Jason released Zahl and fell to his knees beside James. Tugged off the raincoat and tore off his shirt, heedless of the pain in his arm. It was nothing to what James was facing, had faced. He pressed his shirt to the wound, soaking the impossible amount of blood—

Gunshots. Cries. Shouts. Jason tore his gaze from James to see a seething torrent of people surging toward the scaffold. Close by, a few soldiers squared off against a group of unarmed people, but another group of soldiers stood in front of them, blocking the way, and gunfire went off.

Revolution. The word blazed across Jason's mind.

James gasped for breath. "Hold on," said Jason. "Help will come."

James grasped Jason's hand; already his grip seemed weak. "Jason," he gasped. "If I don't—When you see Tasha, tell her my deepest gratitude all she has done. The same for you. I—" He stiffened as if in pain.

"Don't speak," said Jason.

James nodded. Jason kept the cloth pressed to James' chest. He had to stay there, had to give him that lifeline—and be there in case the unthinkable happened.

Zahl had the microphone in his hand; only this time, his hand trembled visibly. "I will kill your king if you do not stop rioting! It is futile! You must give up. You must—"Jason didn't even know where the shot came from; there were so many people surging up to the platform. Zahl staggered, fell back; he clutched the rope for a moment, blood spilling down the side of his face. Then he fell backwards into the crowd and disappeared, as if beneath the waves of an ocean.

Just Elena, looking down at Jason. The first time he'd ever seen fear in her eyes. She dropped her gun, and dropped to her knees beside him.

"Jason," she said. "Tell them who I was. Tell them I was on your side all along—it was just a bluff. Just a way to survive."

"I can't, Elena."

"Why not?"

"Because I know the truth."

"Truth is all in how you look at it." She attempted a smile.

"No, it isn't, Elena."

She touched his cheek, a fleeting icy touch. "Well then. It's been fun. You haven't seen the last of me, Jason Whittaker." A spark of adamancy replaced the fear in her eyes; she leaped off of the scaffold, and was gone.

Just James. He had lapsed into unconsciousness. Around them the sea raged; the only calm place was this island. Jason felt exhausted; he wanted all this to end. Rain streamed down his cheeks, warm like tears. Perhaps they were tears; he wasn't sure.

A man climbed up beside him. Then two others, like men from a shipwreck, seeking safe shores. One of them knelt beside James. "I'm a doctor," he said. He pressed his fingers against James' pulse, and nodded. The other two men lifted James onto a makeshift stretcher—made of what looked like broken pieces from the barricade and coats tied to it, some of the fabric splattered with blood.

"We've got to get him to a hospital."

"I'm coming with."

The doctor nodded. "You look like you need a hospital yourself."

Jason followed them down the stairs, his mind and body numb. At the bottom, familiar faces greeted him. Munroe, Dana, and Saul. They came with him, making their way through the crowd to a bus. Gunshots burst through the square, but the western side at least seemed to be secured by the rebels.

The bus made its way through the streets; they passed fires and firefights. The whole city looked like it had broken into revolution.

Tasha. Where was she? Was she safe?

Another clatter of gunshots. A bullet hit the windshield; the bus swerved down another street and pulled up in front of the hospital. Jason, carrying Elena's gun, walked beside James' stretcher with the others, all holding guns or rifles, as they marched inside.

When the doctor demanded that James be treated, none of the hospital staff resisted. In fact, they seemed awed to be in the presence of the prince. They even made sure that armed guards were posted outside his room.

Jason was barely able to stand; Munroe insisted that Jason get some medical attention of his own. By this time, many others had come in with gunshot wounds, knife wounds, burns, and Jason waited his turn with the rest. He had become used to getting makeshift treatment for injury; a hospital was a luxury. He'd been on the run for so long, and before that, been undercover, he'd almost forgotten what normal people did in a situation like this. Well, this situation was anything but normal….

A deep ache tugged at his heart, worse than his wounds; he needed to see Tasha. Dana and Saul said that they would try to find her, while Munroe stayed with Jason.

They brought Jason in to be treated. The nurse took his vitals—she said he was dehydrated and gave him some liquids while she bound up his shoulder wound with a proper bandage. Then she worked on his leg, and she said that while it was healing, it still was in danger of infection, and that he should stay off of it as much as possible.

