The next morning, Matt felt surprisingly better after a night's sound sleep, uninterrupted by nurses checking his vital signs or IV pumps beeping. Waking up to a beautiful girl in his arms didn't dampen his mood any, either.

Since Holly's guest bathroom was equipped with an extendable showerhead, he was actually able to take a real shower without getting his bandages wet. Afterwards, Lucy changed his bandage and checked his stitches; everything seemed to be healing fine. She also fixed him a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, biscuits and honey, and fresh coffee. He had to admit, being nursed back to health by a doting girlfriend (he was already thinking of her that way, and wondering if he should) definitely had its perks.

Lucy wasn't exactly what he had expected her to be, though. For one thing, Matt was surprised to learn that she was a video game junkie. After breakfast, she brought down Jack's PlayStation 2 and hooked it up in the guest room; they played Halo for two hours, and Lucy was as good as any boy Matt had ever played.

When Holly came home for lunch, she ordered Matt to eat and take a nap. He didn't argue much; even though he was feeling better, he still wasn't anywhere near up to par. Lucy gave him a Tylenol – he was determined to get off the narcotics as quickly as possible – and closed the blinds so he could rest.

A few hours later, Matt woke with a start from a disturbing dream in which he and Lucy were running down a long, dark corridor strewn with dead bodies, being chased by a car whose headlights seemed to blind them without actually illuminating the passage. It took a moment after he opened his eyes for Matt to realize he was safe in bed, not really being pursued by maniacs. With a sigh of relief, he rolled over – to find John McClane sitting calmly in a chair by his bedside.

"Hey kid," McClane greeted him, in his gruff but not unfriendly way. He nodded toward Matt's injured leg. "How's that scrape on your knee?"

Matt couldn't help but laugh, embarrassed that he had complained about a scraped knee moments after McClane had nearly killed himself jumping out of a moving vehicle. "Yeah, it's healing up okay," he replied. "How about you? How's the self-inflicted gunshot wound?"

McClane shrugged. Beneath his shirt bandages protruded, but his arm was no longer in a sling. Matt felt certain the doctors had ordered McClane to keep his arm immobilized and just as certain that the moment he left the hospital, the sling hit the nearest trashcan. "I think I'll survive," McClane answered. "Listen, Bowman's here. He wants to talk to you. Think you're up to it?"

Matt's stomach dropped to the vicinity of his toes. The deputy director of the FBI's cyberterrorism division was here to see him – that was hardly good news. He'd suspected the feds would be less than understanding about his involvement with Gabriel's plan; once a hacker, always a hacker, that seemed to be their motto. So did he feel up to facing federal charges? No, but he probably never would, so he figured he might as well get it over with.

Matt said nothing about his suspicions to McClane, however. The detective couldn't help him; he had no sway over the FBI. Matt decided it would be better to take his punishment like a man. At least McClane would respect that.

Maybe he'll let Lucy visit me in prison. Yeah, right…

With the aid of his cane, Matt hobbled alongside McClane through the living room toward what McClane described as Holly's "home office." He couldn't stop himself from asking, "Where's Lucy?"

McClane regarded him coolly, obviously less than thrilled by Matt's interest in his daughter. As they crossed the living room Matt caught a glimpse of Jack's Marine portrait and was overwhelmed by another wave of bitter shame at his inadequacy. Who was he kidding to think a man like McClane – a real patriot, a real hero – would ever be satisfied with anybody less than GI Joe for his daughter?

"She went with her mother to the store," McClane answered as he opened the door to a very modern, sophisticated-looking study. "They'll be back soon."

In time to see me off in handcuffs, d'ya think?

Bowman, looking cool and collected in a dark suit, stood up to shake hands with Matt as they entered the room. Matt was more than a little surprised by the gesture: In his experience, cops did not shake hands with criminals.

"Mr. Farrell, glad to see you up and around," Bowman said warmly, ushering Matt into a high-backed chair. He and McClane settled into matching chairs facing Matt's, so that the three of them formed a small semi-circle in the large, airy room. "McClane tells me the doctors are confident you'll make a full recovery."

"Well, I think my Olympic hurdling career is over, but otherwise I should be okay." Matt wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and willed Bowman to cut the small talk. He wanted to hear the charges against him already, get it over with.

