It took some quick thinking and sweet talking (mostly to Andy) but John had finally been given permission to leave the house. After two days of being cooped up and coddled (not that all of it was bad, Andy was the one supplying the coddling and he found her very attractive) getting out into the real world, was just what he needed. The first steps outside cleared his head like no other, it helped the air was so fresh after a number of storms and of course they were heading into the colder months.

Daniel had kindly supplied a few items of clothing, mostly old jeans and some faded shirts that no longer fit the larger man. Even though they were too small for Daniel, they still hung off John, but a belt was enough to hold it all together in the middle.

The McGregor Lumber yard was a ten minute drive from their home and while he felt able to walk the distance, Andy made him promise to drive in with her father. Mr McGregor was only happy to oblige. After showcasing his aptitude with numbers the night before, Mr McGregor was keen to put that talent to use back at the office. It seemed the aging lumber jack had been having further problems and it was only after getting a good look at the office and its current state of chaos, did John understand the enormity of the task he had undertaken.

Thankfully there was some semblance of a system in place, no doubt started and maintained by the previous administrator, whom they had to let go once they started having financial trouble. John got the impression at dinner the previous night that the McGregor's troubles were more than financial, but he had no intention of prying. Mr McGregor seemed embarrassed by the whole situation and John didn't want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he already was. He could tell it had taken a lot for McGregor to finally admit defeat and accept the offer of help. So that's what John was going to do. Help, and hopefully go some way to paying them back.

The morning had sped by so fast, as soon as John was left to his own devices, he was like a one man administration team. He was taking calls, filing, posting, calculating, handling payroll and even chasing up payments from businesses that had received the produce, but had yet to cough up the cash.

By lunch, the office was in a much more respectable condition and he was able to lay his hands on most of the things he needed, when he needed them. The men working in the yard came in on occasion with requests. Some wanted holiday forms, copies of their previous three payslips and two others were being taxed way too much due to an incorrect tax-code. A couple of calls to the right people and their problems were solved, better than solved since after more smooth talking and stunning the agent on the phone with his talent for math, he'd gotten the pair a sizable payout, which would be posted to them in the form of a cheque, post-haste.

After managing that, the jibes from the muscle-bound work force stopped. To hardened men like that, what John was doing was considered woman's work and he had to admit that he found it a little insulting. The mind was a muscle too! But after all of the light hearted teasing he was beginning to feel sorry for his beaten down machismo.

It was early in the afternoon when John hit his wall. He'd been so caught up in the work he'd almost forgotten just a few days prior, he'd almost died. His chest was very sore and his head seemed to pulsate, painfully with every beat of his heart. Despite the obvious downsides to all the hard work, there was an amazing one. With every completed task, every guided conversation, every white-lie and every suave smile, he felt…closer to finding the identity he'd lost. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, being a liar wasn't usually high on the list of characteristics most people wanted, but if it would help the McGregor's, it was ok, wasn't it? It was a tricky dilemma.

John sighed and let the pencil drop before placing his heavy head in both of his hands, careful of the painful gash. It was adequately covered with white gauze and his hair done a good enough job to hide the rest, but no matter how well it was hidden, how neatly it was tucked away, it was still affecting him. He had hoped by now he would remember something about his life, something about his past that might explain who he was and how he came to be here. So far all he had really discovered was that he was good with numbers and could sell ice to the Inuit, but how did any of that get him into the predicament he found himself two days ago? Maybe the Inuit finally caught on and tracked him down…

The door to the metal shack that was the McGregor lumber yard office opened suddenly and John sat up a little straighter, eager to hide his condition from who ever had just entered. A man in his late twenties, not that much older than Daniel came charging in. He had slightly darker hair than the rest of the McGregor's but had an angular facial structure similar to Andy. The resemblance to the other three told John right away who this was. Jack McGregor seemed agitated as he stepped inside, followed closely by his father who made straight for the only other chair in the office and sat himself down.

"Well that does it," Jack announced angrily. "We're done. No way can we stay in operation now."

"Jack, calm down."

