St George Hospital, London. 1515hrs Tuesday 22nd February 2005

The young woman in the bed came straight from theatre at the start of Loretta's shift. She'd almost bled to death before the police found her. In hypovolemic shock, she'd stopped breathing but her heart continued to beat strongly until the ambulance arrived. They'd managed to stem the blood loss and get fluids into her system, enough to survive the trip to hospital. The nurse had seen some people die of less and survive worse.

A mess at first, it took the Loretta several hours to sort her out. Doctors surrounded the bed as they worked to increase her blood pressure and lower her heart rate throughout the morning. There had been several occasions where it had been touch and go but her young patient continued to struggle and survive, some inner strength keeping her alive. By the time the relief nurse started at one o'clock, the very experienced sister had been more than ready for her lunch break. Finally stabilised, the young gunshot victim slept peacefully, her identity still unknown.

Watching the clock and waiting for the end of her shift at three thirty, the intercom buzzed. 'You have a visitor,' Mara, the ward clerk announced. Loretta attempted not to roll her eyes at this complication. The turning team would be here soon and she wanted everything ready before she left. It'd had been a hell of a shift but at the end she wanted her patient alive and breathing.

'What is her condition,' the non-descript man in his fifties asked as he approached the bedside. He looked like someone in authority, possibly a detective investigating who injured the young woman. Looking the patient over, his expression stated he didn't like what he'd saw.

'Stable,' the bedside nurse stated warily. 'Do you have any idea who she is?'

Nodding, Johansson took a seat and placed it at the bedside. Few would ever know what really happened and he intended to keep it that way. 'I've spoken to the consultant,' Enrich stated easily. 'He's apprised me of her medical situation. For her safety, we're going to continue calling her unknown female.'

'Is she an American, too,' Loretta questioned, finding the man's accent strange.

'Yes,' Enrich managed a sardonic quirking of his lips. His Nordic genetics not enough to hide the soft north-western US twang. 'As soon as she's well enough to travel, I'll arrange to take her home.'

'I'm afraid,' Loretta warned, 'this young woman has a lot of rehabilitation ahead of her. Her stay in the intensive care unit is just the start of a very long journey.'

'If you knew her determination,' Johansson smirked, 'you'd know that's not going to be the problem. I've seen her survive a lot worse.'

Raising an eyebrow, Loretta wondered how the young woman collected the barely healed wound on her left shoulder. 'You work together?' the nurse asked, trying to gather more information. It seemed they both had dangerous careers.

'We did,' Enrich glanced at the hand resting above the covers. As much as he wanted to offer comfort, it wouldn't be appropriate. Somehow Belden had done it again. Sabina dead, they'd managed to reveal her birth name and unearth her connections to Al Qaeda. That part of her operation could be easily swept under the carpet. DART remained protected leaving only the funds syphoned off some of the world wealthiest companies. Backtracking, they had the coders decrypting bank records. When they found where the money went, they'd have a list of every operative or potential operative in Europe and the US. So far several terror cells across Europe were now in custody.

'Maybe she'll get well enough to go back to work,' Loretta offered as a heavy silence permeated the room.

'Her injuries will make that impossible,' Enrich suddenly frowned. 'I hope she'll want to continue in some capacity. This young woman has an incredible mind. It would be a shame to lose her innate sense of judgement completely. If she can overcome the debilitating physical effects of her injury, I'm sure she'll be employed as a consultant. It might even allow her the life she really wants.'

Shaking her head, Loretta sighed. 'You understand this young woman will most likely be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. The bullet has left her with a spinal cord injury. Until we wake her, it's not clear how much symptom resolution there will be.'

'She's alive,' Enrich answered in a hard tone. Standing, he replaced the chair against the wall. He'd stayed long enough to ensure Agent Belden's identity and ability to survive yet another attempt on her life. Now he had a political nightmare to clean up in the wake of her operation. 'I've requested no other visitors. No one is to know she's here. As far as anyone is concerned, I'm her next of kin. The doctor said you'll be waking her up in the next few days. Please inform me when she's able to talk.'