"Listen, Matt – can I call you Matt?" Bowman smiled when Matt nodded. "Okay, Matt, here's the thing. I'd like to offer you a position with us."

Matt couldn't have been more surprised if McClane had suddenly stood up, hugged him, and declared him his adopted son. He was too shocked to speak. Bowman, seeming to take his silence as an invitation to explain, went on, "The President has ordered us to form a task force to investigate how Gabriel was able to plan such an extensive attack without our knowing anything about it. He also wants us to look at the technological infrastructure of the country, to see how we can prevent anything like this from happening in the future.

"We're going to need the best people on this team, Matt, and McClane here tells me that you stayed one step ahead of these assholes the entire time he was with you. That's pretty impressive, because I've got to tell you, Gabriel had us chasing our tails."

Bowman paused, as if waiting for Matt to comment, but the shock had not worn off enough yet for Matt to say anything. Bowman pressed on, "Unfortunately, because of your criminal background, I can't offer you an actual position with the FBI. However, I've spoken to the President about you, and he agrees that we need you involved. So we're prepared to offer you a position as a consultant, which I've got to tell you is a much better-paying job than being an FBI analyst anyway, if you'll sign some confidentiality agreements and legal waivers and things like that."

McClane was looking a little concerned. "You okay, kid?"

At last, Matt found his voice. "Yeah, uh, I'm – Wait." He turned to Bowman, his mind reeling. "I thought you were here to arrest me, and you're offering me a job?"

"Arrest you? For what?" Bowman didn't wait for an answer. "Look, Matt, I've personally reviewed all of the evidence so far in this case. We know how Gabriel and his conspirators contacted you and the other programmers; we know what they asked you to do. There was absolutely nothing illegal about the code you wrote. This thing blind-sided all of us. If the United States government, the cyberterrorism division of the FBI, had no idea what these people were up to, how were you supposed to figure it out?"

"That's how Bowman presented it to the Justice Department," McClane put in. "They all agreed: This wasn't your fault, kid."

You've got nothing to be sorry about. Matt felt a little more sure of himself remembering how McClane had absolved him of guilt after Gabriel kidnapped Lucy. Maybe McClane didn't see him as a career criminal, after all.

All that aside, however, he was being offered a job with the FBI. That meant, essentially, the government. Did he really want to work for (or with) the government? The masters of disinformation? The system he had spent most of his adolescent and young adult life accusing of being evil and manipulative?

Matt felt unmoored. Everything was happening too fast, changing too fast. Less than a week ago, his main concern had been out-bidding other Star Wars fans for first-edition figurines on E-bay. Now, he was being asked to help out in a matter of national security – in front of a man he very much hoped would someday be his father-in-law, at the same time that he knew it was way, way too soon to be considering such a long-term relationship with Lucy. All of that, combined with being shot at and nearly blown up and actually shot and threatened with torture and death, was enough to make Matt wish he could curl up in a dark room for hours and just sleep without thinking.

Feeling light-headed, he turned to McClane. "What do you think?"

McClane hesitated. He looked decidedly uncomfortable being referred to for advice. "Look, kid, I can't tell you what to do," he began. Matt knew his face fell, because McClane hurried on, "But I can tell you this: If some shit like the shit that just went down ever happens again, you're the guy I'm calling. I think you could help make sure I'd never need to, 'cause you know how these guys think, how to stop them before they start."

You tell me, kid. You're the criminal. "These guys," Matt echoed, amazed by how hurt his feelings were. "You mean, guys like Gabriel. Hackers. Criminals."

"You wouldn't be the first teenager to make a bad decision, you know," Bowman put in. "And yes, we do value your input because you have been on the same side as 'these guys.' But that doesn't mean we think you're a criminal. The FBI isn't in the habit of offering jobs to criminals."

"Really? Because I thought Gabriel worked for you guys."

"Hey." McClane spoke quietly, yet firmly. "Bowman, you mind to give us a minute?"

The deputy director stood. "Sure. I'll, uh, I'll be outside." He gestured toward the backyard, which they could see from the study's large windows, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Matt suspected he was about to get a John McClane lecture, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. To his surprise, however, McClane asked, "Do you want to do this thing or not, kid?"

