Brixton had the head start and also the advantage of William having to take his truck down the long driveway and around the neighborhood. William's advantage was his knowledge of the roads and his ability to recognize a car that didn't belong. He knew every car in every garage, every commuter. This was his neighborhood. No matter how much he had tried to hide over the last forty five years - he couldn't get away from his training. A small voice in his head reminded him - Eliot would be the same way. He hated to admit it, but the reflection was unmistakable. His son would find him; he just hoped the danger would be over by then.

It took him five minutes to locate Brixton racing through the streets. The car maintained its lead but did not attempt to lose him. Brixton wanted William to be able to follow, and William was happy to oblige.

"Where are you going?" William whispered as he watched the car turn left, heading out into the countryside.

A muffled ringing echoed in the truck cab. William frowned as he glanced around for the cause. His eyes rolled to the ceiling as he realized where it was coming from - the glove box. He reached over, opened the box, removed the phone and closed the box back up. His left hand hit the window button in the car door. After a few seconds, the window had opened over halfway.

"Not this time, boy," he sighed as he threw the still ringing phone out the window. It hit the pavement - bouncing and shattering into pieces. William raised the window and clutched the steering wheel firmly. "I'm going to finish this."

"Tracking, give it a couple seconds…" Hardison advised. His tablet screen zoomed in on a map of Oklahoma as he tapped his finger on the corner of it.

Eliot's teeth clenched, his head bobbed angrily as he waited. "Anytime, Hardison," he growled.

"A couple seconds."

"You already said that!"

"Three… uh oh," Hardison swallowed as the screen blanked and flashed no signal.

"Uh oh?" Parker asked as she leaned over to see the screen.

"I lost it," Hardison tapped the screen. "He's gone."

"What do you mean you lost it?" Eliot demanded angrily.

"I mean I lost it. The signal disappeared."

Quinn sighed at the set back. He knew Eliot would never forgive him if everything went bad.

Evelyn heard the sigh. "That isn't good, is it?"

"Grandma, he's not answering. It goes to voicemail," Dillon frowned.

She turned to see him standing with the receiver in his hand. "You tried to call him?" she breathed. He nodded as she replied, "Oh, honey."

"Why the hell did you lose him?" Eliot hissed.

"He was tipped off," Quinn interrupted.

"Tipped off?" Eliot growled.

"Kid here called the old man," Quinn explained.

"Explains why the signal was so easy to catch," Hardison thought out loud.

"He must have disabled it," Parker offered.

"Disabled? Killed it is more like it," Eliot muttered. "Stubborn…"

"Surprise, your dad is as stubborn as you are. Why am I not surprised?" Quinn snipped.

"How close did you get?" Eliot growled.

"Somewhere two miles west of the house," Hardison answered flatly.

"Could be four or more by now," Parker sighed.

"What the hell is west?" Eliot grumbled.

"Subdivision, subdivision… another subdivision…" Hardison rambled. "Lots of nothing."

"Brixton's been locked up for forty years. Anything there back then?" Eliot asked.

"How the hell would I know? Do I look like I'm forty?" Hardison sassed. "You're from here, shouldn't you know?"

"I haven't lived here in over twenty years… and it wasn't like I wanted to remember the place," Eliot sniped back.

Hardison tapped furiously on the screen. "Alright, alright… based on some of the old maps I found online, it looks like the area used to be farmland."

"Not really helpful," Parker twisted her lip.

"Lots of farms, I don't think…" Hardison paused. "Wait, Eliot, about twenty miles west… there used to be a military boot camp. It was shut down in the early 70's and changed over to a summer camp for kids."

"Would he go there?" Parker asked.

"It's off season, the camp is empty," Hardison argued.

"That has to be it," Eliot decided.

"You're sure?"

"We haven't got time for it not to be."

"So you're going to go after a guy who wants you dead, in a location of his choosing? And I have to stay here?" Quinn griped.

Evelyn stared at him. Her shock had leveled off enough for her to fully grasp the events around her. She grabbed Quinn's shirt at the shoulders, lifting his torso off the ground.

