Friday April 8th, 2011

Paris, France - 6:20 PM

Cal stormed into his hotel room and tossed his jacket down on the bed. He slumped down next to it, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. His jaw still smarted from the blow Emile had given him, and he fumed as he imagined what that bastard had done to Gillian. He'd gotten a little bit more information from his impromptu visit, but one fact repeated itself over and over in his mind: he had to get her out of there, sooner rather than later. He sent a quick message to David letting him know he was back in his room and safe before collapsing backwards onto the bed.

Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he realized he'd been going non-stop for over 24 hours straight. Because of the flight, he hadn't really had a "night time" yet, and his body was beginning to exhibit signs of sleep deprivation. He chuckled humorlessly as he realized he really was getting old, biting back a groan as he rolled over onto his side and fell into a fitful sleep.

When he woke it was dark outside, and he leaped to his feet before swaying slightly. His vision tunneled for a moment before focusing on the clock, and he tried to recall the last thing he'd eaten. Cal grimaced as he realized dinner the night before Harrington had woken him up had been his last meal. First order of business would be room service, and then he'd get down to planning a rescue mission. The front desk was a little confused why he was ordering breakfast at three in the morning, but they promised him it would be ready within the half hour.

As he ate a hearty English breakfast Cal wrote down everything he could recall from the house, from the layout of the ground floor to the number and size of the men inside. He guessed Gillian was being kept on the second floor, and probably under lock and key. If he knew Gillian she was giving them hell, but he hoped she wasn't being too stubborn. Emile obviously wasn't the kind to be very forgiving when it came to troublesome guests, and Cal could attest personally to the man's short temper.

Just thinking about the possibilities made him so angry he couldn't think straight. He was on his feet pacing in the small space as images flitted through his brain, each more gruesome and stomach-wrenching than the last. Finally, as a flash of Gillian lying naked and beaten on the floor implanted itself in his mind, he lost the last remnants of his tenuous self-control. With a primal scream he upturned the table, breakfast and all. Eggs splattered the wall as he raged across the room, planting his fist through the plaster next to the bathroom door.

"I like what you've done with the place," a voice broke through the red haze that had settled over him, and he whirled with a vicious snarl. "Whoa!" David held his hands up in surrender, his body tensed to fend off a swing from his enraged friend. Cal seemed to deflate, his anger fleeing as quickly as it had come. He pulled his hand from the wall with an apologetic shrug, shaking the plaster off before turning to survey the damage.

"I'll pay for that," he muttered, wiping his hand off on a spare towel before collapsing on the bed. David just shrugged it off and stepped a little further into the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

"I guess it went badly?" Cal forced back another snarl, and managed only a mildly sarcastic tone as he answered snidely.

"No, it went swimmingly." Cal paused, rubbing his sore knuckles with his free hand. "I was just…" he took a breath and tried to come up with a suitable explanation, but found none. Deciding that a change of topic was in order, he nodded at the rather unsubtle gesture of the still-open door. "What have you got?" David turned back and crooked his finger at someone standing just outside Cal's line of vision.

"I've got your back-up." Cal looked up at the young agent who'd driven him from the airport, and to the man's credit he didn't challenge Cal's hard stare. David ignored his friend's consternation and continued in an easy tone. "This is Sean Barton. He's young but he's sharp; reminds me a bit of you, really."

"My condolences," Cal quipped, immediately setting the other two at ease. If he could joke, then things weren't too bad. Cal picked up on their relief quickly and turned back to his old comrade. "I appreciate it, David, but I don't need the help." David's expression was neutral, but Cal had known the man long enough to detect amusement in his eyes, and the order in his tone.

"It's not really a request, Cal. Barton needs the experience, and this op isn't high-risk. Six guys holed up in a house with one hostage is as good as any mission to cut his teeth on. Plus, he's a quick study and a crack shot; you need him." Cal scrutinized the young man for a moment, pleased when he seemed to squirm under the attention. Still, he held Cal's gaze steadily and that earned him what Emily would dub "brownie points."

"Fine," Cal seemed to relent to David's insistence, but he felt genuinely relieved to have someone else along with him. "But we need to move soon; their boss will be coming back any time and it'll be too late." David and Barton moved into the room fully as Cal righted the table. He wiped off the remnants of breakfast into the trashcan, scraping the eggs off the wall for good measure as the other two settled in.

They spent the next two hours planning for every possible contingency; David was right in assuming that Barton would come in handy on a mission like this. The young man had been an actor and model before coming to the agency, which would come in handy undercover, and was an accomplished gymnast and martial artist. He'd passed all of the initial tests with flying colors and was, on paper at least, the perfect agent. He was young – almost 25 – but Cal guessed it was only a matter of time before he soared through the ranks. This mission – his first real op – was David's way of seeing how he handled pressure.

