent to D.C. for a couple of days." Kateri made a face. "My help was needed with some old … stuff." She had previously worked undercover with CID's Organized Crime Unit with occasional details to White Collar Crimes, before transferring to the Fugitive Task Force. For her own safety and for the preservation of some still ongoing, long-term ops, she could not talk about most of the work she had done.

"Ahhhhh," Clinton drawled. "And I'm guessing it didn't go well?"

Does it ever? Kateri mused in the silence of her own mind. She hated these side ops she sometimes got sent on when her team was not deployed and wished whoever was approving them would stop IMMEDIATELY. "The partner I got assigned for this … job … was a bloody moron, who should never have been promoted to be a bloody field agent, and that's all I will say." This particular trip had been a good reminder to Kateri of why she had disliked working with a team before her transfer.

"Which means you got your a** kicked because of him?" her partner prodded gently.

"More than once," Kateri confirmed, a disgusted look on her face. I was the better fighter, but they got the jump on me. If he hadn't been a moron, I would have won easily. I hate DC.

Clinton sighed, glancing at her quickly before returning his attention to the road. "How badly are you hurt?"

"The worst damage was to my pride. The rest of me is only bruised," Kateri replied, shifting positions again to try to get more comfortable. The slug of IB she had taken before leaving home was finally starting to kick in, but not fast enough for her tastes.

"Including your head?"

"What? No!" Oh, yeaaaahhhh, you have been rubbing your forehead. Probably hence the hangover comment. "I pulled an all-nighter, doing both our paperwork so that it would actually get done right, took the first Amtrak back—and you know I can't sleep on those, they're too small—just squeaked into 12:30 mass as it started, went home, and had just collapsed into bed for an hour when Hana called. Hence the 'I didn't get any sleep last night' headache, not a 'I got my bell rung' headache."

"You take something, kid?" Only Clinton could get away with calling her that. Coming from some people, the epithet would seem belittling, but Clinton always meant it fondly.

Kateri rolled her eyes. "Of course. Before I left to come to HQ."

"Want me to talk to Jess? He might be able to put a stop to this."

"I thought he had to approve these side-trips of mine?" Or so I thought. Or maybe it's Castille. Or both, for that matter.

"He might have to. I don't know for sure," her partner replied, "but if he knew what you just told me, I don't think that approval would continue much longer."

"Then sure, please do."

"I'll talk to him, or we both can talk to him once we finish this case."

After the explanation of what had gone so wrong the last few days along with her medication finally kicking in, Clinton was relieved to see his partner's mood improve substantially. She was still quiet and somewhat withdrawn, but not that much quieter than usual. Once her headache faded to tolerable, she had spent the rest of the drive to Port Chester going over the case files that Hana had given her before they left HQ.

The traffic, for once, cooperated, and Clinton drove faster than he usually did, and they pulled into the parking lot of the Port Chester ICE office at just past 4pm.

"Once more into the breach," Kateri quipped, climbing from the car with a face-breaking yawn.

Clinton snorted. Dealing with ICE was almost always unpleasant. They often pulled about every delaying, stonewalling, and BS trick in the book that they could think of along with a few tricks that probably hadn't been entered in the book yet either. There was a reason Jess had warned them not to let ICE stonewall them when they were so heavily on the clock.

The two made their way inside, Kateri drifting into her usual position off his right shoulder and half in his shadow. The usual stonewalling started as soon as they stepped in the door and identified themselves as FBI.

So much for inter-agency cooperation.

His patience was in short supply, given the urgency of the situation, and he started pressing them when the wait hit the ten-minute mark. Trying to get into a verbal battle with him was not one that ICE was going to win, and with, among other tactics, some careful use of crime-scene photos and a few mentions of "family annihilator" and "dead kids," the ICE supervisor finally decided to cooperate and promised to gather Gilman's coworkers.

Kateri returned as Clinton headed for the exit.

"Success?" she asked, her posture and body language shifting back to the familiar from that of a put-upon, overworked ICE lackey. With her style of dress, she fit right in with most of the office. Ah, that's where you disappeared off to. Clinton had noticed her disappear mid-way through the … discussion … with the supervisor, and now she had a very self-satisfied look in the set of her jaw and the slightest hint of a smile, ticking up one side of her mouth.

"Moving in that direction," he replied, holding the door open for her to precede him outside. "ICE will start gathering his coworkers. We'll come back once they're ready."

"No time to just sit on our hands waiting on them to actually do something useful for a change," Kateri agreed, making a face.

"What did you find out?"

