The young Marshal collapsed onto the couch with all the grace of a broken puppet, limbs flopping uselessly around his body, blood pulsing from his abdomen. His breath shuddered in shallow gasps and his startled eyes turned to Neal… shooting him a look of panic before they fell closed. The three weapons swung to Karl.

"STOP!" Neal practically screamed pulling four pairs of eyes to his face… and three guns in his direction. "Put it away" he begged his friend. "It will be ok." His eyes darted to the young man bleeding on the couch.

"I would listen to him." Richards snarled. "Nick here isn't worth it. He knows he deserves what's coming."

"Just let him go. He's not part of this." He kept his tone even. If Richards knew how badly he wanted Karl to live he would kill him instantly. Neal swallowed his fear and forced himself to breathe, glancing again at the injured marshal… still breathing, but he looked terrible. Too much blood was spilling into the couch, leaving the kid sickeningly pale and far to still. His arms folded around him… one hand resting in his lap the other drooping over the arm of the sofa, his head resting at an awkward angle against his shoulder. Neal swallowed again, the young man needed help… right now. With a tremendous effort he pushed himself to his feet and faced Richards. "You have me. I'll go with you quietly."

"Check upstairs" Richards ordered one of the enormous men with him. "Suddenly you're a hero, Nick? I don't think so…" he shook his head "you killed my daughter, you are a monster not a hero." Neal heard Karl's shocked gasp. There went another friend…Karl would never forget those words, but he would get him out of here alive. He drew himself up as straight as he could manage… his legs trembling harshly.

"Whatever I am, I'm offering to let you do what you want to me without a fight…" he shook his head as he met that frigid gaze "Johnny, I know you don't want to keep killing innocent people… these men… they had nothing to do with what happened to Megan. Agent Thompson had nothing to do with it either. You can kill me… maybe I even deserve it, but please just leave these men alone." For one moment he thought he might have gotten through to the man Richards used to be… for one moment he thought Karl was out of danger.

Then the .38 in Johnny Richards' hand came up too fast and Neal had no time to make the choice… it was blind terror that caused his already aching left leg to give out… that caused him to stumble against the agent beside him knocking them both off balance as the weapon barked a second time that night.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Nathen heard the hard knock on the front door. He silently crept to the top of the stairs… he needed to know what was happening. The marshal's voice carried up to him clearly and the boy breathed a sigh of relief. Then a deafening crash echoed below, followed suddenly by the crack of a gunshot. He back pedaled quickly away from the stairs. He didn't see the hallway he fled down, finding himself once again in a dirty New York alley, held by rough hands slamming him against the brick wall harshly… the shots whining around him as he dropped bonelessly to the ground and prayed they didn't hit him. The agent falling… the blood, so much blood. All over the motionless figure on the ground, flowing from his chest and dribbling from his mouth smeared into his vacant eyes… on the two women trying to force life into the limp body… on the arm and hand of the strong, gentle man who bent over him… assuring him that it was ok… that he was ok, lifting him to his feet, promising they were gone… that they weren't going to hurt him…

Slamming into his bedroom door snapped the boy back to the present. Richards was back… he wasn't safe. He banged the door closed behind him… remembering his Ph̀x's instructions he hastily locked the door, secured the emergency ladder and tossed it from the window. Then he hesitated… Ph̀x was in trouble. Richards would kill him and he wouldn't do it quickly either… the memory the broken man in the hospital bed, so still and covered with bruises like he had never seen, tubes in his mouth and nose… in his arms and chest too, floated through his mind… could he really leave him and let that happen again. Ph̀x might not survive this time "That's why you are going to call the police" the memory of his father's voice drove him suddenly forward. Go down the ladder, run next door, call the police… it was simple. He could do it. With that the small boy swung his legs over the window sill and pausing only long enough to close the window, he scrambled down the swaying rope ladder.

