* A/N: Jack Fitzsimmons is from the third season episode, "Search for Atlantis". And yes, what Joe does with the duct tape works.

# # #

# # #

Be good? Be good? No way. No way. Joe clenched his jaw, swallowed over and over to keep the nausea down. He had to think. That's what Dad said: when you're in trouble, don't panic, think. Joe forced himself to breath slow and steady. It didn't help.

Cold air shivered against Joe's skin; Randall was moving closer again. Eyes squeezed shut, Joe pressed back into the beanbags, tried to curl into a ball, breathing in tiny gulps to stay as quiet as he could. But noise scraped, metal against boot, and Joe opened his eyes in time to see Randall climbing the metal spikes.

Shivering, Joe waited until the man had vanished into the dark. Faint noise echoed down: shoe soles rasping on metal, a faint creak of wood.

Joe struggled to sit up. Uncle Fitz had taught him and Frank this — Jack Fitzsimmons, Dad's NYPD buddy who now worked for the Justice Department. Uncle Fitz had laughed about Frank and Joe saying they wanted to be detectives, but he'd shown them a couple secret-agent tricks, including how to get out of duct tape. Swallowing against the pain, Joe raised his arms over his head, then swung them down as hard as he could —

It worked just like Uncle Fitz had said. The duct tape stretched, more than enough for Joe to wiggle his hands out of. He ripped off the gag, freed his feet, then had to stop, retching as his stomach rebelled from the blood he'd swallowed. Hopefully Randall wouldn't hear it all the way up there.

Unsteadily, Joe pushed to his feet, caught himself against the wall as another surge of dizziness spun the room around him. It looked as if he was behind a wall — the basement, judging from the cold and the rough stone floor — which meant that the other side would be all bookshelves and fake trees and rabbit burrows. Not something that would let Charlie get in, and Joe couldn't find any cracks or openings that would let him squeeze through. With all the soft, muffling insulation around him, yelling might not do any good, other than bringing Randall down on him fast…

…which was going to happen anyway, unless Joe figured something out.

Hearing metal scraping, Joe froze, then forced himself to look up; it sounded all the way up there.

Think. Think!

First — very important thing. Hands shaking, Joe fumbled, then grabbed the hypodermic and smashed it over and over against the table until the needle snapped off and the plastic cracked, spilling whatever was in it. Panting, Joe swayed dizzily again, caught himself against the table and swallowed hard against another surge of nausea. He had to get out, somehow. Maybe…if Randall had gone out in search of Kris, Joe could get out while he was busy and run for Charlie.

Screams rang out, loud even through the walls — screams that suddenly choked off.

Staring up into the darkness, Joe backed up, his breath coming short, his heart pounding. If Randall had Kris, then he'd be coming back down, and they'd be trapped. If Charlie couldn't find them…

"Joe!"

Joe froze. That was Frank!

Something on the other side of the wall rattled. "Joe, answer me!"

It was coming from the far corner, where the wall met the stone — barely enough space between stone and the slant of the new wall to squeeze into, and the itchy pink insulation made him sneeze, but there was a slight crack there, enough to see through. Not that Joe could see much, but a moving shadow blocked off the light from the other side. "Back here," he said, his voice echoing against the stone, though he'd tried to keep it quiet. Joe glanced up, worried; he didn't hear anything, yet. "Behind the wall — Frank, it's Tag's dad — get Charlie!"

More rattling, then a solid thump, as if Frank pounded the wall with his fist. Joe ripped the insulation aside, cleared a spot, thumped back.

"How'd you get back there?" Frank said. "Where?"

Joe squeezed his face as close to the crack as he could to try to muffle his voice more. "There's some shaft going up to third floor." Joe looked over; his eyes had adjusted enough that he could see more details, and then he realized what he was seeing — the Hardy home had it, too, though Dad had the heating re-done before Joe and Frank were born: old coal boilers had used the older chimneys to heat the house. "The chimney! The bricks have metal spikes — they go all the way up."

"She had it all covered up," Frank muttered. "Go to where it is and thump the wall."

Now more noise echoed down. Hopefully Randall would be slowed a lot by carrying Kris; hopefully Kris would bite his fingers off! Joe stumbled over to the other side where he'd been tied up, and thumped the wall as hard as he could.

"Got it!" Frank said. "Hang on, Joe, just hang on! I'm getting Charlie!"

How would Charlie get back here? "Frank!"

No answer.

Shivering, arms wrapped around himself, Joe stared up into the darkness again; faint growls, cursing, then, clearly, Kris's terrified whimper. No. No. He couldn't just wait and do nothing. When Randall got down here, it'd be that giant, evil man against two kids in a small enclosed space with no way out. Randall would hurt them bad before Charlie could get in — the man might even kill them. While Mar had been teaching them karate (or trying to, in Joe's case), Mar had also been careful to point out the real physics of fights: the cockroach's much-bigger mass plus gravity equalled a no-win situation for Joe and Kris…unless…

Physics, gravity…and then, staring up…no, make that if Randall got down here!

Heart pounding in his throat, Joe shoved the rickety table over, sending everything scattering; the candle puffed out, leaving Joe in near-total darkness. It didn't take much to wrench one of the thin legs off; the wood cracked in Joe's hands, and he was holding a length of polished wood.

A length of wood with a long, pointed screw jutting out of the top.

Joe fumbled through the dark and found the metal spikes: pitted with rust, but they felt solid enough. Tucking the wood under his arm, Joe started up.

Now for the hard part…