"Well," she drawled, once they were in the car and on their way. Clinton turned the car toward Gilman's bank. One more stop for now, and then we can rejoin the others. "Gilman was not going to be winning any popularity contests around the office. Overheard a lot of hushed conversations while I was … wandering. Even got a glimpse of his office. All in all, he was the loner type. No friends. No pics of his kids in his office. No diplomas. No nothing. Some people found him a little …. weird. Not sure of the right word. Wonder if he just snapped."

Kateri paused and looked around. "Where are we headed?"

"His bank," Clinton replied, his attention mostly on the traffic, while he mulled over his partner's information.

Gilman's bank was more cooperative than ICE was and provided extremely helpful info in short order, and by 5pm Clinton and Kateri were on the way to rejoin the others. About an hour of daylight was left, and there was so much left to do.

I loathe dealing with ICE. Kateri groused silently to herself. She had settled down against the window. The drive was not going to be long enough to take a nap, but she could at least rest a little. Gilman sure is a piece of work. He was planning to murder his own family. I grew up seeing piece-of-work parents, but this is a step beyond. I just can't wrap my head around it. Spousal abuse is one thing, but murdering your own kids? How does a parent even do that? Seeing those pics, I can't help but think of Tali. Must be worse for Clint and Jess….

The car ride lulled her into a half-zoned out, kinda doze, and Kateri startled back to full awareness, when the car slowed towards a stop sometime later and a hand gently shook her shoulder. She looked left first to her partner, who opened his mouth to say something, but his phone started to ring before he could speak. When she looked around, where they were was immediately made clear by the ruin that was the Gilman's house. What's left of it.

Bloody h**l. God have mercy. She crossed herself quickly.

"We'll be there in an hour. Thank you," Clinton shut his door with a loud thump that reminded Kateri that she needed to be paying attention, not staring wide-eyed and horrified at the ruined house.

"Where is he?" Her partner asked, and Kateri finally noticed that Sheryll was just on the other side of the car.

Barnes motioned towards what would have been the interior of the house, "Cleaning off his goody box."

Clinton headed in that direction, and various overlapping conversations drifted back, Jess talking about cheating husbands and Kenny and Hana talking about social media and tech stuff.

Barnes bumped Kateri's shoulder gently with her own. "Feeling better?" She kept her voice low for at least a semblance of privacy.

Kateri went red, not that it showed much with her light brown skin, and gave a sheepish smile. Yeaahh, kinda made a bitch of myself earlier. "Yeaahh, sorry about earlier. Haven't had a good few days."

"We all have bad days, Kat, and if you ever need to talk, you won't have any shortage of willing ears, but we're a team. We cannot be taking our problems out on each other." As a former undercover agent herself, Barnes knew some of what Kateri dealt with whenever she got recalled for odd jobs for her former bosses.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Barnes let the subject rest, and the two stood companionably together, waiting on the others. There was nothing for the two women to do at the moment, and too many people inside the ruined house would just get in the way or cause an accident. The wind changed, and Kateri shivered, retucking her scarf around her neck and burying her hands in her pockets. I should have grabbed a warmer coat. There wasn't snow in DC, and I wasn't awake enough to think about it earlier. Oh, well.

"The ICE office in Port Chester will have …," Kateri tuned back into what was going on around her when she heard her partner's voice, realized that she already knew what he was telling Jess, and promptly zoned out again, resting on her feet, one hip perched on the car hood.

I need coffee. If we have to pull an all-nighter trying to catch this creep, I'm going to die.

One all-nighter I can do, but two … I'll die, even if I had Kenny and Hana's supply of coffee and sugar.

"Nothing impetuous about our boy," Jess was saying.

Barnes started in the direction of the house, and Kateri decided to follow. One of the local PD people asked a question, and the boss switched into lecture mode, describing the "flavors" of family annihilators. Ick. She had heard his descriptions before and tuned him out. I've got and will have enough nightmares as it is from this case. Don't need to hear that again.

Being a member of the Fugitive Task Force was rewarding and disturbing simultaneously. Horrific crime scenes, horrific fugitives, they were sometimes worse than what Kateri had seen with her time with Organized Crime and made a number of her jobs with White Collar look like a cake walk. At least there was less undercover bits to the work. And when I have to get up close and personal with sleazeballs and scumbags, you don't have to act like you're not a Feebie, and the boys are around if I need backup. There was, however, a good feeling about being able to bring such lowlifes to justice, having a bigger hand in it and seeing it done.

The team wrapped up their work at the Gilman place, and with one extra box of miscellaneous stuff courtesy of the boss's rummaging through the ruins, Clinton, Kateri, and Jess in their two cars headed back toward Port Chester to interview the coworkers. This time, she did decide to avail herself of a 30-minute catnap, after filing away the reminder to apologize to Hana for being a bitch earlier once there was a bit of privacy.

