"Yes, I am aware that contact with persons in WITSEC is forbidden." Peter sighed and ran his hand though his hair in frustration "I don't want direct contact. I simply want you to send a message to a woman who entered the program as Melissa Bennett, 28 years ago." After repeating this conversation eight times and being transferred three, he was beginning to think he would never get his friend's message through. "The things I do for you, Caffrey." He muttered under his breath. This was definitely not how he would have chosen to spend his morning, arguing with the marshal's in a hospital cafeteria. "It's from her son, he was in your program too until he went missing almost fourteen years ago. Their names inside were Amanda and Danny Brooks"

"Agent… Burke, was it, I'm not sure how you came by this information but you should not have access to it."

"I know that. Look Neal… Danny gave it to me because believes the message is that important."

"Important enough to risk his mother's safety?" He could hear the woman scowling through the phone.

"Important enough for him to trust you…" Peter frowned, that comment wasn't going to win him any friends, "Believe me when I say trust doesn't come easily for him."

"I see."

"Please just give her the message."

"I will see what I can do… I can't promise anything." He smiled a bit as her words echoed his own from the night before.

"That's all I can ask, I suppose."

"What is the message?"

"Tell her Danny said Nick is real and he's alive."

"Is this some sort of threat?"

"No," he ran his hand over his face "It's good news… She'll understand." He hoped she would. "If she wants to contact her son she can reach him through me."

"We do not encourage contact, Agent Burke."

"If she is anything like her son… I doubt you will have much choice."

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

She frowned again at the metal cuffs that bound the man to each rail of the bed, anger boiling through her veins. Dr. Gale Coleman considered herself a fair person, she made a point of caring for each of her patients as an individual… as a person, even if society saw them as less than important, even while they were unaware of that care. Every situation was different, every single person she had met in her two years as a surgeon had their own story, their own problems, no matter how rich or poor. Her frown shifted into a scowl, why those in law enforcement couldn't comprehend that she didn't understand. After thirty-six hours poor Mr. Dennison was still unresponsive so at least he probably wasn't aware of the indignity.

She checked his incision sights quickly and redressed the wounds. Then she gave her rounds list a quick glance. She knew Dr. Bryant was out today so she had a couple of extra patients. Her scowl deepened, of course she would get assigned the FBI agent's favored patient. Dr. Coleman held her spine rigid as she stalked down the hall. Stopping outside the open door she plucked the chart from its holder and scanned the contents. Her face softened a little. After all she might not like his friends but Mr. Grant had enough problems without her negativity. She noted that he briefly regained consciousness twice yesterday… the badly fractured pelvic bone was without doubt excruciating, and the elevated white cell count was ominous in his damaged conditioned.

The young doctor pushed the door open and focused on the patient first, firmly not letting her gaze wander to young man sitting in a wheelchair nearby with his feet propped up on the upright chair provided. She had to bite her tongue not to snap at him that wheel chairs were for patients and not for the entertainment of visitors. She told herself she would discuss it civilly with him after she examined the injured man. She felt his eyes on her as she moved around the room.

"What are you doing?" the man asked sharply. Dr. Coleman spared a glance at him. Obviously this was the brother the FBI agents were so concerned about getting his beauty sleep yesterday, the resemblance between the two men was… remarkable. Not just brothers, she realized, identical twins, that was the only explanation. His hard gaze didn't waver. She refused to quell to that arrogant look

"My job" she snapped irritably.

"You are not his doctor." The blue eyes were cold, suspicious… she couldn't believe he was questioning her like a suspect. Obviously he had heard about her defense of Mr. Dennison and was trying to remind her of her place, she decided.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Agent Grant." She bit off each word sharply. His gaze shifted…a frown playing at his lips. "And you need to get out of that chair." The frown turned to confusion and she smiled. Of course it never occurred to him I would call him on his behavior, she thought. He made no move to get out the chair though and his gaze moved to her chest. She scowled openly now. "Get out of that chair before I call security." She snapped. His hands came up as if to pacify her.

"I think there has been a misunderstanding, Dr. Coleman." He still remained seated as her lips clamped together tightly. She would not be unprofessional enough to scream at him in a patient's room. "My name isn't Grant…"

"You are obviously his brother."

"Obviously" he was grinning at her now, but suspicion lingered in his blue eyes. "But we have different names. It's complicated. Where is his doctor?"

"Dr. Bryant took a few days off this week, I'm covering for him, Agent…" she waited for his name.

"Caffrey, Neal… who told you that I was an agent?"

"Your friends made that quite clear yesterday." Along with how much more important your rest was than my patient's survival, she added mentally.

"But no one actually said it?" he looked a little worried, she noted.

"No"

"Well then I better correct you before Peter decides I'm conning you. I'm not an agent, I'm a consultant." He glanced at the bed "How is he?" behind the arrogance she heard the real concern there and relented a bit.

"He's doing as well as can be expected, though he's not out of danger yet… I'm sure Dr. Bryant explained the possible complications."

"Yes"

"His white cell count is elevated"

"Infection?"