Leaving his card on the bedside table, Loretta glanced at it before her jaw dropped. Watching the official from the American Embassy walk away, it explained a lot about the special treatment her patient received. It also explained the list of past injuries scarring the young woman's body.

Outside the Intensive Care Unit, Tim watched his boss exit with a precise, determined stride. The ridged way he marched displayed agitation and frustration rather than anger. As much as he'd pleaded to accompany Johansson into the ward, Agent O'Hara didn't receive the permission he so desperately wanted. He'd waited hours for this much information. Enrich still hadn't told him anything. Tim feared for Belden's welfare.

Upon returning to the Embassy earlier this morning Tim learnt Trixie survived Sabina's bullet. Astounded, he listened to the police report three times before believing the woman endured a close range shot and still lived to tell the tale. If her injuries proved bad enough, the CIA would drop her from active duty. Smiling Tim wondered if Trixie hadn't willingly walked into Sabina's bullet. This would be the only way she'd get out of the career he knew she'd come to loath.

He'd tuned into the ambulance channel to find she'd been taken to St George Hospital for emergency care. Tim immediately informed both Jake and Johansson. The preverbal hit the fan, flinging it in every direction. They were still attempting to clean it up when Johansson arrived in England and immediately attended the hospital. He'd been waiting since ten this morning on a hard backed chair for even a small snippet of information.

'She'll live,' Johansson commented over his shoulder to the figure following him, 'but not to fight another day. Not that she fought back in the first place. It's going to send shockwaves through the entire community. I don't know how she managed to pass the initial testing.'

'I warned you years ago,' Tim managed to hold on to his anger. 'She never had it in her, even when her life might be in danger. You should have kept her at a desk. According to Sam, she only managed to shoot the tyres out on their car when she came to suspect Robinson.'

Grunting at the obvious, Enrich stopped suddenly. Finally letting the man off the hook, he stated, 'the bullet caused trauma to the spinal cord. The doctors want to wait another few days to see if the swelling decreases before they attempt to wake her up. They'll be able to tell the level of her paraplegia at that time. Until then, we wait and attempt to sanitise this mess.'

'What about her family?' Tim asked, wondering what needed to be cleaned up. 'After the way we extracted the package, they'll believe her dead.'

'When she wakes up,' Johansson shook his head, 'she can decide the direction she wants to take. It might be better if they continue to believe she's gone.'

Watching Johansson walk away, Tim shook his head. Better for whom, he questioned. Sure, they'd be able to protect the ex-agent from reprisal, but she'd be confined to an undignified existence. Finding a new identity for a paraplegic woman unable to attract attention didn't leave many options.

Thinking hard, Tim smiled as an alternative plan came to him. There would be at least one member of Trixie Belden's immediate family who'd never give up on her. He'd have the resources to both protect her and provide for the disability. Currently barred from visiting, Agent O'Hara wondered how he'd be able locate her medical file then get the information to James Frayne. After all, he owed the young man. Not that it would make up for his error in judgement all those years ago. Still he'd like to see Belden happy and out of this industry, permanently.

St George Hospital, London. 1221hrs Thursday 23rd February 2005

Roused to consciousness slowly, Trixie recalled Sabina's quiet approach. Confused, she tried to open her eyes, to assess the situation. White, the world had turned completely white in the time she'd been out. Panic started to set in as Trixie's mind catalogued the events of the last few minutes. It felt, odd, surreal, and strange. Then her mind asked the question she didn't want to face. Could this be heaven? Had she died and arrived at the pearly gates? The image of Sabina falling on top of her with that look of sheer terror mixed with pure astonishment meant she'd finally taken another's life. Yet she couldn't feel the woman's body weight or a hard surface at her back.