Cal could practically sense the rookie's eagerness at being assigned to this case, though he was doing an admirable job of containing it. Cal assumed that had something to do with the older man sitting next to him, but he couldn't be sure. There was something hidden beneath the surface, something niggling at the back of Cal's mind as he watched the interaction between the two, but he was still too wound up to work it out properly. Still, he couldn't afford any mistakes from the rookie and he made sure to press that into him rather firmly. When it was clear Cal needed more than just David's confirmation that he was the best for the job, Barton opened his mouth to speak.

"Sir, I can assure you that I've prepared myself for this mission. I'm ready." He was trying to exude confidence, but Cal's trained eye could sense some anxiety. Good, he thought to himself, better nervous than cocky. He pretended to think long and hard about it, but even David knew he'd already relented. He could use the assistance and Barton knew the area better than Cal did.

"Just make sure you follow my lead. We can't afford any mistakes on this one." I can't, he amended silently, but pushed that thought away immediately. He couldn't start thinking like that, like they could fail. They would get Gillian out of there, and if it was necessary he would die trying.

When they finished they reviewed it about ten more times, ensuring each man understood exactly was his part was. Cal was doing most of the work, with Barton distracting the front man at the door and keeping watch downstairs as Cal cleared the second floor. Between both of them, they only had six men to take care of but Cal didn't want to take any chances that someone else would arrive while they were attempting to get away. With a final look at the plans, Cal pulled thin gloves on and strapped 3 extra magazines to his belt with rip away fasteners, hoping to any deity listening he wouldn't need them.

"Are you sure you don't want any other assets?" David asked once more as he rolled up the plans and walked toward the door. Cal exchanged a look with Barton, and the younger man nodded once.

"We'll contact you as soon as we're done," Cal answered. David just smiled in response, shooting Barton one more meaningful glance before closing the door behind him on the way out. Cal turned to Barton, who was checking his spare clip and holster. "Are you ready for this, son?" Barton just gave him a half-smile as he strapped the magazine to his belt.

"Absolutely."

They parked two blocks away – far enough to avoid suspicion, close enough for a quick getaway. As soon as Cal dispatched the men and Gillian was safe, it was Barton's job to run for the vehicle. The sun was still below the horizon, though they could hear wildlife starting to stir. It wouldn't be long before the neighbors would be up and about, getting ready for their regular Saturday mornings.

Neither man said a word as they approached the house, but a twitch on Cal's face made Barton stop cold beside him. After the van had passed, Cal jerked his head ever so slightly and the pair started moving again. With one last silent confirmation, Cal slipped around to the back of the house, picking the padlock on the gate with relative ease. Barton buttoned up his jacket, turning up his collar and affecting the perfect air for a traveling salesman.

Cal had learned during the planning stage that Barton was fluent in several languages, French among them. He would ring the doorbell, distracting whoever happened to be downstairs as Cal picked the lock on the kitchen door. There was little they could do about completely silencing any action, especially if the residents returned any fire, so Cal hoped there were more downstairs than up. He wouldn't discount the possibility of Gillian being used against them, and Cal had cooked up several contingency plans in case it happened. Admittedly, most of them involved bluffing his way into a clean shot, but he could think about that if and when it came down to it.

Focus, Lightman. He shook his head clear as the distinct sound of a doorbell resonated through the thick door. Cal was crouched below the window, waiting for the sounds of Barton's rehearsed speech to float across. He couldn't understand a word of it, but it sounded like there were three men downstairs, and all of them were trying to take charge. Cal tried the knob first, marveling at his luck at finding it unlocked. He slipped into the kitchen silently, staying low as he drew his weapon. Barton would only engage after he initiated, so he knew he had to make his first shot count.

He rounded the corner and stood, but the three Frenchmen were still arguing about who was in charge. Barton managed to avoid catching his eye, but Cal could see his muscles tense as he realized it was show time. Cal quickly analyzed all three men, picking out the strongest among them based on speech tone and posture. The one in the middle seemed almost ready to toss the other two aside when Cal aimed and fired. Barton had stepped to the left to avoid the fire line, drawing and firing at the next largest man in one smooth motion. Cal quickly adjusted his aim and took out the third, littering the foyer with three bodies in the span of five seconds.

Shouts from upstairs echoed through the house, and Barton quickly cleared the lower floor as Cal moved to the staircase.

"I'm only here for the woman. Send her down and we'll leave you in peace." Barton returned to his side and translated his demand into French, and they only had to wait a few seconds for the response.

"Casse-toi!" Barton grimaced and Cal held up a quick hand.