She dismissed him for another patient, a boy whose arm was half blown away. He reminded Jason of young Josef; Jason wondered if Josef was okay, and if he'd gotten caught up in the revolution he'd longed for.

Munroe met Jason in the hallway; Dana and Saul hadn't returned yet. "I'm going," said Jason. "I have to find her."

"You're in no shape to—"

"I can't just sit here and wait."

"Just a little while longer. Give them some time."

"I already have," said Jason, but he sat down in the waiting room, which was crowded with men, women, children, many of them injured. Babies cried. A man staggered about the room, half-dazed, covered in dust and blood.

"It is like our inner wounds have been exposed," said Munroe, "but it is better than the secret suffering behind our walls each day since the regime began….You have helped our country in immeasurable ways, Jason. Just by finding the prince…."

"We still haven't heard if he's okay."

"I'll go find out," said Munroe. He made his way through the crowd.

Jason wondered if he should just leave, but he wanted to find out about James as well. Reluctantly, he decided to wait.

Munroe returned, his face grim. "He's still in surgery," he said. "They wouldn't tell me much—but they did say that he has maybe a 50-50 chance."

"That isn't much."

"You helped save his life out there."

"He saved my life. He took the bullet for me."

"He showed that he was willing to sacrifice his life for someone else—and that, more than anything else, is what sparked the revolution. We didn't want to see an execution in the first place, but we especially didn't want to see the execution of a man worthy of the title of king. Someone we could follow, the opposite of Von Warberg. Then to see him shot down—the dam broke, so to speak."

"He might not live to see what he caused."

"I think he knows. At least he knows what you have done for him."

"I'm the one who got him into all this!"

Munroe gave a small smile. "You did act rashly that day you blew your cover, but it showed how much you cared about our people."

"That's not the half of it. I let Elena get to me. I…thought I was falling in love with her."

"We were all taken in by her. Saul was in love with her too, I think. She just happened to know you were an agent, and that was more important than her mission with us."

"I led her right to James. He could have lived out his days in peace."

"And we would not have a revolution. We never know how our actions will turn out. We just have to do what we think is best, and hope that everything will come together in the end."

"With God's help," said Jason.

Munroe pursed his lips, and then nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"They aren't back yet," said Jason. "I've got to find Tasha."

"It's dangerous out there."

"That's why I have to go."

Jason stood, and headed out the door, into the rain.

Tasha stood on the balcony, surrounded by soldiers. Von Warberg stood beside her, transfixed by the scene in the square.

"We should leave now, sir," said a soldier at his left.

"I will leave when I am ready!" Von Warberg snapped.

By now most of the square seemed to be secured by the rebels. They'd obtained a tank, and someone had climbed out on top of it. The figure swung a rope like a lasso and tossed it toward the statue. It fell short of the statue's head; the man tried again, and this time it looped over the upraised fist. The noose pulled tight, and then the man scrambled down and the tank backed up. At first nothing happened. Then the statue fell, and its head broke off on the pavement, along with part of its arm.

Von Warberg gasped, as if he'd been injured when the statue broke. "Where is my army? Why are they not attacking?"

The soldier beside him cleared his throat. "There is word that much of the army has defected. They are siding with the rebels."

"Those are treasonous words."

"I am loyal, and will always be—"

Von Warberg drew the gun from his hip, aimed it at the soldier. "Then get me out of here!"

"Yes, sir, right away," said the soldier, fear in his eyes.

Tasha hung back next to the railing, hoping they'd forget about her.

But Von Warberg waved toward her. "Come here, girl."

"I think I'll stay, if it's all the same to you."

"I want you to watch what you have done, and see the city, my city, burning. And then I want you punished. Severely." There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Tasha doubted whether he was sane; if he ever had been, the revolution had sent him over the edge.

She didn't move, but the soldiers grabbed her and dragged her away from the balcony. They followed Von Warberg out into the courtyard, where a helicopter was waiting. Cool raindrops fell on her skin. This is perhaps the last time I will see the sky, she thought, and looked up, letting the rain fall onto her face.

Some soldiers appeared at the other end of the courtyard. "Stop," said one.

"I am your leader," said Von Warberg.

"Not anymore," said the soldier. All of them aimed their rifles at him. "Get down on your knees."

Von Warberg stood, as if frozen. Then he whipped out his gun.