Then Agent Belden's analytical brain finally kicked in. Even beeping directly to her left, a soft hum of air conditioning overhead and lowered voices somewhere near her feet. Beatrix Belden suddenly realised exactly where she'd ended up. Well not exactly where but in what kind of institution and gave a grateful sigh of relief. Last Christmas eve all over again. She'd been shot in the line of duty, again, and she'd survive, again.

She hadn't died, just made the wrong decision. Tim must have been waiting for Sabina, providing back up even though Trixie stated she didn't need his help. He'd come to the same conclusion as Jim. Sabina would hunt down the woman she blamed for her failure. Replaying the events in her mind Trixie knew her bullet missed the target proving Tim saved her. Once again she'd been incapable of harming another human being, even with her own life in danger. It didn't make her feel any better.

Pain lanced through her abdomen as she tried to move. Groaning, Trixie reached towards something scratching her throat and making it hard to breath. Her hand wouldn't move. Pulling from the shoulder she understood it had been restrained. Attempting to raise her left arm, it had been immobilised as well.

Blue eye's flying wide she knew the drugs in her system kept her groggy, almost disconnected from reality. Swimming through the sensation, she needed to fight them, to gain control over her body. It took several seconds before the nurse noticed her patient struggling against the restraints and ventilator.

'You're in hospital,' the indistinct voice clarified. Speaking softly, calmly, a hand touched Trixie's shoulder in a comforting gesture. 'You're on a machine to help you breathe. I'm going to get this tube out of your mouth now. Try not to fight it and don't speak yet. It will only take a few seconds,' the woman promised as Trixie felt the tube slither out. Coughing, she tried to speak only to have the nurse pre-empt her. 'Your throat will be sore. Just take some deep breaths.'

Nodding her understanding, Trixie attempted to focus. Colour started to infuse the dead pan white as a mask blowing oxygen covered her face. As much as she wanted to know what happened to Sabina and her operation, an image of Jim refused to leave her mind. He'd been the unwitting victim in all of this. He didn't deserve it and her heart grieved for the pain he had to be experiencing.

Did he believe her dead? Hoping Tim managed to get him out of danger Trixie felt her mind begin to close down. Going with the feeling, she let the blackness wash over her. There would be plenty of time to set things right in her memory before making her final report. If her injuries proved serious enough, she might be able to live a normal life outside the intelligence community. Repairing the damage inflicted on her relationship with the love of her life after leaving the CIA, that would prove harder, especially if Jim thought she'd abandoned him again.

'Feeling better?' the nurse asked later that night.

'Than what?' Trixie attempted humour in a croaky voice. She'd been in and out of consciousness over the last eight hours. Every time she woke, the woman stood at her bedside with a bright smile and suggested she continue to sleep. It hadn't been difficult to forget about reality and drift back into oblivion.

'You need a frame of reference?' Helga remained cheerful but a cautious expression loitered in her eyes. Coming to stand beside her patient, she asked, 'how are you feeling?'

'I'd like a glass of water,' Trixie stated wondering at the reaction.

Agent Belden began to suspect she'd been seriously injured. The bullet ripped through her abdomen, she remembered that much. Then her legs crumbled from beneath her. At the time she didn't question the reason. Assuming the massive blood loss to be the cause, Trixie re-evaluated the events.

Moving slowly, Trixie tested her upper limbs, moving her fingers, then hands and finally arms. The restraints had been removed so they all worked. Expecting the pain in her abdomen, she winced but knew that part of her functioned as she tried to sit higher in the bed to accept a cup of water.

Able to feel her right heal on the sheets, the rest of her legs seemed like dead wood. Swallowing hard, Trix concentrated on the toes of her right foot. No matter how much she tried, they wouldn't move. Nothing in the rest of her right leg, she attempted to shift the left with the same result.

Looking up into the nurse's gaze, it answered the unasked question. 'You might want to make that a cup of cyanide,' Trixie's voice cracked on the last word. Tears began to stream down her face. She understood only too well. Her world suddenly and irrevocably fell apart.