"Eliot, don't you dare! I am not going to lose my entire family , do you hear me?" she shouted.

Quinn cringed at the volume of her voice. "He can hear you!"

She released his shirt, allowing him to fall back. "I can't lose all of them. Eliot… you bring him home." Her eyes and voice reflected the fear and tears.

Eliot swallowed. "I intend to…"

"He will," Quinn told her. She nodded.

"We'll be there as soon as we can," Hardison assured Eliot.

"Luck," Quinn offered.

"Be careful," Hardison added.

Pulling into the lot outside a cluster of buildings, William spotted Brixton's car. It was parked wildly outside the larger of the buildings. He glanced up at the door to the building as he pulled alongside the car and parked. The door was busted open. Brixton was improvising - the wild chase, the parking job and unsubtle entry pointed to a disorganized retreat. They had managed to disrupt Brixton's planning, but William couldn't determine if that was good or bad.

The large building looked like a meeting cabin. A broad stairway led up to the doors. It was likely there would be few walls or large furniture pieces for cover. Brixton was armed and inside - once again taking the advantage. William knew he couldn't walk in the front door, and so did Brixton. He had to find another entry point, and distract his old comrade.

William crept out of the truck, his front passenger side corner facing the building. He reached into the storage bin in the bed. He opened his tackle box and removed a spool of fishing line. After he closed the box, he took a breath and glanced around. Three smaller buildings lined the lot. He made his way to the furthest outer building.

Each of the three smaller buildings was at ground level, allowing William to peer inside. The first was full of desks, an office of some sort. Second building appeared to be the staff bunk house, while the third was open space. There were no signs of entry in any of them, reassuring William of his mild security hiding behind them.

A large fire pit, a distance behind the second and third buildings, drew his attention. He snuck over, kicking the ashes to reveal the charred remains of several logs. William dropped down into a crouch position as he picked up several log chunks one by one, popping them into the air like a pitcher's sandbag until he found two with decent weight. He shoved his choice picks into his pockets and made his way back to the third building.

From the rear corner of the building, he had a clear view of the larger building. Windows ran the length of it; one emergency exit door with four stairs was set in the rear - opposite his position. Two ways in: front or back door. Brixton would be able to see his approach and gun him down. He needed to level the field in order to access the building alive.

William selected one of the windows two thirds of the way down the building's side from his position. He clutched one of the charred log clumps tightly. After a quick and silent prayer, he let the chunk fly.

It carried across the expanse and collided with the window perfectly dead center, but failed to break the glass. The weight kept his aim true but was unable to hold the momentum to penetrate the glass barrier.

"Dammit," he muttered. As he readied a second throw, two quick successive shots shattered through the window. The glass showered across the expanse.

"Still got the aim, but as always, White Hat… you lack the nerve to follow through!" Brixton shouted, entering the empty window frame.

"I follow through when the job is justified. You forget who gave us our orders," William responded, "and it was never you."

Brixton hissed and fired several wild shots in the direction of William's voice. William took cover round the corner of the building. The hail of bullets halted. Several echoed clicks filled the void, the gun was empty.

William knew he had only moments before the gun was reloaded - once again cutting him off. He swung around the corner, took one survey of the scene and pulled the remaining log chunk from his pocket. Brixton watched the gun in his hand as he reached for ammo. William hurled the log with all his might. The charred chunk flew straight. As the projectile neared the window, Brixton glanced out. He spotted the threat, pulling his head out of the path ahead of the impact. His quick move prevented a direct hit, but the proximity of the log to his face allowed the trail of ash to enter his eyes and nose. He dropped the gun, rubbing his eyes and waving the loose ash away as he coughed.

It was the only chance and William took it. With Brixton temporarily blinded and disarmed, William ran full speed for the emergency exit door. As his feet mounted the stairs, he threw his shoulder in front as a battering ram. The simple door offered minimal resistance. He stumbled a few steps before gaining control. The door wasn't fortified like he had expected but still caused a throbbing in his shoulder.

"That didn't use to hurt so much," he muttered as he rubbed the sore shoulder.