It only took a brief moment to scale the wooden fence into Mrs. Faueng Fung's yard. He sprinted to her back door and pounded on the glass frantically… seconds passed… he pounded again… time stretched to eternity… he struck the glass until it rattled in its frame. Still no one came. Nathen's blood froze even as he heart pounded heavily… he gasped, struggling not to panic… not to sink to the patio and sob. Turning away from his friend's door he climbed her fence into the next yard... slamming his aching fist into that door… no one answered there either, except the huge dog that lunged at him barking ferociously, from the shadows under an oleander bush. With a childish squeal he ran desperately and threw his small body over the chain link fence into the concrete drive way… he landed hard, the scorching cement tearing the skin of his hands and knees.

Choking on a sob the child ran to the street… someone would help him… he just had to find someone… but the busy neighborhood seemed abruptly devoid of life. "Please, please, please!" he cried internally. Exhausted, Nathen sank to the sidewalk in the shadow of a bush wrapping his arms around his knees… shivering despite temperatures that still lingered in the high nineties. He sniffled softly… his hands and knees burned, his heart still pounded his ribs like a crazed jack hammer and his breath came in terrified sobs… He wasn't giving up… he wasn't!

A car turned onto the dark street... moving slowly, as though looking for a house number… Nathen unfolded himself and ran forward, waving frantically. Relief flooded his reeling mind as the car slowed to a stop. He couldn't believe it… it couldn't be… but he recognized the two men that tumbled hurriedly from the car. The little boy grinned… everything was going to be alright.

Agent Peter had his hand on Nat's shoulder... relief and concern mixing in his eyes. Agent Jones grinned a little grin at him. It was ok now… they were safe.

The crack of another gunshot shattered the illusion in a heartbeat.

"Ph̀x" the boy whimpered.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Peter tapped the steering wheel impatiently. The drive from the airport was incessantly long. Apparently, Peter thought as a police car zipped past him impatiently, the speed limit was only a suggestion out here… the Arizona drivers must have driven Neal crazy. Jones sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hand gripping the door, but he didn't comment on Peter's driving or that of the rest of the speeding traffic.

The dessert sun sank into the rugged mountains behind them with a flare of brilliant colors before the GPS directed him to exit the busy, fast moving highway. Five turns later he found himself on a dark quiet street in a sleepy neighborhood. He peered through the dark straining to see the house numbers as he passed.

"WATCH OUT!" Jones cried. Peter jammed the brakes sharply noting suddenly the small figure that darted from the shadows into the street waving desperately. With a cold start he recognized the boy. He scrambled out of the car to meet the disheveled child. Nate was trembling, his hair askew, blue eyes red with tears and wide with relief. The boy smiled at him, a crooked frightened smile. Peter rested his hand on the slim shoulder squeezing gently and giving him a reassuring smile. The kid looked ready to bury himself in Peter's legs…

The gunshot made them all jump.

"Ph̀x…" the boy whimpered, his eyes turning to the lighted house just up the quiet street. Peter flinched as he saw light streaming from a door hanging brokenly from its hinges. Jones' voice carried through the night as he called the local police.

"Stay in the car" Peter directed the sobbing child. He received a tiny nod in response. He took it as agreement, though the kid is a Caffrey, he thought ruefully, maybe I should get the promise in writing…

Drawing his weapon he moved toward the house, feeling Jones fall in behind him. His steps sped up until he was running by the time he reached the door. The scene inside made his stomach clench painfully.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

For Karl Young the world seemed to slide into slow motion. The gun came up, as the face behind it twisted with dark rage. There was not time to move… to even think, yet he could see each detail as the horrible moment played out… the tiny spurt of flame from the weapon, the look in Mike's eyes as the young man stumbled against him. Suddenly the sound filled the room as they fell together, the world twisting into a kaleidoscope until he found himself on the floor looking up at the high ceiling. Mike… Dan… Nick… whoever the man was sprawled across him, and Karl felt something warm and wet seeping through the fabric of his shirt… he swallowed coarsely. Other than the soft throb of his elbow and hip where they struck the tile floor he didn't think he was hurt, which meant… he turned his eyes to the face that rested on his shoulder. The blue eyes just inches from his met his gaze.

