"You're friend is going to need a hospital," Heatly said. "I can call for an ambulance from the landline, if it's still connected, but…"

"No hospitals!" Guerrero snapped at him. He'd managed to cut Chance free from the restraints that had been tethering him to the ground, and Heatly had helped him get him lying on his side. Guerrero was sitting on the floor with Chance's head resting on his uninjured leg, and he was examining the extent of his injuries. As far as he could tell, the damage to his back was fairly superficial, nothing that wouldn't heal given time, but the fact that he was still drenched with gasoline was giving him cause for concern. Aside from the obvious threat of something igniting it, Guerrero knew that the gasoline alone could cause chemical burns if it was left on the skin long enough, and it wasn't going to do Chance's open wounds any good, not to mention his breathing.

Guerrero looked around and spotted a garden hose wrapped around a spool by a faucet on the wall, next to the door leading back to the house. "Hook that hose up and bring it over here. I need to wash this shit off of him."

Heatly did as he was ordered, turning on the water and handing him the hose in silence. Guerrero let the water flow over his hands, washing away the blood before gently wiping the gasoline from Chance's face. He took care to ensure that the water didn't run into his nose or mouth, and Chance began to stir.

"Easy," Guerrero murmured, as he rinsed the water through his hair.

When Guerrero seemed satisfied that he'd washed away as much gasoline from his face and head as he could, he sighed.

"Sorry Chance, but this is gonna hurt."

He winced as he turned the hose on to the bloody mess on Chance's back. The shock of the cold water on his wounds started to revive him, and Guerrero had to catch Chance's hand as he tried to reach behind him to fend off whatever was responsible for inflicting this new wave of agony.

"Hey, lie still," Guerrero murmured soothingly. "I've got you, okay? But I have to wash this shit off your back."

Chance shivered and screwed up his face as Guerrero continued to irrigate his wounds as gently as he could, but he did seem to respond to his voice and calm down a little, although he clung on to Guerrero's hand as if his life depended on it.

"Look, I understand your reluctance to involved the authorities, I really do," Heatly said, glancing over at where Grimes' body lay in a pool of blood, his eyes still wide open and staring up in disbelief at where Guerrero had stood. "But your friend, Chance, he needs a hospital and proper medical treatment! Listen to his breathing! The cable, the fumes and now being soaking wet! What's going to happen if his airway swells shut?"

Chance's breathing was laboured, and there was already bruising and swelling to his throat from where the cable had bitten deep into his flesh. Guerrero hadn't thought much past getting him breathing again, but he could see the doctor had a point, Chance's condition was anything but stable. There was his own wound to consider too, driving with a knife still sticking out of his leg was likely to prove difficult. He'd managed to miss all the major blood vessels, but his leg felt unnaturally heavy and unresponsive, as well as hurting like hell. He was in no condition to get either of them to one of his alternative healthcare providers, the nearest of whom was a alcoholic former army medic who was at least a half hour drive away.

"Fine," Guerrero sighed, resigning himself to the fact that, given the situation, he had no other choice. "Call an ambulance."

When Heatly didn't move, Guerrero frowned. "What are you waiting for? Move!"

"Mary is still in the trunk…"

"And she's gonna stay there until you call the fucking ambulance!"

Heatly looked as if he was going to push the matter, but when Guerrero dropped the hosepipe and reached beneath his jacket and pulled out his gun, he got the message and hurried inside the house to make the call without further argument.

Chance was still shivering, so Guerrero pried his hand free from his grip and managed to shrug his jacket off. It was wet and splattered in places with god-knows-whose blood, but it was better than nothing. Guerrero carefully placed it over Chance's arms and chest, taking care not to let it touch the seeping wounds on his back.

The whole nightmarish scene in the garage was going to require an explanation when the ambulance showed up , but Guerrero pushed the thought from his mind. It was obvious enough from Chance's wounds that he hadn't been the antagonist in all of this, and Guerrero would just have to deal with the fallout of his own actions later once Chance was warm, dry and suitably medicated.

Guerrero's concept of time was a little hazy as he sat with Chance waiting for the ambulance, but at some point the heard the sound of a vehicle pull up outside the garage. He tore his gaze away from Chance's shivering form and watched the doorway apprehensively, but when Winston walked in rather than the medical personnel he'd been hoping for, he grunted and turned back to watching Chance's laboured breathing.

"What the…?" Winston spluttered, looking around the garage and taking in the general carnage of the scene around him. "This is what you call handling a situation?"

Guerrero glared at him for a second, but didn't dignify his question with an answer.

"What the hell happened here?" Winston asked. "Why is Chance soaking wet?"

"What the fuck do you think happened?" Guerrero snapped. "That maniac nearly killed Chance! And he's wet because I thought water was preferable to gasoline, okay? You got any more questions?"

Winston frowned, and he was about to really lay into Guerrero when he noticed the knife sticking out of his leg and the blood that was seeping through his jeans. Guerrero was so intent on tending to Chance that he'd done nothing to staunch the slow ooze of blood from his own injury. He swallowed the harsh words he'd been about to throw in Guerrero's face when he realised that he'd done everything he could for Chance. Winston took off his own jacket and lay it carefully over Chance's legs, and for a second Guerrero actually looked grateful before his expression turned back into a concerned scowl.

"We need to get out of here. Heatly went to call an ambulance and we need to be gone before it shows up. I probably can't drive, but-"

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Winston snapped. "Look at him!" Chance was grey faced and shivering, and judging from the state of his back and the rasping sound of his breathing, it wasn't just from the cold. "What the hell are you going to do if he stops breathing? Did you even think of that? He needs proper medical attention. We can't just bundle him into the back on the van and take him off to see one of your shady contacts!"

