A/N: I know I said there probably wouldn't be a second chapter this week, but I caught a nasty cold, had to cancel my weekend away, and needed a major h/c fix. So here you go. This chapter is built around the last few minutes of 1x10 "Number Crunch" – by far my favourite episode of the whole series. Chapter warning: shameless h/c, and of course the scenes of violence and slight gore shown in the original series. Disclaimer: still don't own, never will, don't want to, yada yada. Enjoy!

Worthy

It was sheer dumb luck – or divine intervention, as she later reflected – that Hannah stepped on the parking deck in exactly the same moment the surveillance cameras were shut down by the CIA. After a seemingly non-stop 36-hour shift, she wanted nothing more than go home and sleep for a day or three.

She faintly recalled leaving her car in a far corner of the parking deck, and tried to remember why on earth she had done that. Something about being a tad late and not wanting to waste even more time looking for a better spot. With a mental shrug she steered towards her sleek black hybrid.

More than a little dismayed she noticed that the lighting was out in that section of the parking deck, again. Well, time for another complaint to the management. If she had counted correctly, this would be the fifth in just the past eight months. Maybe she should sic John on them to give them a little hands-on presentation on the importance of ensuring the safety of their personnel. The thought made her smile.

Somewhere behind her there was movement and she turned around, her hand automatically going to the pepper spray in her pocket. Then she recognised her brother, crossing the parking deck with long, measured steps, headed at an angle away from her. She was just about to approach him when she heard a car pulling up. Acting on instinct, Hannah ducked behind the car closest to her and waited.

With bated breath she listened as the approaching car stopped and people got out.

"Hello John."

"Mark."

"Glad to see you're still alive."

"I bet you are."

Strange how the tone of a person could say the exact opposite of what their words expressed. This was not going to end well, and there was absolutely nothing Hannah could do to help her brother.

"You know that'll never happen." Like a dark prophecy, John's words hovered in the cool night air for a few seconds, until a shot rang out and he collapsed.

Hannah was so shocked, she couldn't even make a sound, her wide-eyed stare fixed on her brother. Helplessly she had to watch him get shot a second time while he fired a few shots at the car's headlights, plunging the parking deck in near darkness. Then she saw him stumble to his feet and disappear into the shadows. From her vantage point, Hannah saw clearly what the man called Mark couldn't see: that the woman, a police officer judging by her badge, drew her gun and followed John to the staircase.

Running on pure instinct and adrenaline, Hannah waited for men to drive off in their car before she sprinted across the parking deck and hit the staircase, too. Deliberately ignoring the faint sound of John's voice and the cautious steps of the policewoman as well as the trail of fresh blood on the stairs, Hannah quietly descended two flights, darted into a corridor and took a shortcut to where she suspected she could intercept John.

She was rewarded with the sound of his laboured breathing and faltering steps coming towards her. Going half a flight of stairs back up, she wordlessly inserted herself under his shoulder and took a firm hold of his tall frame.

"No, Hannah," he choked out between pained gasps of breath. "Don't do that. You can't be seen with me. You can't risk your job over this. It's not worth it."

"Shut up and focus on walking," she hissed, tightening her grip on him.

He was fading fast, she could feel it. It was probably only adrenaline and sheer willpower keeping him on his feet. "Come on, John. Stay with me," she whispered and squeezed his arm, silently trying to instil some strength in him. "Just lean on me. I'm here."

Somehow her quiet pleading found its way through the haze of pain and blood loss. "Thank you for not giving up on me." His voice was barely audible now.

She pulled him closer, tried to take more of his weight. "I'll never give up on you."

They reached the ground floor, stumbled through the door, leaned against the rail for a short moment. "Hannah", John breathed, "you need to–"

With screeching tyres, a dark sedan pulled into the parking structure. John looked up, recognised Harold and made to move forward. Taking the hint, Hannah grabbed him tighter and moved with him.

The way her brother trustingly stretched out his free arm to let the short, limping man help him, pulled at her heartstrings. For a moment, she locked eyes with the man whose name she didn't even know yet, and reached an unspoken understanding with him. They both had a common cause – one that, at the moment, they struggled to uphold in a very physical sense. But just as they started for the car, the stairwell door flew open and a sharp "Hold it!" stopped them dead in their tracks.

Without knowing anything about the situation other than what she had witnessed on the roof, Hannah realised that things had just escalated to a whole new level of complicated. She saw the policewoman look questioningly at the short man, look regretfully at John, look incredulously at her. Hannah could see the internal battle as clear as day in the woman's dark eyes and knew they had won when she holstered her weapon and hurried over to them, saying "Get him out of here."

While the short man got into the driver's seat, Hannah got in the back, scooting over and opening her arms for John when the policewoman eased him down on the backseat. One long last look at John and her before she shouted "Go!" and slammed the door shut.

They immediately took off. Hannah knew that speed was more of the essence than cautious driving, so she just held her brother in place to keep him from getting jostled too much.

"It's all right," she told him quietly when a pained groan escaped his lips. "We're getting you to safety. Just hold on for me, will you?"

"I'm sorry," John choked out, his bloody fingers weakly curling around her arm. "You shouldn't have done that. It's not worth it."

With a barely stifled sob, Hannah pulled him tighter, cupped his sweaty cheek in her hand and gently pulled his head down to her shoulder. "Oh yes, John, it is," she replied, dropping a tender kiss on the top of his head. "Because you are."

A/N 2: Reviews are chicken soup :)