The soldier shot him down. Blood stained his white suit and spilled onto the grass.

The rest of Von Warberg's soldiers surrendered their arms; they all looked shocked that their leader had been shot down.

While the rebel soldiers handcuffed the loyalists, Tasha slipped back inside. She crept through the main gate, half wrenched off its hinges. A tank sat there, as if guarding it; beyond it, several cars were wrecked in the street, burning.

What do I do next? thought Tasha. What is the mission anymore? Jason. My partner. And the king. They would be at the hospital, most likely. She crept down the street; gunfire rattled in the distance. She should have asked the soldiers for a gun, but she didn't want to stay in that place any longer than she had to; it had made her feel claustrophobic.

She came upon a man and woman along the sidewalk. The man had a bandage across his forehead, and the woman supported him.

"Excuse me," said Tasha. "Do you know where the hospital is?"

"That is where we are going," said the woman. Tasha joined them, supporting the shoulder of the man, who looked dazed. A few blocks ahead, a large gray building stood. "The hospital," said the woman.

Smoke poured from a car on the next block. It looked abandoned.

A figure walked through the smoke.

Something stirred in Tasha's heart. She knew who it was, even before she could make out his features. Jason. She started walking faster, and when they were a few feet away, she ran. She embraced him, pressed her cheek against his. She didn't care that it hurt her shoulder; at the moment, nothing mattered but that he was alive, and she was with him.

They walked to the hospital together, and Tasha told Jason what had happened. That Muldavia no longer had a leader. Jason told her that James was in surgery, fighting for his life.

"He is probably our best hope for rallying this country," said Tasha. "If the country stays unstable, I don't see much hope for it. The Soviets might even take over."

"Their days are numbered too, I think," said Jason.

They walked into the hospital together, and though Tasha insisted she was fine, Jason made her get in line for treatment. "Others are more seriously injured than I am," she said.

"Your injuries are probably worse than you think," said Jason. He brushed her face with his hand, near the cut on her cheek. She'd almost forgotten about that; the wound on her shoulder was the worst. But her chest had also been stabbed, and there were cuts on her arm from the knife, not to mention her injured back, and her head from getting knocked out. She'd just been trying to push through it all, but she was probably going to feel it soon. She didn't want to; she wanted to keep moving forward, without acknowledging the pain.

Jason didn't look so great himself. He had a cut across his cheek, a split lip probably from where the guard had hit him, and a bandage peeked from underneath the blue raincoat he wore.

Will I always be so susceptible to him? she thought. It could be awkward if we have more missions together….To her surprise, she wanted to have more missions with him, and it didn't have anything to do with her feelings for him. She trusted him. Despite everything that he had done, he had great potential as an agent, and she couldn't imagine anyone else as a partner.

"All right, Jason," she said. "You win." And she headed for the triage line.

After she got her wounds treated, Tasha rejoined Jason, and waited with him and Munroe well into the night. Tasha nodded off. When she awoke, sunlight was streaming into the window. She lifted her head off of Jason's shoulder.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked.

"James is stable. We'll be able to go in and see him soon."

"Really? That's wonderful!"

They went in a few minutes later. James' face was swollen, partly because he was pumped full of drugs. But he smiled as they entered. "Tasha—Jason. You are safe."

"How are you feeling?" asked Tasha.

"I…don't know….I don't feel much at the moment."

"That's good. You're going to pull through."

"I wasn't…too sure for a while there… Thank you. Thank you both." He reached out a hand; Tasha took it. Then Jason's. His hand fell back onto the bed, as if even that effort was too much for him.

"Have you heard about what is happening out there?" said Tasha.

"They won't tell me much….but I have gathered that there is a revolution. There are rumors that Von Warberg is dead. Is this true?"

Tasha nodded. "I saw it myself."

"Is there anyone in charge at the moment?"

"There's someone in the army," said Jason. "A General Korel, or something like that."

"I hope he will be good for this country."

"He's just the interim leader. If the people have anything to say about it, I think I know who they'll choose."

James' brow furrowed. "Who?"

"The heir to the throne."

"Me? I am not sure if the people would want me."

"Well, I know who I'd want to follow," said Tasha.

"We will see," said James. His eyes unfocused, as if he was drifting away from them.