"There's no time-"

"The ambulance is already on its way, Guerrero, and they have the equipment to help him! What are you going to do if he stops breathing? Give him a makeshift tracheotomy with a pocket knife and ballpoint pen?"

The thought of having to cut into Chance's throat turned Guerrero's stomach, and forced him to face the danger he'd be putting him into.

"Alright. Wait for the ambulance then. But I need to be gone before the cops show up. If you help get to the car I should be able to…" Guerrero's voice faded away as Chance reached for his hand and squeezed it. He looked down and saw a look of grim determination in Chance's eyes. "Dude, I can't…" Chance squeezed his hand again, harder this time, and tried to shake his head, which only set off another dry hacking cough.

"Hey, take it easy," Guerrero said, rubbing at Chance's hand, which was still gripping his. As soon as the coughing subsided, Chance mouthed the word "stay", effectively taking the decision out of Guerrero's hands. He could try and kid himself that he had to give in to Chance to keep him calm, but the truth was a bit more complicated than that. Chance needed him, and it would have taken more strength than he had to leave him like that.

"You really gonna leave him like this?" Winston asked.

"No," Guerrero sighed. "No, I'm not. I doubt I'd even be able to drive right now anyway."

Chance smiled at him, and Guerrero suspected that he knew the reason he was staying had nothing to do with whether he was able to drive or not.

"Well, you've managed to make one hell of a mess here!" Winston said, looking at Grimes' lifeless body. He found he had no sympathy for Grimes; whatever he'd done to Chance had nearly killed him, and he couldn't help feeling a certain satisfaction in knowing that Guerrero had dealt with him so brutally.

"Yeah, but I wasn't exactly planning on sticking around to clean it up."

"I dropped Ames back at the apartment building and she fed NCIS some bullshit story about Grimes heading for the docks, but I don't think that will keep them busy for long, not when the paramedics get here and call it in."

Guerrero nodded and pulled his keys out of his pocket, holding them out to Winston. "Probably best if you let Heatly's receptionist out of the trunk before they get here."

Winston's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded and took the keys without a word, and headed back into the kitchen where Heatly was waiting.

"I didn't think it was wise to go back in there," Heatly admitted shame-facedly. "Not when your colleague was so upset and, well, armed.

"Good call," Winston said, handing him the keys to Guerrero's car.

Heatly accepted them with a grateful look.

"I don't think I need to point out that Guerrero is not a man you want to cross," Winston said. "Don't even think about taking off in his car."

The blood drained fom Heatly's face and he shuddered. "I don't have a death wish! I'll let Mary out and come straight back."

Winston nodded, picked up a clean-ish looking tea towel and walked back into the garage.

"You given any thought to how we're gonna explain all this?" he asked, crouching down and carefully pressing the towel to the wound on Guerrero's leg.

"Not really," Guerrero answered, wincing and slapping Winston's hands away. "It's pretty self-explanatory, don'tcha think?"

Winston grunted. "Not sure that's what the Navy guys are going to think."

"Maybe I can help."

Winston and Guerrero turned to look at Heatly, who was standing in the doorway with a terrified woman clinging to his side.

"Bit late for that, doc," Guerrero sneered.

Heatly winced. "All of this is my fault."

"No arguments there," Winston mumbled.

"So I think the least I can do is take responsibility for it. I'll tell NCIS that I hired you to monitor Grimes, and that when we found him, you fought but I was the one who killed him."

Guerrero let out a humourless laugh. "You really think anyone is going to buy that? You're a bit past your fighting days, doc."

"They don't need to believe it, they just need an explanation," Heatly replied. "The threat of going public about a decorated SEAL, a war hero no less, kidnapping and torturing an innocent private citizen should be enough for them to accept whatever explanation we agree on. The military abhors scandal."

"He has a point," Winston conceded. "I think it's worth a try."

Guerrero shook his head. "Fine. Whatever. You may want to consider finding my knife and putting your prints on it though."

"James, no!" the tearful woman at Heatly's side sobbed.

"It's alright, Mary," Heatly said. "I need to do this!"

"But he kidnapped you!" she said, pointing an accusing finger at Guerrero. "And he locked me in the trunk of his car and…"

"Is she gonna be a problem?" Guerrero asked, giving the woman a calculating look.

"No!" Heatly replied sharply.

"'Cause if she is…"

"She'll be fine!" Heatly insisted. "Won't you?"

"I can't… I can't lie about-"

"Maybe it's best if you just say you fainted," Winston said carefully. "You can tell them that you were in the car and didn't see anything. That's no too far from the truth."

Mary sobbed, but nodded her head.

"We'd better find that knife," Heatly said.

A police car turned up with the ambulance, but luckily the paramedics overruled the cops' attempts to get a statement from Guerrero, insisting that he join Chance in the back of the ambulance and be taken to hospital immediately. It was hard for the cops to put up much of an argument, what with the knife still lodged in Guerrero leg, and Chance's breathing was only getting worse, so they had to be content with talking to Winston, Healy and a very distraught Mary.

Riding in the back of the ambulance set Guerrero's teeth on edge, but Chance was definitely breathing easier once the paramedic started him on oxygen, and his colour soon improved. The medic only made the mistake of trying to give Guerrero some pain relief once, before turning his attention exclusively to treating Chance, who was visibly amused by what Guerrero had told the man he could do with his needles.