A/N: Well, this update was a little faster, hope you like it. Thanks as usual goes to TangledPencils who made a great job on this one, adding her own to the chapter, and Mma63 who sent the only pointed look around but much inspirative review.

Fire and Water

by Nicol Leoraine

Chapter 22

When the radio came to life, Brass was already half-way to the door, his radio in hand and shouting questions to his men.

"What's going on?" Kyle Anders appeared in the hall and the detective turned towardhim.

"Go back to your study and don't leave the room," he barked at the startled man, then without another glance went out the door to the front lawn where he could already see two of his men struggling with a third one. Whoever this man was, he was quickly losing the fight. The detective could see him weakening, as his struggles grew slower and his stamina deserted him. Brass aimed the gun at the scrambled trio and shook his head in annoyance, fighting the urge to shoot simply to relieve his pugnacious mood. He was ready though and that made him even more startled when he finally saw the face of the attacker.

"Stop it!" he barked, and all went still.

-xXxXx-

He walked across the grass, one hand circled around his tender ribs, the other reaching into his pocket for the knife. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, maybe the darkness and silence made him feel just a tad apprehensive. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he drew the knife, holding it in a defensive position in front of him while turning around in a circle, trying to pierce the darkness with eyes gone narrow with wariness. The blade caught the light from a distant streetlight, and winked menacingly in the gloom. Suddenly, he heard a double warning to drop the knife and he turned, startled, instinctively trying to face the enemy and waving the knife in an attempt to deter them.

He could just make out two gun barrels pointed at him, held in the unwavering hands of men dressed in dark clothes. Frantically trying to keep both of the widely spaced men in his line of sight, he looked away from one of them just long enough, and the shadowy figure lunged at him, the knife was kicked out of his hand and he barely managed to dodge the hand that undoubtedly meant harm.

What happened next was all a flurry of action, swift kicks pulling the legs out from under him and sending him sprawling to the ground, the delicate state of his ribs hindering his attempts at escape. There was a lot of shouting and he realized that he was probably screaming too when someone's elbow connected with his chest. He still fought back, his broad shoulders and well muscled figure balancing out his injuries and allowing him to briefly hold his own against his attackers. He didn't know who they were. They were simply two men trying to immobilize him, two men that could've easily been the Master and that boy who killed his wife. So he fought, even if his breathing was labored, his heart pounded, and all he saw was a blur of dark clothes. Finally, another well placed hit made him curl up into a ball, gasping for air, just as another person entered the combat scene.

"Stop it!" An angry voice shouted and all went still, even his attackers froze in mid motion and something in his head connected. He knew who the voice belonged to.

"That's not the Master or Jonah," Jim Brass raspedwith slight disgust and a great amount of anger.

"But he had a knife, detective," on of the man spoke in defense of his actions.

"Yeah well, this is just some stupid idiot whose ass should've been still in Desert Palms. Get off him Parker, before you break the last of his ribs."

He hadn't realised how utterly motionless the two men had rendered him until they were gone, and now that the circulation was returning to all of his limbs, Travis started feeling all the bruises on top of other bruises and he groaned, just managing to fight the urge to whimper.

"Serves you right, Travis," the detective spat while his men shot him confused looks. "Parker, go back to the surveillance car. Dustin, you take this idiot back to the hospital…and make sure the doctor understands that I want to find him there in the morning. If necessary, put a guard at his room."

"Y-you can't do that," Travis started to protest as Brass seemed to dismiss him, then realised his mistake when the detective turned back to him, his eyes glinting with anger.

"You don't realise what could've happened, do you, Travis?!" he hissed with rage as he grabbed the neck of Travis' shirt and ignoring the pained grimace, pulled him closer. "Any one of my men could've just shot you down after the first warning left their mouth and you didn't surrender. I could've killed you because you threatened my men. And tell me, Travis, do you really think I would enjoy telling Nick that I had to kill you?"

"N-no," Travis stuttered, feeling unable to protest because of the pain in his chest, and because he could literally feel the strength of the disdain rolling from the detective.

"Damn right!" Brass replied, still clutching at Travis' shirt as if the man was ready to boltHe began punctuating his sentences with shakes that made Travis' knees start to quiver and his mouth to twitch.

"AndI'll tell you another thing, Travis. You already put two of my friends into danger by you wanting to play hero.Nick knows you left the hospital and is now looking for you, but his cell is dead and I can't reach him. Let me tell you, I amnothappy about that. So if you try anything like leaving the hospital without me knowing about it again, the next place your ass will sit inwillbe a jail.Understand?"

"Y-yes," Travis stammered, his stomach churning in reaction.

The detective let go of his shirt with a final shake and without a backward glance spoke to the waiting detective.

"Take him away, Dustin."

Not waiting for the 'yes sir,' he knew was coming, Brass stalked off back to the house.

He knew that he should be asking questions, chiefly 'How and why did you come here?' But he also knew that if he'd looked at Travis' face a minute longer, he would either pat the man's back with a 'sorry, I understood how you feel, I would do the same,' or land a punch on him for once again endangering himself as well as others. He needed to calm down, needed to let Nick know that Travis was back in the hospital. He needed to make sure that Kyle Anders was safe and foremost, he needed to catch the Master. But even as he entered the house, he knew it wouldn't be that simple.