"You didn't use to let yourself go," Brixton snickered. He was standing up after retrieving his gun. His eyes were watery but open as he slid the empty firearm into the rear waistband of his pants. He stood in a corridor between the windows and a long cart with folded up tables running length-wise through the room. William was standing on a slightly raised platform stage that covered the entire end of the building. A simple podium, table and row of flags were the only décor in sight.

"Look at yourself, Will. You've let age take over. I say about thirty pounds you've added, am I right? You would never be able to pass fitness courses now - if I gave you the day," Brixton harassed as he slowly approached.

"Military doesn't control my life anymore, I do, and I'm more than ready to end this. No more games, no more hiding and going after my kids. I'm gonna handle this," William roared.

"You're going to handle this?" Brixton cackled. "Believe me, Will, you are not ready for me."

"Over forty years ago… and all you can think about is killing me and my family?"

"Did you know, Will, that the Rangers adopted an official creed after we were cast out? I rather like it. May have prevented our problem had it been put into words earlier. My particular favorite lines are

'Never shall I fail my comrades…

Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country.

I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained

and will fight with all my might.

Surrender is not a Ranger word…

Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the

Ranger objective and complete the mission,

though I be the lone survivor.'

Surrender is not a Ranger word. Sadly I seem to have led a team of Rangers in name but not in heart."

"It is not surrender when you return to the judgment of your own country. And I do know the Creed, and can't say I'm surprised that you skipped this:

'I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy

and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.'"

"You LEFT me to stand alone!" Brixton hissed.

"It was a court martial! Your superiors were not the enemy. Your action led us all to embarrass ourselves and our country. I have had to live with that every day, and watch it tear things away from me as well."

"Well, let me help. I'll kill you and let your kids join you. Oh, and that blonde pissant- care to give me his name? I promise I'll make it quick."

William's eyes narrowed.

"No?" Brixton grinned as he slowly finished his approach. "I'll find him anyway."

"You can't win, you know. Cowardice can win battles but never the war."

Brixton laughed, "Naïve dreamer, White Hat. You're the last battle in this war. It's over. You can't win because you haven't got what it takes. Your son did - you should have read some of his files, entertaining, but he's cursed with that Spencer DNA. Your stubborn refusal to do what is necessary when those above refuse to see the danger, such a waste. I admit I had mixed feelings about killing your boy. Thought the FBI would handle that, too bad for him."

"No one has the right to make that call, Brixton, not me and certainly not you. While I don't deny I've cursed my son, it isn't a weakness and given the chance, I would dare say he is the man you and I could only hope to one day have been."

The two men stood nose to nose.

"I'll find out for myself, but I think I'll finish the date I started with your daughter first," Brixton snickered.

William swung his fist, landing a hard hit to Brixton's jaw and twisting the man's upper body away. His anger rode his breath in huffs.

Brixton erupted in laughter as he pulled himself straight once more.

"Finally, a little backbone!" he spit the blood from his mouth and returned his own swing into William's diaphragm. The air rushed out of his lungs… his chest tightened as he doubled over in pain, gasping for air.

"Well, that weight doesn't seem to offer any more cushion, so tell me, how is this worth it?" Brixton hounded.

William coughed, "I have something worth fighting for… that's what it's worth."

The sound of tires throwing gravel echoed to their ears.

"Something to fight for… like your son out there rushing into danger for a man who couldn't even be honest with him?" Brixton crowed.

He knew Brixton was right, but William couldn't help himself. He let his eyes flash to the door just a fraction of a second until he could see Eliot's shadow cast on the frosted window, and then returned them to his opponent. That moment of distraction was all Brixton wanted. William felt an impact at his ankle, knocking his leg loose and forcing him to stumble forward, still half hunched over trying to breathe. He saw a flash of Brixton's sleeve before a sharp pain surged out from his nose. His knees buckled and dropped beneath him. The room went black and silent.

"Dad!" Eliot's pained shout echoed through the room as he saw his father's head hit the stage floor. He stood a couple steps in the door. He stared at the man who had been a thorn in his side for two days. The man was seventy but looked far younger. His tall frame was solidly built and toned.