"Don't move…play dead." The young man mouthed desperately before rough hands jerked him away. Karl almost protested but the plan was sound. McFerrin needed help immediately… Karl needed back up… this was the only way they would get help. He allowed to his eyes to mostly close. The slim crack of vision he allowed himself was obscured by the mountain of a man who bent over him suddenly. Karl forced himself to stay still and loose as a huge hand shoved his shoulder roughly… letting his head roll back and forth in an easy pivot with the harsh shaking.

"Still breathing." The man said gruffly "but he's down for the count. Even if he does manage to drag himself to a phone and get help we'll be long gone." The man lumbered to his feet and out Karl's line of sight letting him catch a glimpse of his friend, fallen onto the couch beside the injured young marshal like his legs had simply given out. Other than the blood running down his left arm and dripping from his hand onto his knee he didn't appear to be seriously injured... Karl suppressed a smile when he noticed the young man furtively checking Mc Ferrin's pulse.

"Nothing upstairs, Boss" the second enormous man descended back into the room. "There was a kid's room up there but the kid wasn't in it." Karl heard the man in charge growl in frustration before he jerked Mike violently back to his feet.

"Where is he?"

"Safe" Mike grinned despite the flicker of fear and pain Karl saw in his eyes. A hard shove sent Mike back to the couch

"We'll find him, you know." He snarled "then he will suffer … just like my little girl suffered."

"Johnny…" Mike began… stopped… then began again "Johnny… if I had known she would get sick... I would have left you out of that scam. If I had known you were using company money… client's money... I would have left you out-." His voice cut off abruptly as Johnny landed a hard right in his midsection driving his breath away.

"Bring him!" Johnny snapped and one of the men moved forward to sling Mike over his shoulder.

The room erupted with sudden sound and movement.

"FREEZE FBI!" a voice commanded loudly "PUT HIM DOWN!"

Karl rolled to the side grabbing his own discarded weapon and continued the motion up to his knees as the thug dropped Mike as unceremoniously as a sack of potatoes to the floor beside him. Karl watched the men glance between him and the new arrivals… Three weapons clattered quietly to the floor as the criminals reached the conclusion there was no escape. He drew a relieved breath before he crawled to his friend's side. Whoever Mike really was he had been a good friend tonight.

"Neal!" one of the men in the door way called out worry coloring a vaguely familiar voice. Karl mentally added another name for the man who moaned softly as he pushed himself over to his back gingerly… "Don't move" the man said as he dropped beside the two men. Mike didn't listen, continuing to elbow himself upright.

"Being dropped from six feet up…" Mike grinned, though his breath seemed a bit ragged "not fun at all…I do not recommend it." He rubbed his shoulder… his head. The older man chuckled, his brown eyes still concerned. His look fell on the younger man's bleeding arm.

"What's your position on getting shot?" his tone was strangely light, Karl thought, given the situation, but Mike laughed quietly as he moved his hand to clutch the wound on his upper arm, just below the shoulder.

"Not any better, definitely unpleasant." The young man muttered as he studied his ruined shirt. "I'm ok...it's pretty much stopped bleeding" his eyes darted to the couch and the silent, still man slumped there. His expression turned instantly grave "McFerrin?" The older man gave his shoulder a brief pat of reassurance as he turned his eyes to the man who was cuffing a still muttering Richards with a look of suppressed fury.

"Jones…?" he looked up with a nod and a final cinch of the cuffs, he moved to the motionless form sprawled on the couch.

"Still alive… but he's not doing well boss... paramedics should be on their way though."

"What about Nate?" fear lurked in the blue eyes as he asked?

"Waiting in the car… at least…" Burke smiled "he's supposed to be… though he is your son." The younger man smiled at the barb.

"Yes he is" he said proudly as he caught sight of the small boy lingering behind the broken door frame. "Yes he is." He sighed quietly a troubled look rising in his eyes.