"Yes, we will," said Tasha. And they walked out the door and let him rest.

Jason sat with James in the hospital garden. Tasha was in Munroe's secret office, making last minute arrangements with Headquarters. They'd been ordered back to the US for debriefing. Donovan wanted to know just what had happened to cause a revolution in this small European country.

A butterfly landed on the nearest tulip. Tulips and daffodils lined the walkway; after the rain, a lot of flowers had blossomed, suffusing the gray, damaged capital with color.

Beside him, James sat in a wheelchair. His face was cut and bruised, and he was hunched over, as if in pain. The doctors had had to fix a collapsed lung, and dig out a bullet dangerously close to his heart. His chestnut hair curled over his forehead, and his eyes were bright and alert. Jason felt odd, looking at him; he looked so much like his dad when he was younger.

"You will be a great king," said Jason. "Like your father."

"I could never live up to him. That much I know."

"You aren't the same man as your father. But I think he would be proud of you."

Tears glistened in James' eyes. "As your father would be of you."

"I don't know about that. If I ever tell him what happened, he'll probably be disappointed."

"Why would he be?"

"I've made so many mistakes on this mission."

"It wasn't you, Jason, so much as it was the situation you were thrown into. I can't imagine the pressure you were under. For your first undercover mission, this country threw everything it had at you. But in the end, you helped save Muldavia, just like your father did. I don't know him, of course, but if you're anything like him….well, I almost feel like I know him. And it has been a privilege to know you, Jason." He reached out his hand. Jason took it; James' grip was much stronger than before, and gaining strength with each day of recovery.

The door opened, and several figures walked toward them across the lawn. Tasha reached them first. Then came Rovann, Marija, Zara—and a tall, thin young man who Jason assumed was Stefan, newly released from Zohr, holding his young son on his shoulders. Little Zara danced through the flowers, then came up to James and kissed him on the cheek. "Uncle James!" she said. The others gathered around him, presenting him with gifts.

"It's time to go," said Tasha.

"I know. It's just—after everything—somehow, I don't want to leave. Like there's still a part of me here."

"I will request that we return for the coronation. I think Donovan will agree, now that Muldavia is on our side of the cold war."

They said their final goodbyes, and Jason followed Tasha through the door, leaving James surrounded by people he loved.

Jason sat on the plane with Tasha, who sat by the window this time. "How are you doing?" said Jason.

"Surprisingly, not bad." She was looking out the window, the clouds flowing by like a cottony blanket. She looked at him and smiled. The cut on her face was healing, but it still pained him every time he looked at it. Jason wondered how she was doing physically, but he didn't want to overdo his concern. He was still healing too. But he suspected that invisible wounds ran deeper. This had been a harrowing mission; Jason wasn't going to wish for another one like it anytime soon. But at the same time, he knew he wanted the life of a spy. If they didn't fire him after the debriefing, he was going to stay on, try to be the best agent he could be.

"It's…..going to take a while to recover," he said.

"Yes. We probably will have to work at desk jobs for a while."

"Hm. For some reason, that doesn't fill me with the horror it once did."

Tasha laughed. Then she looked serious. "This hasn't cured you of the desire to be an agent, has it?"

He shook his head. "It's not just the adventure that I want—it's that I'm doing what I believe in. I'm helping my country. Actually seeing results—seeing people set free—it's lit a fire in me, Tasha. I don't think I could stay away if I tried."

"Good," said Tasha. "Because I don't want to have to look for a new partner any time soon."

"You mean—you still want to work with me? I thought, well…I still want to work with you, but…I'm not quite in your class."

"I'm not perfect either, Jason. Maybe I'm better at keeping my faults hidden, but I have them. I think that, despite…our conflict, we can learn to work together, because, all in all, we make a great team. We complement each other—where one is weak, the other is strong, and vice versa. Do you think it is a risk worth taking? Because, even though we have a good thing going, it's not always going to be easy."

Jason thought for a moment. He thought of how perfect she was, and how beautiful, and then there was this spark between them that might complicate things…then again, they had been through so much together. He couldn't imagine severing the bond they'd forged by working with someone else. If Donovan agreed, he wanted to work with Tasha on his next assignment.

"I think, Tasha, that it is more than worth it."

She smiled back at him, and looked back out the window at the clouds as they flew toward home.