"I can't calm down, dad! Not when our entire livelihood is about to be flushed down the God-damned drain!"

"Er…what's going on?" John asked carefully feeling more nervous about asking when Jack shot a glare his way.

"What's he doing here?" The oldest son asked but McGregor ignored that question and decided instead to answer Johns.

"We can't get any fuel delivered and our supply is down to under half." The older man pulled off his old dusty faded, blue cap and slapped it off his knee. "Once this fuel is gone, we won't be able to harvest this current crop."

"Well what seems to be the problem, maybe I can…"

"Listen, pal," Jack spoke up. "I don't know who you think you are, but unless you got a stash of fuel some place, there's nothing you can do." The older McGregor boy looked one last time at his defeated father before leaving the office, clearly unhappy.

"Don't take what Jack says to heart, son," McGregor said with a sad smile. "He's angry at me, not you." The man looked so frail in that moment; John felt his heart start to break for the guy. All he could think to do was pour the man a coffee, which McGregor then Irished up.

"Well, don't get me wrong Mr McGregor but, if that's what you're using to cope with some bad luck, maybe he has a right to be." He indicated the canteen McGregor slipped back into his pocket.

"Don't judge me, son. I'm too old and to long in the tooth to be preached too about the evils of whiskey."

"So you just gonna sit there and drink your life away huh?"

"If I can't work, what else do I have?" McGregor smiled as if he had won the argument and was about to take a sip from the cup when John reached forward and plucked it from his hand.

"What if I can get you the fuel?"

"And how do you expect you can do that? No one for fifty miles will supply us anymore thanks to Clydesdale and his thugs." John set the mug down and just shrugged, smiling as an idea formed in his mind. He knew exactly what he could do.

"Give me an hour." He said confidently. "If I don't have it by then, you can have this coffee."

"But it'll be cold."

"Okay, I'll make you a fresh one." He patted the older man on the shoulder and headed out, calling out to Daniel for a ride into town.

Daniel McGregor couldn't believe what he was seeing. As he sat at the wheel of his pickup, jaw hung open as he watched the fuel tanker get loaded up and head out of the stop, bound for his family's lumber yard. John had only been in there around fifteen minutes and had some how managed to talk Bill Murphy into supplying the yard once again.

There had been some strange preparation, prior to the meeting. On the way into town they had stopped at a yard sale where, after borrowing twenty bucks, John had purchased a black suit and an old pair of sunglasses with one of the arms loose.

After dressing in the suit and smoothing his fair hair back in a slicker fashion, John had asked Daniel to park on the edge of town and wait while he headed on in, stopping only to talk to some kids who were playing cops and robbers. Daniel witnessed an exchange of the remaining few bucks for one of the boys toys, a plastic police badge.

After that John's whole demeanour changed. He no longer just walked, he marched. His strides were sure and steady; his gaze from behind the black glasses seemed icy and intense. He had literally become another person right before Daniel's eyes. It felt like a lifetime had passed by the time John emerged and headed back towards where Daniel had parked, the closer he got, the more of the persona that John had adopted seemed to be cast off.

"How…how did you do that?" Daniel asked as John lent against the drivers side door, smiling as he watched the same fuel tanker pull out onto the main road and pass them by.

"Oh I just reminded Mr Murphy that he was breaking any amount of laws and regulations when he chooses to supply one business over another, especially when the ones he's supplying, he has a financial stake in."

"Well too right, but, how did you know that?"

"I didn't." John flashed a cheeky smile and Daniel couldn't help but chuckle.

"You played him, my God, I can't believe that worked."

"Me either." The smooth talker confessed as he ruffled his hair free of the sleek style before getting back into the truck. "Let's get back to the yard, it won't take long for this news to get to this Clydesdale fella." Daniel nodded and kicked the truck into gear, steering back the way they had came. "But who is this guy anyway? Why is he so intent on running you guys out of business?"

"There's no one reason, really." Daniel explained, as he relaxed into the drivers seat, taking the pace slow. "I guess it started with our mom. Dad and Mr Clydesdale were both sweet on her, but she chose dad, everything since then has just been about jealousy over our happiness. He might have the bigger yard, crew and more money but, he never had what he really wanted.