"Nope, no need to translate that one. I think I got it." His face was set in a stern mask as he ascended the stairs slowly. They opened up into the hallway, and Cal had to be careful to avoid any cross-fire from the opposing bedroom. He stuck his head up quickly, ducking back down before the shots could hit their mark. He cringed as a barrage of bullets slammed into the wall, stopping only when the man realized his target wasn't there. But Cal had gotten what he wanted, and he now knew there was only one man waiting in that bedroom. The other two were still unaccounted for, but he would worry about them when the time came.

He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves before launching himself up the stairs and into the hallway. He slammed against the wall next to the door after firing off three quick rounds into the room. Two more returned to him, and he ducked as they sailed over his head. By his count he only had two bullets left in the magazine, and he cursed silently as he realized he would probably be killed reloading.

"Gotta make em count," he murmured to himself, pushing off the wall. He bit back a cry as a bullet tore through the wall next to him and into his thigh. It passed clean through the flesh leaving an angry wound but Cal stayed silent, refusing to let the man know he'd been wounded. It didn't seem too bad, and he ignored the searing pain as he ducked down once again. The assailant aimed high, missing Cal as he stepped across the threshold. Two shots later and the man was lying in a pool of blood.

Cal reloaded quickly, shoving the empty magazine into a spare pocket. He grabbed a bandage from his other pocket and wrapped it quickly around the gash in his thigh. He glanced back to make sure he hadn't bled on the floor, happy to see that his pants had soaked up what had oozed out. David would most likely intercept whatever emergency calls were being made by the neighbors, but there was only so much he could do. If Cal or Barton were tied to the scene, there would be trouble.

Cal paused to listen for any signs of the other two men, but heard only silence. There was one other bedroom on the top level, and judging by the deadbolt lock on the outside of the door Cal guessed this was where they were holding Gillian. He stepped quickly but silently to the door, readying his weapon as he leveraged himself on his wounded leg. With one massive kick the door was open, and Cal trained the barrel of his gun at an empty room.

"What the hell?" He lowered the barrel a fraction of an inch, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of hidden assailants. He lowered down enough to see there was no one hiding under the bed, and the closet was likewise unoccupied. Either they had moved Gillian before they'd arrived or…

He spun and lifted his weapon in one motion, his face an emotionless mask as he faced an image that would haunt his nightmares for a few nights to come.

"Cal," her voice was barely above a whisper, but the shock and relief it held cut through him like a knife. Just from the sound of her voice he could tell she was crying, and he had to push aside the instinct to make sure she was alright. Instead, his eyes were trained on the man behind her and the pistol he had jammed against her jawbone. The gunman's other arm was wrapped around her shoulder and neck, holding her flush against his frame as he shouted angrily at Cal.

"Vous déposer le pistolet!" Cal got the gist of the message, but shook his head sharply.

"Not gonna happen. You let her go and we can work this out." Cal sneered as the man pressed the gun harder into her skin, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. His eyes flickered to her face for an instant then back to the gunman, and he leveled his weapon at the man's head. "I really don't like repeating myself. Let her go!"

"Nique ta mere!" The malice in the man's voice was enough of a translation, and Cal took a step forward. The gunman reacted immediately, taking a step back toward the bathroom they'd come out of. Cal could see the fear in his eyes and in the tremble of his hands, and Cal knew he was close to losing control. One wrong step and this entire mission – his entire life – would be over. Trying a different tactic he lowered his own gun a fraction, still ready to fire but not immediately trained for a kill shot. Forcing himself to calm down, he affected a neutral tone and prayed that this man understood at least a little English.

"Look, I understand you're afraid. If you let her go and promise not to follow us, you will never see me again. But I can guarantee that if you do something stupid," Cal's voice hardened involuntarily at the thought, "if you pull that trigger, your life is over." The man hesitated, relaxing his hold on Gillian as he realized all of his friends were probably dead. Cal could see the myriad of emotions playing out across his face, but chief among them was fear. He had to get Gillian away from this guy before he did something everyone was going to regret.

The gunshot scared all of them, and Gillian let out a sharp cry as she fell to the floor. The gunman went down with her, landing just underneath her, and Cal reacted immediately.

"No!" He surged forward, fully intent on following through with his threat. He was a dead man, and Cal would make sure of it. Startled eyes met his gaze, but it wasn't the dark, panicked look of the gunman. Relief coursed through him as it was his partner's bright blue eyes that locked onto his own, and he set his weapon on the floor next to him as he knelt down.

"Gillian? You're alright? It's okay." He kept his voice soft, mindful of years-old warnings on dealing with victims of trauma. But before he could even finish his last sentence she had launched herself forward, burying her head into his shoulder as she shook with sobs. His arms came around her easily, cradling her thin form against his body. His eyes cut over to the staircase where Barton was standing ready. His shot had been clean, right through the back of the head, and Cal could feel where some of the mess had splattered onto the back of Gillian's blouse and hair. He nodded once at the younger man in both recognition and thanks even as Barton pulled out his phone to call in the cleanup crew.