"I don't know." It was the most honest answer Matt could give, although he hated how weak it sounded. "I want to help, I don't mean that. It's just…Like I said, I'm not like you. I don't know if I can be involved in stuff like this all the time."

McClane flashed a sardonic grin. "Kid, I've never been a federal agent, but I've got to tell you, I think days like the one we just had are pretty rare, even for the FBI."

In spite of himself, Matt grinned back. "Fair. But it does mean knowing stuff. Stuff I'm not sure I want to know. Like don't you ever wish you weren't a cop, just so you didn't have to know what's really out there, what people are really capable of?"

"All the time, kid. All the time."

Matt sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He still felt conflicted, but not desperately so. "But you still do it," he mused out loud. "And that's what makes you that guy."

"Kid?" Matt looked up at McClane, who was studying him very intently. "Whether you do this or not, you're still that guy."

To his horror, Matt found himself fighting back tears. He absolutely refused to cry in front of John McClane; he would rather have been shot again. Clearing his throat, he said the first thing that came to his mind: "All right. I'll do it."

"You sure?"

It came as quite a shock to Matt that he actually was sure. Now that the decision had been made, however impulsively, he knew deep down it was the right one. "Yeah," he said firmly, nodding. "I'm sure."

"There are easier ways to impress my dad, you know. You didn't have to join the FBI."

Stuffed from a delicious meal prepared, with much laughing and joking, by Holly and Lucy, Matt reclined on the guest room bed and tried to be irritated that Lucy was haranguing him for his career choice. He couldn't quite manage it, though: The more interested she was in his decisions, the more he became convinced that she had long-term aspirations for them, too. Who said love at first sight was a myth?

"I didn't do it to impress your dad." Seeing Lucy's skeptical arched eyebrow, Matt conceded, "Okay, I didn't do it entirely to impress your dad. It's a good thing to do, right? Help people? Stop some crazy jerk-off like Thomas Gabriel from getting control of our country again, maybe on a day when your dad's not around to stop them?"

Lucy flounced onto the bed, pouting. Or pretending to pout. Either way, it was damn sexy.

"So you're moving to D.C. or something, I suppose." She picked at a corner of the bedspread, but Matt could see her watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, maybe," Matt said noncommittally. The truth was, Bowman had reassured him the task force would meet only occasionally in D.C. For the most part, Matt – who loved New York more than any other city on the planet and would never have left, for anything – could work out of the FBI cyberterrorism field office in Manhattan. "But I mean, you're going back to school soon, right? And you've probably got classes and boyfriends and all kinds of stuff to take up your time."

"First of all, 'back to school' is like ten miles away," Lucy shot back. "And secondly, no I do not have a boyfriend, and third, I thought you liked me."

Matt couldn't hold back a grin any longer. "I do like you, Lucy. I like you very much. And since I'll be working out of the New York field office most of the time, you're not getting rid of me that easy."

"You creep!" Lucy grabbed a pillow and playfully smacked Matt with it.

"Hey," he protested, throwing up his hands to ward off the mock blows. "I'm injured here! Be careful."

"I'll show you 'injured.'" Lucy crawled toward him, fist raised warningly, but when she reached him, she pulled him down into a long, slow kiss. Matt's head began spinning again; he caught her around the waist and pulled her closer, wondering how much pain he could endure in his leg if Lucy wanted to go farther –

"Lucy McClane."

Matt nearly passed out from fear when John McClane's voice boomed out from the doorway. Lucy, however, calmly turned around, positioning herself so that she was nearly sitting in Matt's lap. Unable to look McClane in the eye, Matt focused instead on a spot on the carpet near McClane's right shoe.

"Yes?" Lucy said innocently.

"Give us a minute, would ya?" McClane came farther into the room. Matt still kept his gaze on the ground, hoping perhaps if he seemed submissive, McClane might show some mercy.

"Dad," Lucy began.

"It's okay, honey. Just give us a minute." McClane smiled encouragingly at his daughter, who rather reluctantly planted a kiss on Matt's cheek before scooting off the bed and out the door.

Once she was gone, McClane seated himself in the chair by Matt's bed, and Matt could no longer avoid looking at the older man. To his surprise (and relief), McClane didn't look furious. He didn't look exactly thrilled, but he didn't look furious.

"Listen," Matt started. He thought maybe if he could explain to McClane that his intentions were honorable, he might be okay with the budding romance.