"Eliot… such a pleasant surprise," both slowly approached one another, "I thought I'd have to track you down. Thank you for making it easier. Now I'll at least get the satisfaction of your father seeing your corpse before he dies."

"Bring it," Eliot growled as he raised his loosened fists.

Brixton grinned, "Looked forward to this."

He swung a right at Eliot's jawline, who quickly bent back ducking the shot. Eliot threw a light swing, hampered by his awkward laid back position that hit the man's left lower ribs. His opponent pulled back half a step to check the damage as Eliot stood full up.

"Ooo… first strike, but weak - not even a crack. I'm not sure it will even bruise," Brixton teased as Eliot snorted.

Eliot gave charge throwing several swings at Brixton's torso. Most of his blows were blocked before Brixton gave up defense, choosing to plant the heel of his palm through Eliot's upper jaw and nose. Both stepped back to assess their injuries - broken ribs for Brixton, a broken nose and bloody lip for Eliot.

"I'll give you that, boy," Brixton huffed as he fingered his broken ribs. "You aren't afraid of your anger… not like your father. Makes you a better soldier, yet you're still lacking."

Eliot snorted again, "I'm just warming up." He swiped his sleeve across his face, clearing some of the blood for a few moments.

A smile crept across Brixton's lips, curling at one end. His fingers danced at his sides as he stepped confidently forward toward Eliot's angry form.

An arm length separated the two determined soldiers. Neither moved, not wanting to give any warning to the other. Eliot's arms held position partially raised, the hands in loose fists. Brixton's arms matched position, but his fingers remained loose and straightened. The weak stance of the hands concerned Eliot. His opponent was an Army Ranger who had killed his entire former unit. The oversight in stance had to have meaning.

"Scared… Spencer," Brixton taunted.

'Are you?" Eliot deflected, looking for any tell or sign of the man's plan.

Brixton's head tilted slowly to the side before he let out a hiss and lunged forward. Another sound caught Eliot's ear at the same moment - a metallic sound rubbing against a non-metallic surface. He couldn't take time to think about it before reacting. Brixton's arm came at his chest. Eliot brought both his arms up, one hand drove up at Brixton's wrist to deflect the attack, while the other hand deflected the swing off to Eliot's side. The reaction was enough; Brixton recoiled, allowing Eliot to see the object now in the man's hand. His mysterious metal sound made sense. Brixton's sleeve had concealed a sheath. He now held a six inch blade custom combat knife. The tip hooked and the blade double sided.

Brixton glanced at Eliot's alert expression. "Oh, you didn't count on me having anything beyond the gun, did you?" he laughed, "Surprise."

Eliot took a half step back to allow himself more warning.

"You're scared now, aren't you, boy?" Brixton howled with glee. He lunged again, aiming at Eliot's abdomen. The latter crossed his wrists and brought them down hard on Brixton's hands, knocking away the strike. Brixton spun the arm around arcing back to strike at Eliot's chest once again. Eliot deflected the attack up and to his side.

"Effective, I knew you would be interesting to kill at least," Brixton remarked. He stood with the knife hilt firmly back in the webbing of his hand. Once more he tilted his head slightly and lunged.

The knife soared in the direction of the abdomen. Eliot locked his wrists and swung down again. He hit Brixton's wrist, carrying the man's lunge downward.

Brixton grinned as Eliot played into the plan. His fingers loosened on the hilt. His pinkie finger twirled the butt end, spinning the knife 180 degrees. The hilt stuck out between his thumb and index finger while the blade jutted out of the bottom of his fist. He allowed Eliot's momentum to enhance the speed and strength of his arm as he shoved the knife down and sideways - finding flesh.

Eliot's jaw dropped in a silent scream of pain as the blade found its target. Brixton drove the blade all the way to the hilt, the hooked end burst out the other side of Eliot's left knee. The blade sliced through the joint, shredding ACL, nerves and muscle, chipping bone. Every nerve cried in agony. Eliot pulled back, his right leg stepped back toward the middle of the room. His left leg locked with the blade through the joint. The inability to bend his knee caused him to lose his balance. His left side dropped; the floor met his rear with a harsh crunch. New pain signals roared up his spine and laid Eliot out flat.