Mr. Gilman had a number of coworkers at the ICE office that he had a decent amount of contact with, and the agents had to talk with them all. Kateri kept one eye on her watch, as the minutes dragged on and on. The light was fading fast outside and then it completely faded as they talked to coworker after coworker who might know something, anything to help them catch this SOB.

If we get any decent leads, we're going to be chasing them in the dark, unless we wait until tomorrow and give Gilman an even bigger lead.

Finally, on the last coworker, Agent Lane Cantrell, there finally looked to be some helpful information, besides variations on what Kateri had already heard earlier and had already informed the boss about.

"I knew Tommy had problems at home, but I never imagined it would come to this," Agent Cantrell said, shaking his head sadly. He sighed heavily. "He cheated on his wife with a woman at a massage parlor"—ick—"in White Plains. He was worried his wife would find out."

Jess, Clinton, and Kateri all exchanged looks.

"So, he was afraid of losing his family?" Jess asked the question that was on all their minds.

If he didn't want to lose his family—understandably—then why in all the bloody blue blazes did he kill them? Kateri mused, drumming her fingers on her chin. Her mental voice was somewhat saltier than her tongue. That doesn't make one lick of sense.

"He was regretful," Cantrell confirmed, with accompanying hand gestures. "He wanted to renew his commitment to his marriage." Are we talking about the same person?

Clinton passed over the small notebook that he kept in his jacket pocket and that he had been making a few notes on as Cantrell spoke. "Can you write down the name of that massage parlor?"

Cantrell dropped his key ring on the desk and moved to do so. Kateri blew a strand of hair out of her face and then tried to disguise rubbing her eyes by using her hands to adjust her hair. That's another thing you forgot this afternoon: a hair band or bobby-pins.

"You a hunter?" Jess suddenly asked, his question, to Kateri, seemingly coming out of left-field.

Kateri stared at Jess for a moment and then noticed that his gaze was fixed on the desk, on Cantrell's key ring more specifically. She shifted her gaze, studied the key ring for herself, and finally noticed what had drawn Jess' attention: a sight-wrench.

"Yes, sir. I hunt," Cantrell replied, straightening up and returning Clinton's notebook.

"Is Tommy a hunter?"

Now we're getting somewhere. Kateri could see the idea Jess was chasing down. Hunters often had favorite hunting spots. If Tommy was a hunter and had one, he could be hiding out there.

"A good one," the ICE agent confirmed, "and he let you know it." Great, a stuck-up creep. "He likes to hunt alone. Could spend days alone."

"Does he have a favorite spot?" Jess asked.

"Yeaaahhh, but he didn't tell me where."

"Huh," Jess didn't miss a beat or seem concerned. "You said he liked to show off. I'm sure he sent you some photos of his hunts."

"Sure." Cantrell grabbed his phone, unlocked it, and started flipping through pages.

Kateri took a couple steps forward from where she had been lurking at the back of the room, so she could get a better look at whatever photo(s) Cantrell was thinking of and looking for. Clinton glanced over at her as she appeared off his shoulder, checking if she needed something or had something she wanted to add. Kateri shook her head.

Cantrell handed over his phone, and the three FBI agents peered at it. It was a decent photo, but one that made Kateri wonder how Gilman had taken it. The photo showed Gilman posing in the center in camo and orange, a rifle in one hand. A large deer lay dead in front of him, only the head lying on a downed log visible. Behind them were woods and various other downed trees.

Clinton seemed to have had a eureka moment and took the phone from Jess and zoomed in on one corner of the photo. "Survey marker."

Got you!

Unfortunately, the news was not as good as it sounded. The light had faded, and running around the woods in the dark after a dangerous fugitive who was willingly to slaughter even his own children was extremely dangerous. It was going to take time to find Gilman's spot, gather the troops, get there, and hopefully catch Gilman, but it couldn't all be done that day.

Jess got the ball rolling, while the three waited for the others to arrive, and then the whole team gathered at a small 24-hour diner in Post Chester about 8:30pm for some very late supper.

Kateri was almost too tired to eat, crashing after a long day fueled only by an hour of sleep, 3 cups of tea/coffee, a bagel, and two granola bars. Her partner had to prod her several times to get her to finish eating the hamburger she had chosen.

By 11pm, the team had done about all the work that could be done for the day. Since the team's bus was currently in the shop and they needed to get moving too quickly in the morning for a hotel room, the team settled down in their cars for a short night's rest.