He felt the draft that practically pulled closed the front door. He knew that somewhere in the house, a door or a window must be open. The cop in him reacted to the simple feel of the draft by pulling out a gun and entering the kitchen where the only other door leading outside was located. He saw a man standing atop a fallen form, and his gun wavered in the air, the hand clutching it aiming at the perpetrator, but not finishing the move.

The detective didn't even have time to open his mouth and say 'freeze', before he sensed the other presence behind his back. He barely had time for his ears to register the rustling of clothes and someone's heavy breathing on his neck, when just like in a clichéd movie, a pan swished through the air and landed hard on the detective's head. The gun clattered from his now limp hand and Brass's unconscious body hit the ground.

-xXxXx-

Kyle Anders wasn't a coward but even he was startled by the fight on his front lawn. He watched it from the window, secretly hoping that the cops would use their guns and kill the man that wanted his own death. Kyle wasn't a bad man, but thinking about his family, what would've happened if his kids and wife were still in the house, he felt a surge of hate toward the man that was now lying on the ground, immobilized. So he of course watched with a growing frown when the detective that was supposed to guard him simply turned back to the house, ignoring the bad guy. Only when the man foolishly spoke and the detective grabbed his shirt, did Kyle let himself relax. God, but he needed a drink. He turned away from the window, knowing that the cops would handle the situation after all and walked toward the bar to pour himself something strong. He was already planning on calling his wife but wanted to first hear the details from the detective, make sure that the danger was definitely over.

A swish of hot air hit his face and he heard the familiar creakof the kitchen door. With a frown he turned, thinking it was stupid for the detective to come through the back when he could've just as easily used the front door. Who he saw though was definitely no cop and the half full glass of the good ten year old Scotch fell from his hand and splattered on the thick carpet, making almost no sound.

"Who-" was all Kyle got through his clenched throat when a gun flickered and a head shook in warning.

"Not a sound," the man spoke in a dangerous whisper and for a second Kyle fought the urge to open his mouth and start to scream, just so he could defy him. But the urge lasted only so long, and he knew that no sound would leave his throat – ever again.

Kyle backed away, into the wall. His hand blindly groped for something that could be used as a weapon, knocking several things off the shelves, dismissing them all as useless until his hand hit a heavy, bronze statue his older son won in a competition He grabbed at it and knowing well that it would be his only chance, he threw it at the man then without waiting, lunged for the front door, knowing he could find help there.

He didn't see the man duck just in time, so the statue barely hit his shoulder, bouncing off without more than making a bruise. He didn't see the other man, much younger, blocking his path to the door, until he rammed into him, sending them both to the ground, in a tangle of hard elbows and fists. Kyle wasn't a fighter, but he wanted to survive. He managed to get off several hits before the youngster started defending himself and even then it felt as if he wasn't really fighting. Kylealmost felt a bit of triumph as the man under him tried to hit him in the face but crazily missed, but the smile left his face when an arm wrapped around his neck in a chokehold and he was hauled off toward the kitchen. He thought he heard a door open and maybe he felt the draft as he was dragged out of the house, but he couldn't be sure. There wasn't enough air to keep his brain working and he fell into darkness.

-xXxXx-

"Damn it," Nick cursed and hit the wheel. He was lost, driving up the streets, not sure which turn to take. He knew the street Kyle Anders was living on because a few months ago he and Warrick were nearby, investigating a suspicious death that turned out to be suicide. Even then, they'd had trouble finding the right house, because the street ran in a kind of Y shape and they'd ended up on the street that led mostly onto the fenced back yards with pools or tennis courts. Passing those same fences now, Nick knew he was on the wrong part of the street, and losing time.

He was still hoping that he'd got it all wrong and that Travis had just decided to take a walk and cool his head a little, when he spotted a man throwing a limp form into the back seat of a car, then quickly slamming the door shut. He slowed his own car to a halt and parked it on the curb, making his form smaller when the other car started up and passed around him.

It was all he could do not to shout when he saw who was behind the wheel and on the shotgun seat. Biting down another curse, Nick's fingers curled around the wheel with such force his knuckles turned white. He waited until the car had driven down the street for a bit, then he made a 180 and started the pursuit.

It was crazy, Nick knew. He should've called Jim and let him handle it, but his cell was of no use. He also couldn't afford the time to pull up at some phone booth or another police car, because then he would loose the Master and he was sure the person Jonah was manhandling into the backseat was the next victim. Nick didn't know if he was already dead, but he had a feeling that the Master wouldn't lose time and effort with a dead body. He had to be in a hurry if he managed to snatch Kyle Anders right out from under Brass' nose. The thought sent a feeling of dread through Nick and he unconsciously pushed on the gas pedal, cutting the distance between him and the Master.

He longed for the chance to turn the car and just get to a phone and learn if the detective was alright, because Nick knew that there was no way in hell Jim would've let the Master escape without a fight. Unless something had gone wrong… And now Nick was the only one who knew where the Master was, and there was no way to let the others know.

Sometimes life really sucked.

TBC

Hopefully, some action coming around soon, watcha say?