"Ah, Eliot… you've got heart for this, but you still lack the last element to be the perfect soldier," Brixton sighed. "You narrow your mind to the darker realm. I was honest with you about the fact that I would kill you. Naturally you defend yourself, but you assume each strike to be a kill shot. You fail to consider that I would aim to kill you slowly. Your assumption that by keeping me from a fatal strike, you are safe… THAT is your mistake."

Eliot clenched his teeth to rein in his pain. He bounced the back of his head against the wood floor to temper the chaos of signals running through his brain. His eyes barely registered the view in front of him. The cart of tables was half an arm's reach off his left shoulder; the wood ceiling twelve feet above him. Brixton was talking near his feet, but the blurry, watery eyes of confused pain refused to focus.

He reached his left hand out to the railing at the end of the cart. After a couple fumbled grasps, his fingers found the metal and gripped firmly. Eliot pulled himself forward to a seated position. His leg throbbed, causing him to wince a moment.

Brixton sighed and shook his head. "Ah, boy," he bashed his right knee toward Eliot's face. Eliot recognized the shape coming toward him and dropped back out of the shot.

"Slow learning curve, boy," Brixton lectured. He grinned as he replaced his right leg on the ground. His left immediately rose. The heel fell like a weight as it struck down onto Eliot's right hand lying on the floor. Brixton dug in, pivoting the heel from side to side – crushing the fingers trapped beneath.

"Gah!" Eliot cried as he threw his left arm across himself, his fingers desperately clawing at Brixton's boot.

"Dark…" Brixton grinned. He glanced down at the fingers trying to pry his boot off. He heard the labored breathing of the man beneath him.

Eliot heaved a sigh as he continued to claw at the boot. He could hear the glee-filled breaths of Brixton standing over his right thigh. His bleeding, throbbing left knee prevented most of the range of motion he held in his right leg. Brixton's words echoed in his head. A half snort/half sigh escaped his lips as he tugged in vain.

"Boy," Brixton began.

"Grrr…" Eliot growled as he let go of the boot, curled his left arm and drove his elbow full force into the inner thigh of his opponent, as close to the abdomen as he could reach.

Brixton staggered back several steps, doubling over in shocked pain. Eliot lay back, clutching the now free right hand to his chest. Several of the fingers were broken, at least one was dislocated.

"Well done…" Brixton choked. "That was better. Might have been some hope for you yet… too bad we'll never know." He straightened up; his right hand removed the gun from his rear waistband.

Eliot looked around for any kind of aid or weapon. The only thing in his reach was the table cart. He slapped his left hand at the wheel - unlocking the brake – keeping his eyes focused up at Brixton loading the gun.

"You know, I spent over ten years planning every detail of this campaign. So many moving parts, so many possibilities – it was all perfect. The only problem was always you, Eliot. Every person I killed was predictable. You weren't. I couldn't be sure you would come home – or even that you would answer the phone when your father entered the hospital. I had plans in place and took a chance. You came running… and I was able to follow my plan." He finished loading the gun and began slowly pacing toward Eliot.

Eliot clenched his teeth in preparation of the pain as he sat up. He pressed his palms into the floor, his right hand screamed in pain. His eyes winced a moment before he began dragging himself backward toward the other end of the cart. Each "step" of his right hand caused more pain, as did each catch of the heel of his left foot on the floor.

"I admit, I did wrestle with the need to kill you," Brixton continued. "I read up on you… I confess to a small amount of pride. Your sister was a fun distraction, and I knew the charges would never stick. I DID expect the FBI to keep you busy for longer. That does intrigue me and under different circumstances I would love to have you regale me with how you did it. Instead, I'll live with the curiosity and you…well…" He brought the gun up, aiming for Eliot's face.