The CIA would never take her back with an injury like this, not even in a civilian capacity. She'd become a liability. There wouldn't be a law enforcement agency in any country willing to take her on. Career wise, she'd just washed out at the ripe old age of twenty five.

Jim would never forgive her for abandoning him again. Beatrix Belden wondered if she could forgive herself for sleeping with him then leaving. There seemed to be a pattern developing in her life. Even if, by some miracle, she and Jim managed to get over this, she'd never be able to function as a wife and mother. To be anything else after the tragic life he'd led wouldn't be fair to Jim.

Without the use of her legs, Trixie Belden knew she'd be trapped in a wheelchair, limiting her life choices. She'd be confining anyone stupid enough to become involved with her to a life of disability. Jim had suffered enough at the hands of the people he loved. She'd never place that level of responsibility, of burden on him, no matter how much they professed to love each other. The world seemed like a very dark place in that moment. Still she had to know the full extent of her injury.

'My legs don't work,' she managed to croak out past the lump in her throat.

'You were shot,' Helga held her hand, sympathising with the young woman. 'It caused swelling in your spinal cord. The doctors still hope it might resolve with time.'

Hysterical laughter escaped Trixie's tight control. 'Well, time appears to be the only thing I have now,' she couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. It would have been better if I'd died, a voice in her head stated, now I'm going to be forced to live without any hope of happiness.

When Johansson came in the next morning, she'd managed to get her emotions under control. Dismissing the nurse, Trixie spoke about the shooting in an emotionless tone. She'd been over the scene in her head a million times, trying to find the mistakes she'd made. Relating the entire incident as if watching from another perspective, the young agent realised she couldn't have done anything differently.

Cold hard facts issued from her mouth without intonation or feeling. Recording it all, Enrich nodded his understanding. Finally he approached the subject of repatriation to the US for rehabilitation. Nodding listlessly, Trixie signed his documents to get the process started, uncaring what happened to her.

'What about your family?' he asked getting ready to leave. 'Would you like me to contact them and let them know what's happened?'

'I don't have a family anymore,' she stated, disalusionment shining in her tear stained eyes. 'They're as dead to me as these useless legs. Put me where ever you put used up and useless ex CIA agents. I'm no good to anyone.'

'Tim wants to see you,' Enrich tested the waters. Watching for any reaction, he got what he'd expected, nothing but a shrug of her shoulders.

'See what you can do with her,' Johansson glared at Tim once he'd returned to the Embassy. Hoping they shared enough of a bond to break Belden's developing depression. 'At the moment she's refusing to let her family know. Officially, Agent Belden died in the line of duty Tuesday morning. I'm getting pressure up the line to produce a body. For some reason, James Frayne, who's come out about his real parentage and taken Matthew Wheeler's name, is creating. He refuses to believe she's gone.'

'You knew about the previous relationship,' Tim's tone warned. 'You knew about the complication when she started training. You convinced her to use Frayne to keep tabs on Sabina. What did you expect?'

Glaring at the agent, Johansson shook his head. 'If Belden doesn't change her mind by Monday, I'll be forced to send something to Sleepyside for burial. It's the only way James Frayne-Wheeler will give up.'

'I'll see what I can do,' Tim frowned. At least, he thought, James Frayne is reacting to the information I've been feeding him. He's going to be her last hope, if I can't convince her to phone home. I have to get to Jim and tell him to tone it down. It might even work out for everyone if she returns to the US and a quiet life in the Wheeler's Country Mansion.

Bathurst Coperation, New York. 0830hrs Tuesday 8th March 2005

'Jim,' Matthew looked as worried as his voice sounded.

Glancing up from the accumulated clutter on his desk, the dark smudges under Jim's eyes made him look exhausted. Cheeks pale, they made his lacklustre eyes appear shrunken. Lips pursed at the interruption, James Frayne-Wheeler returned to the report capturing his attention. He'd allowed the hair on his face to grow well past a five O'clock shadow. Dressed in a very rumpled shirt, tails cascading over his trousers, the young man looked like an unkempt mess. Matthew wondered when he'd last showered or shaved. According to his PA, getting him to eat had become a major issue.