"Then about a year ago when we lost mom, dad took to drinking and Clydesdale set his sights on our yard. When dad wouldn't sell, that's when things started to get worse. We've had break ins, vandalism, fires and when that didn't work, Clydesdale paid some thugs to come and harass the crew. We lost half the guys in the last six months, the ones who've stuck around, do so out of loyalty but the way things are going, what with suppliers and mills refusing to have anything to do with us, we're not gonna have enough to pay the guys we have for much longer." Daniel sighed and shook his head. "My brothers taking it a bit hard, all Jack's ever wanted was to run the yard himself and make dad proud."

"I don't think Clydesdale can take that away," John assured. "Your father's proud of you all regardless, that much is obvious."

"I know, and not that it's not important, but it's not gonna put food on the table. If we loose the yard, the only place me and Jack will be able to get work is Clydesdale's yard."

"Sorta like the final twist of the knife, huh?"

"That's an understatement." Daniel shrugged and glanced over at John who had shed the black suit jacket and folded it neatly on the seat beside him. He seemed more at home in the new attire, even with the collar buttoned on the shirt. The guy carried himself with a confidence not many seen in their little corner of the world. Most guys Daniel knew, worked the land in some form or another and didn't talk as much or half as fancy as this John Doe. "You gotta be from the city." Daniel declared after the silence had stretched on a little longer. "It's the only thing I can think where a guy like you, could learn all you know."

"All I know isn't a lot, pal." John half laughed and shook his head.

"You seriously have no idea who you are?"

"I seriously have no idea."

"But you must have some clue? Some… insight after what you just pulled off back there? I mean, I've never met anyone who can live a lie that well. Except maybe some of the married guys back at the yard." Daniel laughed at the last part, since one or two of his friends were not happy with the choices they had made in their partners. "Maybe you're an actor?"

"You think?" He asked genuinely intrigued by the idea.

"Sure, I mean, you look good in a suit, you got the cleanest hands of any guy I know and you got a way that just makes people like you."

"I look good in the suit huh?" John adjusted the tie. "Well, it's not hard. It is an Armani."

"A what now?" Daniel asked, not having a clue about fashion. So long as something fit and was comfortable for him to work in, then he liked it.

"An Armani, vintage too. Not bad for ten bucks." John grinned, looking a bit like the cat who got the cream.

The drive back to the yard was relaxing and the sense of accomplishment John felt for having acquired the fuel put him at ease. He sat and enjoyed the scenery, thinking back on his conversation with Daniel. Since he had started to discover these 'talents' of his, John was developing a crisis of conscience, because he honestly didn't know whether or not he had been a man that anyone could be proud to call their own, but after Daniel's suggestion that he maybe an actor, John started to feel a lot better about who he might have been.

It all made so much sense. He knew he couldn't be a very well known actor, or his disappearance wouldn't have gone unnoticed. He could be an up and coming star, who was on vacation…but it still didn't explain why he had been attacked two days ago, and found himself running for his life. But still, he felt better about a lot of other aspects of his personality, at least now he could sleep at night.

They pulled into the yard not expecting what they were greeted by. Most of the crew had stopped work and stood at the back of the yard, while Jack and Mr McGregor stood toe to toe with three other men.

"Oh no." Daniel muttered and quickly parked up before hurrying to stand with his family. John got out to, jogging to catch up getting there just as Mr McGregor was punched and shoved to the ground. Jack and Daniel both snapped into action, taking on the three goons. Being of similar size and build, it was a much fairer fight than it had been for their father.

Despite the obvious handicap of his own size and build, not to mention the injuries he still carried, John dove in to help. Taking hold of the third goon, who, along with one of his friends, tried to double team Daniel, John ran full speed into the guy, catching him by surprise and tackling him to the ground. After a brief battle for top spot, John found himself straddling the guy and firing off a few well aimed punches. A jab to the nose, left cross to the jaw and right cross to the left eye socket. There was a sickening crack of bone on the third hit, luckily it hadn't come from John, even though his hand hurt like hell. The goon was out and just in time as he had been reaching for a gun. Gathering the weapon, John acted almost on auto pilot. While Jack had been able to stagger his own attacker, the bastard, now on the floor was reaching for a gun also. It seemed to be their way, loose a fist fight, grab a gun.