Brixton kept half a step out of Eliot's kick range, yet his position drew him too close for the table cart to be an effective weapon. The cart's arc time to reach Brixton was longer than Brixton's trigger pull time requirement. Eliot found himself out of options and out of time - staring down a gun barrel. A slim shot was better than none. His eyes narrowed as Eliot reached his left hand back and slapped the brake on the wheel of the cart. He readied himself for the painful shove he would have to make.

Unfortunately to Eliot's chagrin, Brixton read his mind perfectly. As Eliot began to rise off the floor to throw his shoulder into the cart, Brixton drove his right boot hard into the hilt of the knife still buried in Eliot's knee. The hilt end of the blade tore further into the back of the joint. The tip end of the blade ripped toward the kneecap.

"Agh," Eliot swallowed the scream that tried to burst from his chest, creating a small cry that melded into a prolonged growling howl. He used every ounce of fight to battle his body's instinct – the one urging him to curl up in the fetal position, grabbing his injured knee.

"Thank you, Eliot, for making this an almost worthy skirmish. I will relish the look on your father's face when he sees what I did to you… right before I kill him." Brixton stepped back once more and steadied his arm. Eliot took a deep breath and stared toward the floor. "All that's left for you, boy, is to say good night."

"Good NIGHT!" a snarl echoed in the room as Brixton pulled the trigger.

Eliot heard a crack and several impact sounds surrounding the shot. His eyes immediately rolled to the ceiling to follow the last and closest of the sounds. A bullet hole sprinkled dust into the air from the ceiling over his head. The breath he had been holding released. He allowed his eyes to drop back to the floor. The gun lay between his feet. Brixton lay sprawled face down on the floor half a step away from him. Eliot allowed his eyes to continue surveying. Standing just behind Brixton's previous position was a familiar silhouette.

William stood slightly hunched, his nose dripped blood down his lip and his breath came heaving. He held a large circular, metal object in his hands. It took Eliot a moment to identify it. The object was an indoor flag stand base. Eliot's eyes darted to the stage corner at the end of the room. The camp flag lay haphazardly on the floor. The man allowed the flag stand to drop out of his hands as he shambled along on his bum ankle to kneel next to his son. As he approached, Eliot took stock of himself. His broken nose swelled and collected with the blood from his lip - creating a trickle that had begun to drip off his chin onto his shirt. The index finger on his right hand was the only fully functioning finger on it. Pain ran through his lower back and down both thighs from his abrupt meeting with the floor. Finally, his knee… the joint was torn to pieces. His trip across the floor had created a train of blood running from the blood soaked thigh all the way back to the end of the cart.

William stared at Eliot a moment as he knelt. His arms reached out cautiously, bringing Eliot's head and shoulders against his chest in a gentle hug. Eliot twisted his lip and brow uncomfortably.

"Dad, what is…"

"Thank you," William replied as he released the hug. His son nodded slowly in acknowledgement. As William pulled his arms back, he took a moment to lightly slap his left fingers against Eliot's right temple.

Eliot threw the bottom of his right palm against the temple indignantly. "Dammit, Dad! What the hell?" he demanded.

"That's for nearly getting yourself killed coming here after me," William explained.

Squealing tires outside ceased their conversation.

"About time…" Eliot muttered.

"Your missing friends?"

"Yeah."

The front door popped open allowing Parker and Hardison to enter. Both approached the Spencers carefully.

"Looks like we missed out," Hardison smirked.

"Here," William reached into his pocket and removed the fishing line. "I didn't use it for what I thought… might as well use it now."

Parker grinned, grabbed the line and proceeded to wrap up Brixton's limp form.

"Now you…" William looked at Eliot. He grasped the bottom hem of his shirt and began tearing a strip off.

"Damn, man, you should get that out," Hardison remarked as he reached toward the knife.

"DON'T touch it!" Eliot growled. "I swear, Hardison, I will kill you as S-L-O-W-L-Y AND P-A-I-N-F-U-L-L-Y as possible."

Hardison backed away, wide-eyed. "What? Touchy, touchy, man, I've seen you shrug off getting shot before. This is just a knife."