"No, you listen." McClane's voice was steely enough to instantly silence Matt. "Lucy is my daughter. My baby girl. I've loved her from the moment she was born, before she ever even took her first breath. You understand that?"

Mutely, Matt nodded.

"Good. Now, Holly tells me that I've been a little over-protective of Lucy in the past, and that's caused some problems between us. Lucy and me, I mean. So I'm trying not to overstep my bounds or whatever the therapists call it today. But I want you to know a couple of things."

Like if I hurt her, you'll kill me? And if I touch her, you'll maim me and then kill me?

"Lucy is nineteen. You're twenty-four. That's not a lot of years' difference, but it's a lot of life difference. I don't want her rushing any to anything at nineteen." McClane held Matt's gaze, refusing to let him look away. "What's more, she's in school. Education is very important. I don't want my daughter dropping out of college and waiting tables or having to depend on some guy to support her. She's too smart for that.

"So here's the deal, kid. I'm not going to threaten you or give you ultimatums or do any of the stuff that Lucy would probably say wasn't my place to do. But I'm still her father. I still have dreams for her and hopes for her. And if you care about her, and you damn well better care about her if you're going to kiss her like you were just kissing her or I'll punch your face in, then you should remember that she's young, and she may not know exactly what she wants out of life yet, so don't get too serious too soon."

Despite the fact that he was still trembling from fear, Matt had to admit he was impressed and even touched by McClane's lecture. "I get it," Matt hurried to assure him. "I really do. I just, I don't, you know, I don't think anybody is talking like marriage here or anything. She's just really beautiful, and we seem to be weirdly compatible – "

McClane held up his hand. "Kid, I really don't want to know why you're attracted to my daughter. That's a subject we can leave unexplored."

"Right." Matt drew in a steadying breath; his hands were still shaking. "I'm just saying that I know we only met a couple of days ago, under pretty extreme circumstances, and I get that nothing good can come of rushing…things. So I won't."

"That's good. Now," McClane produced a leather briefcase from beside his chair which Matt, in his discomfiture at being caught red-handed kissing Lucy, had not noticed him carrying in, "here's what I really came in to talk to you about. Bowman sent this over for you."

Matt took the briefcase, placed it on the bed beside his good leg, and opened it. "Holy shit," he breathed, lifting out one of the newest, most powerful laptops on the market. "Holy shit, this thing is like – it's like a prototype, it's not even out yet! This is mine?"

McClane grinned, obviously pleased at Matt's reaction. "Bowman said you'd like it. He said to tell you to report to work whenever you feel up to it, but he thought this might get you back in the game faster."

"No shit this'll get me back in the game. Christ, if I'd had this thing I could've, I don't know, remote-control killed Gabriel or something." Matt was itching to test drive his new baby, but he didn't want to seem rude, so he forced himself to ignore the laptop and focus on McClane. "Are you going back to work soon?"

"Doctor's ordered me off for a month," McClane said sourly. "But I thought I might give you a ride over to the FBI office this week if you feel up to going. Never know what you might see over there."

"I'm surprised Bowman didn't offer you a job," Matt commented.

"He did. But I'm a dinosaur, kid, I'm not learning any new tricks. NYPD has always been good enough for me." McClane shook his head. "You know, when I knocked on your door, and there you were, this pale smart-ass kid, I sure didn't have you figured for a cop. Guess you showed me."

Matt nearly burst with pride. He supposed only some expensive therapy would help him sort out why compliments from John McClane acted on him better than drugs. Hey, with his new salary, at least he could afford the therapy.

"I'm not exactly a cop," Matt protested modestly. "More like an advisor to the cops. Who doesn't know how to shoot or drive or take out helicopters with cars."

"You're young. You got lots of time to learn." McClane stood up, stretched, wincing when he lifted his injured arm. "I'm going to bed, kid. Have fun with your new toy."

At the doorway, McClane paused and looked back. "You want me to send Lucy in to say good-night?"

Blushing, Matt nodded. "Yeah, uh, that'd be great."

"Okay. But just so we understand each other, while I'm in this house, the sleeping arrangements are you in this bed, and Lucy in her own bed. Got it?"

Matt suppressed a grin. So much for not being over-protective. "Absolutely, Officer."

"Good. Sweet dreams."