As the goon snapped his arm out to aim the weapon at Jack, who stood startled by the appearance of the firearm, John aimed and squeezed the trigger softly, so sure of his aim and his skill. As the bullet collided with the out stretched gun hand of the hitman, John felt a wave of familiarity wash over him. He released the trigger as a scream sounded out across the yard from the now crippled gunman, holding a hand that poured with blood. Without missing a beat, John turned the gun on the man Daniel was struggling with, knowing him to be armed also. The guy froze as did everyone else on the lot.

"Now you've got two choices. You can gather up your friends here and crawl back into what ever hole you oozed out from, or you can reach for the piece you're carrying and try to take me out." John smiled, one that didn't reach his blue eyes as he stared down all three men. "Only this time, I won't be aiming for your hand, pal."

It didn't take the cowards long to make their decision and they were quickly leaving the yard, piling into an off-white pickup and screeching onto the main road.

Silence covered the lumber yard and no one had moved, least of all John, though he had lowered the gun to his side and clicked on the safety. It was eerie how he knew exactly what to do, what to say. How quickly he had sprang into action and taken charge of the situation, but what was more frightening still, was the threat he had uttered so calmly. He'd meant every word. Strangely, he felt so calm about it and even the breath he had held as the thugs scrambled to leave was let go with poise and control.

"Dad, you alright?" Jack asked as he helped to gather the fallen man from the floor. McGregor seemed shaken but otherwise unhurt. The only injury the McGregor's had suffered was that of a busted lip, modelled currently by Daniel who looked at John with something of a shocked expression.

"I've never seen anything like that," Daniel said, still out of breath from the brawl. "I thought I was a good shot, but you…"

"It was nothing," John tried to play it down; the last thing he needed was for this to be blown out of all proportion. So what, he could shoot? He'd been found with a gun two days ago, it was hardly a surprise.

"No, Daniel's right." The older of the two brothers approached the mystery man whom they had found close to death just two days prior and John could only guess what was going through their minds right now. "The way you took that guy down, and made that shot, that was special. I've only ever seen one other guy be able to do that, and he was a Green Beret."

"You mean, he could be army?" Daniel asked, his younger eyes lighting up. "Is this, ringing any bells, John?"

"What? No," he shook his head, which was now ringing. The adrenaline that had spurred him on was wearing off and now he could feel all the bruises screaming at him. "Look, I just reacted that's all. So I'm a good shot, big deal! That just means I put in plenty of hours in at the shooting range."

"That would make you good at hitting sitting targets, but not what we just saw there." Jack said almost smugly and John sighed, throwing the gun to the ground. "Hey pal, calm down it's not a bad thing…"

"Oh you know that for sure do you?" He snapped back, making all three McGregor's step back slightly aghast. "Let me ask you this. You wake up one morning with no idea who you are, but in possession of all these skills? Lying, cheating, stealing and a deadly aim! What kind of person are you, huh!?" He tried to calm, having practically screamed out his current insecurities for the whole world to hear, including Andy who had just rounded the corner having heard the shots from her clinic not to far away. "I'll tell you what you are." He laughed bitterly, rubbing his face with a trembling hand. "You're nothing good, that's for damned sure."

He quickly turned away from the three men, who finally seemed to realise his dilemma, and began walking away. Andy tried to call to him but John just didn't have it in him to be around any of them right now. He had so many new questions rolling around in his mind that he could barely form together a coherent thought amidst all the chaos. He needed some time to collect those thoughts and wrap his mind around what all this might mean. He headed towards the McGregor house at a steady pace, keeping to the foot path that wove through the trees adjacent to the road. He had no other place to go, no one else to turn to for help, after blowing up back at the yard he wondered if he could still turn to the McGregor's…

Hannibal sat quietly in the van while B.A worked in silence in the back. The sergeant was putting the finishing touches to the electronic device in his hand, adjusting the dials so they could pick up the broadcast from the hidden bug in Clydesdale's office. Murdock had seen to planting the thing, fixing it by the phone while he gave a progress report to the man who hired them.