'Loraine,' Matthew pushed a coffee under his son's nose, 'informs me you haven't left your office since Friday when you missed Dan and Joanne's reception.'

Shaking his head, Matthew hadn't expected more than the grunt he received. 'Loraine is worried about you,' he stated. 'Your friends and family are concerned. Jim, look at me,' Matt demanded. 'I'm worried about you.'

'I'm fine,' the words lacked any authenticity.

Matt shook his head. 'You have to come to terms with Trixie's death, son,' he consoled in the most understanding tone he could muster. 'I know how much you don't want this to be true, how driven you are to disprove it. Her body is arriving from London today.'

'It's not Trixie,' Jim's green glare caught his fathers.

'Drink it,' Matthew ordered, done with being polite he forced the cup into Jim's hand. Accidently sloshing some of the hot liquid onto Jim's fingers, he demanded, 'you need to take a break, Jim.'

'Lorain again,' he spat the word.

Taking time to peruse the room, Jim's office appeared more like his bedroom. He hadn't been back to the apartment he shared with Honey and Brian since his return from London. Sleeping on the couch, he ate only when his sectary forced him too. The usually tidy individual allowed his work environment to become as dishevelled as his appearance. Matthew Wheeler fielded calls from his daughter, Dr Belden and Jim's PA this morning, concerned at his son's continuing reaction to Trixie's death.

'Dad,' Jim's expression of frustration berated his father for the interruption. He knew how this looked. Understood the distress his behaviour caused his friends and family. 'She's alive.'

'You've spoken to every one of my contacts in Washington,' Matthew sighed, hoping rather than believing Jim would come to terms with the truth. 'They've managed to expedite Trixie's release from the UK. Her body will be home this afternoon. Come on Jim, Helen and Peter want to discuss her funeral with you. You say you love her, well it's time you proved it to Trixie's parents who are grieving just as much as you.'

'Trixie's not dead,' Jim stated with an unfailing determination. Rifling through a pile of papers, he found the print out he'd been looking for. 'Here,' he pointed to a line of text, 'this is from St George Hospital in London. An unidentified woman matching Trixie's description was admitted Tuesday morning with a gunshot wound. It's the same day she's supposed to have died. She survived but for some unknown reason, her identity has been supressed.' Picking up another sheet, he shoved it under Matthew's nose. 'Miss Jane Doe is on a commercial flight back to New York this afternoon with a nurse escort. Her injuries have left her paraplegic. I called the hospital last night, at shift change. They wouldn't let me talk to Trix, but confirmed her travel arrangements and gave me all the details of her recuperation.'

'Jim,' Matthew pleaded. He hated seeing the young man's hopes soar on circumstantial evidence.

'I know she's still alive, no matter what the government is telling us,' Jim rounded on his father. Moving to the picture window, Jim glanced onto the early morning vista. Agitated, he'd questioned the information over and over again. Tim couldn't be trusted so he'd suspected the documents from the start. Late last night he'd received the proof he needed.

'Son,' Matthew watched the emotions crossing Jim's face. Taking in a deep breath, he once again looked at the information. It did fit Trixie's description. He could see how Jim could hope, given this data. With his emotions engaged, the intuition Matthew came to rely on didn't have a chance of succeeding.

'I need to take a shower and shave,' Jim suddenly turned on his father, his hand feeling the whiskers on his chin. 'Trixie's plane lands in six hours and I've got a lot to do before then. I'm sorry I haven't been around much to help out with the final arrangements for DART, but this had to come first.'

'Where did you get this,' Matthew held up the papers.

'Trixie's CIA partner,' Jim ground out, 'sent it to me last week. They wanted me to stop the official enquiries and handle this quietly, for her sake. That's why I have told anyone what I've been up to.'