"A bullet is nothing," William interrupted. "The speed and heat keep it clean. Adrenaline kicks in and you don't feel much past the initial shock. Bullets tend to have a smaller surface area, once it stops moving… well, that's it. It doesn't have the reach to harm much more. This… this is different. A knife has a larger surface area and when placed in the right location, such as this one, will continue to cause damage long after the initial thrust. Every move, every pulse of blood… everything can shift that blade - tearing new areas of flesh and muscle. Essentially continuing to stab over and over again."

Hardison's eyes grew wider. "So wouldn't you WANT to pull it out?"

"You see that hook in the end of the blade?" William pointed at the blade tip as Parker joined them.

"Yeah…" Hardison frowned.

William scratched his chin. "You gone fishing, ain't you, boy?"

Eliot and Parker both snorted trying to stifle their laughter before Eliot responded. "Dad, Hardison doesn't do 'outdoors'."

"No…" William rolled his head side to side hunting for an appropriate word before giving up. "Brainiac, I suppose." Eliot nodded.

"Great, now I'm being insulted by people before I even meet 'em. Thank you, Eliot… thank you," Hardison whined.

"It's your doing," Eliot admonished.

"So what about fishing?" Hardison sighed.

"Fish hooks have barbs on the end, much like the hook of this blade. They enter cleanly, but try to pull back and it will tear another hole even larger coming back. If you pull that knife out, you may as well finish amputating it for him," William explained.

Hardison nodded slowly and swallowed. "Leaving the knife - got it."

"Still need to slow the bleeding," Parker observed.

"You," William pointed at Parker.

"Parker," she answered.

"Parker… unusual but a very beautiful name… can you brace him for me?" he asked.

She nodded and knelt down behind Eliot, pulling his back down on her knees and placing her hands on his shoulders to keep him still.

"You help me here, son," William continued as he dropped the strip of his shirt next to Eliot's leg. Hardison stared at the spectacle.

"He means you, Hardison," Parker barked.

Hardison rolled his eyes around, "Oh." He knelt down next to William, near Eliot's chest.

"I'm gonna lift his leg, I need you to lay this under there just above the knee," William explained.

"Yeah, got it," Hardison replied.

William placed his left hand under Eliot's thigh; his right hand grasped the upper calf. He took a breath and lifted slowly – keeping the knee as still as possible. Once he had lifted a few inches, Hardison slid the strip under the leg and William lowered Eliot's leg carefully.

"Not bad," he laughed as he slapped Hardison's shoulder. He pulled the ends of the strip up and began to tie a tourniquet above the wound. Eliot clenched his teeth but remained silent.

"That's a lot of blood," Hardison fretted.

"That's why we're trying to slow it down. The hospital will fix it up."

"You DO realize the hospital is gonna report this to the police, right?" Parker asked.

"Don't have much choice. Someone has to patch it up, and I don't know any surgeons, do you?" William responded.

"Can we worry about it later?" Eliot groaned. "Kind of bleeding out here."

"We'll figure it out in the car," Hardison answered. Parker raised her eyebrow at him. "What? It works for Nate."

Eliot awoke in the hospital. He was alone in the recovery room. His knee was bound tightly, his hand was braced and a bandage covered his nose. The IV in his hand led up to the saline bag and what he could only guess was morphine. No pain signals ran through his brain at the moment. It was a pleasant feeling. The lack of handcuffs on his wrists was another. He lay back and listened to the hum of the machines and the muffled hospital sounds in the hallway. He was alive… and so were those he cared about most. Now was the time to recuperate before the next crazy came around looking for trouble.

"You're awake! My boy!" Evelyn shouted as she entered the room. William, Dillon, Parker, Hardison and Quinn all followed suit. Quinn's arm was bandaged under the sleeve, while William's face showed bruising and a swollen nose. Eliot sat up carefully as Evelyn squeezed him tight.

"How you feeling, son?" William inquired.

"Not feeling much of anything… morphine's working," Eliot laughed.

"You were pretty out of it by the time we got here. Figured we'd get some grub while you were sleeping it off," Hardison explained.