"We have to get out of here," Cal said finally, his throat raw from shouting. The entire ordeal had lasted less than ten minutes, but he had no doubt that, despite David's nearly inexhaustible resources, the police were probably on their way. He stood up, wincing as his injured leg protested loudly. Gillian was so wrapped up in her own relief that she didn't notice, and Cal wasn't going to alert her to the fact any sooner than necessary. Barton disconnected with the cleaning crew, telling Cal to meet him in the alley out back before taking off for the car. Cal let go of Gillian for one moment to retrieve his weapon, settling her on his left side in order to keep the gun ready if need be.

They navigated the narrow staircase easily, and Cal used the ruse of supporting her weight to keep from jarring his leg too hard. Finally they made it to the bottom of the stairs, and Gillian gasped as she took in the three lifeless bodies lying in a heap in the foyer. The question was in her eyes, but Cal's face was blank, impossible to read. He was still in op-mode; she'd get nothing out of him right now.

She had heard the first gunshot from her locked bedroom and wondered if Emile hadn't finally lost his temper. But even as two more shots echoed through the house, one of the smaller men had opened her door and seized her, pulling her into the bathroom and ordering her to keep her mouth shut. She'd heard careful footsteps on the stairs, then the telltale sounds of a gunfight in the hallway. She hadn't dared hope that her rescue was imminent, but even if it was she wasn't sure what the man behind her would do.

Seeing Cal's face had been like settling under a warm blanket on a cold night. She had heard his voice before, when he'd come in a now-obvious attempt to scope the place out. But actually seeing his face, realizing that he'd trekked halfway around the world to rescue her, was too much for her. If the gunman hadn't been physically holding her up, she was sure her knees would have buckled underneath her at the sight of him ready to kill to protect her.

"You alright, love?" She could hear the worry and relief in the timbre of his voice, and she managed a small nod and a smile as they walked through the empty kitchen. Her eyes darted around, and Cal could see the confusion on her features. "What is it?"

"Emile," she said, though it took two tries to get the word past her parched lips. "He's not here." Cal had known there were six men, but had assumed either Barton had gotten the sixth man or he simply wasn't here. Either way, Cal was happy not to have to deal with him, and he shook his head.

"Don't worry about that now," he told her as he guided her through the back door and into the small yard. "Let's get you out of here." His focus was only on getting her away from this house; whatever mess he had to deal with later could wait.

Barton had eased the smaller car into the alley, and Cal let Gillian crawl into the backseat first before easing down next to her. As soon as the door was closed Barton was off, keeping his speed well under the limit to avoid suspicion from any nosy neighbors. Cal pulled a blanket off the floor and draped it over Gillian, worried at how small she seemed in comparison to the strong, confident woman he'd come to love. Her head was leaning against the window, vacant eyes not really seeing the scenery as it passed by. They flickered over to Cal for an instant as he tucked the blanket more snugly around her, but for the most part she ignored everything. He knew she was in shock – he'd seen it enough times in the field to know when someone was mentally overwhelmed. He just hoped that a lot of rest and recuperation would be enough to pull her out of this slump. Barton half-turned in his seat to address Cal in a quiet tone, his eyes darting from the road to the rear-view mirror and back again.

"The Director said to tell you 'Well done,' sir. He's already dispatching men. They intercepted two emergency calls, and have managed to keep this entirely under the radar." Cal sagged in relief, happy to know that his friend would be taking care of everything.

"We missed one," Cal said finally, and he caught Barton's eye in the mirror. "There were only two upstairs. Emile wasn't home." Proving just what an asset he was, Barton had already pulled out his phone to relay the information to David. If the cleaning crew walked in there unprepared, it could get ugly for everyone.

"Should I go straight to headquarters, sir?" Barton's still-eager voice cut through the silence, and Cal shook his head.

"The hotel, please. I'll check in with David later." His eyes cut over to Gillian, who had finally relaxed enough to close her eyes. He didn't kid himself into thinking she was actually resting, but at least it was better than the empty expression he'd seen on her normally lively face. He slipped his hand under the blanket, laying it over her smaller one in a gesture of comfort. She didn't stir, but he did feel her fingers curl around his ever so slightly. For the first time since he'd dropped her to the airport in DC four days ago, the knot of worry that had settled in his stomach began to unwind, and he laid his head back with a sigh of relief.

One more chapter to go! Now that the action is over, they have to deal with the immediate repercussions. Thanks again to all the reviewers out there!