Shocked, Matthew watched Jim start to clean up the cluttered mess on his desk. As if he finally needed to express his every thought, the words cascaded out of James Frayne-Wheeler's mouth. 'I'm going to need to take more time off once my Fiancée arrives home. I've researched spinal cord injury and know how much rehabilitation Trixie's going to need. I managed to get Trix a place at one of the most prestigious rehab hospitals in New York State. It's only twenty minutes from Sleepyside, so everyone will be able to visit her while she learns to cope with her disability. I've even found an architect who specialises in building houses for the disabled. It won't be ready by the time she's released, but I'm hoping we'll live here in New York or at Manor House until then.'

'Jim,' unable to stand it any longer, Matthew reached out to his son. A hand on each upper arm, he forced the young man to look into his eyes. 'Listen to yourself. You're convinced this girl is Trixie and you haven't even seen her.'

Breaking away, Jim placed the full coffee cup on his desk as he searched for a document. Bringing it back to his father, Matthew glanced at the grainy photo. Paling, his shocked expression asked for Jim's forgiveness.

'St George Hospital sent this to me last night,' he stated sadly. Clearing off the couch in his office, Jim indicated Matthew should sit. They had a lot to discuss, in spite of the last minute arrangements he needed to confirm. 'I've never told anyone about the relationship,' Jim's green eyes infused with fury. 'Trixie and I didn't even get the opportunity to discuss the loss of our baby until a week and a half ago. They lied to me about Trixie all those years ago. That's why I knew they lied this time.'

'Jim,' as a loss for words, Matthew Wheeler's heart broke for his son. He didn't understand the oblique references. Yet the girl in this picture could only be Trixie Belden. If this were true, and it looked as though it might be, Jim and Trixie had a long road ahead of them.

Sighing, Jim finally realised he needed to tell someone. 'Sit down. It's a complicated story and it'll explain why I reacted the way I did when I discovered you were my biological father. It had more to do with the loss of our child, of what I perceived as Trixie's betrayal than the anxiety of my Mother to have a red haired, green eyed baby by any means. There are aspects of my past which make me understand the desperation more than I'd like too.'

Speechless, Matthew Wheeler's eyes expressed what his mouth couldn't. It brought a melancholy smile to Jim's lips. 'If you think you've withheld the truth,' Jim couldn't meet his father's astounded expression, 'it's nothing in comparison to the secrets Trix and I have kept from each other and the rest of our family and friends for the last six years.'

Sighing, Jim lifted the receiver on his phone. 'Loraine,' he spoke into the phone, 'I'd like breakfast delivered for Dad and I. Could you call his PA and cancel all his appointments for the rest of the day.' He didn't need to see his PA's eyes roll in an expression that stated "Halleluiah, he's finally back". The sixty year old woman acted more like his mother than employee sometimes. Right now, he appreciated the elastic band of friendship Lorain displayed. 'I don't suppose you've had any of my suits sent out for dry cleaning?'

'It's about time Jim,' she growled, her tone laced with hope. 'They're in your bathroom, along with fresh towels and a razor. Make sure you use them, today.'

Eyeing the man, Matthew patted the seat beside him. 'Start,' he ordered, intrigued by his son's earlier statements. 'It looks like I now have all day.'

'Let me clean up,' Jim hesitated, 'while we wait for breakfast. I'll make sure we're not interrupted until it time to go to the airport. I hoped you'd drive. I'm not sure I can. The anticipation is killing me.'

Nodding, Matthew could wait another half hour. After all it had taken him fifteen years to come to terms with the fact he had a son. Another ten past before he gained the courage to tell Jim about their genetic link. His wife encouraged him to reveal their true relationship from the day of Jim's adoption. He'd had the tenacity to confess the truth to the woman he loved, but not his biological child.

'I understand, Jim,' Matthew grimaced, starring at the closed bathroom door, 'better than I'd like. You and I, my son, are more alike than either of us care to admit.'

AN did you really think I'd leave Jim living a life without Trixie? Could this have finished any other way? Only the epilogue to go (hint you might find out next week).