There wasn't much of anything to report, Clydesdale's yard was running unhindered by the troubles the man had told Mr Lee about and Hannibal was wondering if any of Clydesdale's accusations had ever been true at all. With Face still missing (though not through lack of searching), Hannibal had had enough. He knew the sleazy businessman was behind his friends disappearance from that initial conversation two days prior, but he couldn't afford to act on that until they knew Face was safe. After two days of keeping a close eye on Clydesdale, under the guise of hired-guns, they'd so far come up empty and their worry had grown into anger. With every hour that passed, the chance that Face was still breathing, decreased. Murdock was taking it the hardest and Hannibal was doing his best to keep the pilot grounded, but as his own emotions started to run high, acting a little crazy seemed to be a better idea.

One more day, Hannibal thought. If they hadn't been able to determine Face's fate by then, then he would go in there and try to dig it out of Clydesdale's brain himself. He'd been trained in interrogation tactics and so far he had gone through life without resorting to the darker, deadlier side of that but, his patience wasn't infinite.

Hannibal was pulled from his dark thoughts as an off-white pick-up pulled into the yard and he watched with interest as three men got out, one injured. Murdock was watching from a nearby vantage point and came over the radio a moment later.

"Three amigos are back and one has been relieved of a finger, colonel. Want me to go in and check it out?"

"Negative, captain. If Clydesdale has an audience while these guys explain what's happened, he might not be inclined to divulge the truth. Hold position."

"Roger that."

"B.A?" Hannibal turned to the mechanic who activated the speaker, having completed the last adjustments a moment ago. The voices came over the airwaves, with a minimum of static making it easier to understand who was speaking, but the first thing they heard was the commotion as the injured party stumbled inside.

"What in God's name…" Hannibal recognised Clydesdale's voice easily and lit up half a cigar while the radio show got started. "What the hell happened!?"

"You're never gonna believe this boss…"

"What the hell, you're bleeding all over my rug!"

"I don't see Clydesdale being nominated for any humanitarian awards any time soon." Hannibal muttered seeing B.A snarl in agreement.

"Sorry boss…"

"Don't be sorry, cover that hand up and if you're gonna bleed then do it outside! Now what happened?"

"We was giving McGregor a talking to, like you said. Then outa nowhere we was jumped."

"By McGregor's two boys…"

"What!? You couldn't handle those two knuckle heads!?"

"It wasn't just them boss. It was that A-Team fella."

"Smith?"

"No, that smooth talking creep, the one who came here the other day." Hannibal removed the cigar from his mouth, his gaze still firmly fixed on the radio in the back as they continued to listen. After two days of worry, they'd finally made the breakthrough they needed and the relief the colonel felt from discovering Face was alive, and it seemed, in good form was reflected in B.A's as the mechanic blew out a breath.

"That's not possible…" Clydesdale sounded worried and Hannibal wondered briefly if on some primitive level he knew of the ass-kicking he was heading for. "I shot him, I saw him go down! You said he was dead!" Not just an ass kicking, Hannibal thought as he extinguished his cigar and threw it out of the window.

"No, boss. I said he was probably dead. I mean there was blood at the scene I just assumed…"

"You ASSUMED!?" There was a scrambling of sorts, followed by shouting and a loud bang before the feed cut out.

"Sounds like the bug took a pounding." B.A explained and climbed from the back into the drivers seat.

"And that's not the only thing getting a pounding by the sounds of it." Hannibal could just about hear the muffled shouts coming from the office just across the yard. He shook his head and got back on the radio to Murdock. "We're coming to pick you up, captain."

"Great, any place in particular we're heading to?"

"The McGregor's lumber yard, that's where Face is."