"Brixton was picked up by the sheriff. They also cleared out his motel room. I have a feeling he won't be getting out again – EVER," Parker added.

"What about us?" Eliot swallowed.

"That would be classified information that I am not at liberty to divulge," Hardison cracked.

"We'll tell you later," Parker grinned.

"I probably don't wanna know," Eliot replied.

"We did talk to Nate and Sophie… they send well wishes and will be having a nice LONG talk with us when they get back from their honeymoon," Hardison added.

Eliot glanced around the bed before a thought occurred to him. "How is Jesse doing?"

Evelyn smiled wide. "She came out of the coma while you were in surgery. It was brief, she's sleeping right now. The doctors were still with her trying to determine how she's really doing, but she IS back with us."

He smiled and nodded.

"I'm just grateful to have all of you alive and that this whole mess is done. I've never been so scared in all my life!" Evelyn cried.

"I couldn't agree more," William concurred as he pulled her against him.

A nurse ducked into the room. "The doctor is able to see you about your daughter now, also she has a visitor wanting to see her," she noted.

"Wonderful! Let's go!" Evelyn shouted.

"Parker, hand me those…" Eliot pointed at a pair of crutches against the wall. Hardison glared at him. "What? Yeah, I know, but I can barely feel it – I know it won't hold me up."

"We'll wait for you, dear," Evelyn smiled.

"You and Dillon go on ahead, I want a word with Eliot and his friends, then I'll be sure to get him up there with me," William insisted.

"Excuse me?" The nurse frowned. "He shouldn't be getting out of that bed."

Hardison gently patted the air in front of her. "He's using the crutches… take the win."

The nurse shook her head and walked out.

"We'll see you up there." Evelyn gathered Dillon and exited the room.

William swallowed before addressing the group. "I wanted to say thank you to all of you. You risked your lives to keep my family safe from my mess with no regard for yourselves. I can never repay the debt."

"Eliot's our family… which makes you family. You have to be there for family. I know Eliot would do the same for me," Hardison admitted.

"I would," Eliot breathed. He raised his hand, Hardison slapped it twice and fist bumped him.

"All the same," William continued. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Parker smiled. She tapped Hardison's arm and they pulled back to the door. Quinn dipped his head and headed out.

"Eliot…" William began.

"Dad, I think we said it all," Eliot interrupted. William nodded.

"Thanks…" William insisted.

They both sat in awkward silence for a moment.

"So… shall we?" Eliot grinned.

"Yeah," William grabbed the crutches and brought them over. Eliot eased his leg over the edge of the bed, and lined himself up on the crutches. He grasped the crutch with his right thumb, careful not to jar his hand. Two breaths later he pushed up onto his feet.

"You good?" Hardison called from the door.

"Yeah," Eliot responded. He took a few steps. William kept alongside him as they followed Parker and Hardison out into the hall.

Eliot hobbled into Jesse's room on the crutches. Everyone was gathered around the room. One new face caught his attention. A young man stood near Jesse's side, adorned in a crisp dress shirt and khaki pants.

"Hello?" Eliot frowned.

"You must be Eliot, Jesse talked about you quite a bit…" the man began.

"Flynn?" Eliot guessed.

"Yes, sir," Flynn answered. Eliot glanced at the watch on Flynn's wrist. The initials engraved in the face read N. C.

"N?" Eliot questioned.

"Nigel Flynn Carter… I go by Flynn. It gets a little more respect among the younger crowd. It is hard to market to the younger generations when they're stuck on your name," Flynn explained.

"Makes sense," Hardison answered.

"Flynn got a flight out as soon as he could, isn't that sweet?" Evelyn smiled.

"Nice to meet you," Eliot sighed.

"Glad to hear you getting along," Jesse's voice cracked.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Flynn fussed over her.

"I'm sore, but I think I'll live," she answered.

Eliot crowded up against the bed. He kissed Jesse's forehead gently.

"Did you get him?" Jesse asked, eyeing Eliot's condition.

"Yeah, we got him. Dad did," Eliot replied. Her brow raised at that. "It's a LONG story."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm great… now." Eliot smiled are her.