"Possibly, and his renal function isn't where we would like it to be…his blood pressure has mostly stabilized overnight but not entirely." She nodded to his seat "that's one of the reasons you can't have that in here… if there was an emergency it would be in the way." He looked at her as if she struck him.

"Oh… no… no one told me." He swallowed hard and shifted immediately moving his right leg slowly to the edge of the straight backed chair and allowing it to drop heavily to the floor. Then he used his hands on his left knee, to move that leg and Dr. Coleman noticed two things at the same instant. First the young man was wearing no shoes and under his socks his feet seemed too bulky for his slender build. Second, his sleeves pulled back slightly revealing dingy gauze bandages around his wrists spotted with dried blood, as he lifted his left leg down. The young woman felt color rush to her cheeks as she realized what he was doing.

"Oh." She gasped "I didn't realize you needed… I thought you brought a patient chair in here." She fumbled over her words "I'm sorry."

"I don't want to be in the way… if the chair is a problem I'll leave." His voice shook slightly, his eyes on the bed.

"No. I misunderstood the situation." She frowned at the relief in his eyes.

"Thank you."

"When is the last time you changed the dressings on your arms."

"Before Kevin was shot." He dropped his eyes "I know I'm supposed to do it twice a day but… I'm fine." The doctor stared at him, debating briefly with herself.

"Let me take a look." she stepped forward and settled into the chair his feet had vacated.

"I can do it myself"

"I'm sure you can… but after two days, I think a professional opinion is in order." The young sighed in resignation and offered his arm. Grasping his hand, she quickly clipped the gauze on his right arm and gently pulled it loose as it stuck to the skin… she sucked in a quick breath as the half healed burns were revealed, the wounds weeping a little around the edges of the skin graft. "You should have asked someone to change this… burns like this are prone to infection until they are completely healed."

"I know… but I've been a little…distracted" he looked pointedly at his brother. She nodded and carefully unwrapped his left arm. He was quiet, and she studied the man's appearance as she worked. He was pale… and painfully thin. A fine surgical scar ran around his left eye, noticeable only because it had yet to fade. Dr. Coleman frowned wondering how she hadn't noticed before the soft labored wheezing audible in his lungs and the grey tint on his lips. Finished rewrapping his arms she asked

"Can you take off your shirt, I want to listen to your chest."

"I'm fine."

"Your breathing sounds congested."

He complied with a sigh. "You are supposed to be taking care of Kevin."

For a long moment she stared at the battered torso. The puckered gunshot scar at the base of the sternum, the long pink incision where his chest had been surgically opened, the small mark where a drainage tube had fit into his side. The pink line down his back indicated a spinal surgery, and explained the chair. None of the scars looked older than a few months and several looked more recent than that. His ribs, collar bones and shoulder joints jutted out disturbingly. There was another small bandage on his abdomen. Her hands moved unconsciously to peel it away.

"G tube?" she blinked at the sutures "When was it removed?"

"Four days ago." Her stomach clenched.

"You pulled your stitches."

"It's not a big deal." The young doctor glared at him in disbelief.

"You could have internal bleeding."

"I'm fine."

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

"Where does he want to meet?" Diana leaned over the older woman.

"What?"

"Richards contacted you… he said you would know the place."

"When does he want to meet?"

"Why?" her eyes darkened with suspicion that the woman was playing them.

"He had different places depending on the day. We worked here in New York a few times."

"Tuesday…" Diana watched her reaction closely "3:00 pm." Katherine frowned thoughtfully tapping her finger against her cheek absently. Her eyes lighted as the memory floated into place.

"There is a little park…well it's a playground actually. On Stratton Island. Arrochar playground." Diana had to turn away to hide the way her stomach lurched at the thought of two kidnappers meeting at a playground.

"Why there?" the agent watched the woman drop her eyes

"No one questioned a man and a woman exchanging a child at a playground." She mumbled

"I see."

"But that's where he will be." Diana nodded in response because she couldn't bring herself to thank this woman again.

"Do you have that list of names?" She asked instead. Ms. Harris bobbed her head once.

"It's not all of them… I'll add more as they come to mind but…" she pushed the folded paper across the table. The list held probably thirty single names matched with an equal number of couples.

"How did you do it?" Diana stared at the list fighting the urge to strangle the woman." How did you take the babies without anyone hearing them cry?"

"Steve drugged them… and any siblings in the room. It was just a mild sedative. It didn't hurt any of them. It was just enough to make them to sleepy to fuss while we got away."

"You drugged them." Diana kept her gaze on the paper because if she looked at this woman she would do something she would regret. Her eye found Nick Bennett… fifth down on the list, matched to Naomi and Jeff Grant… confirmation they didn't need, but it reminded her.

"Who was the thirteenth baby in DC?"

"What?" Harris looked up.

"There were thirteen babies reported missing… Four bodies were recovered… one of them was ID'd as Nick Bennett… But he is listed here as sold to the Grants. So who was the unidentified baby?" Katherine looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"I don't know exactly… his mom called him Kyle… but we never got a last name."

"Why not?" she looked at the list every entry was a full name.

"She sold him to us… We just met up about a block from the Bennett house and this woman came up to us and offered Steve her baby too… for two hundred bucks, she was obviously an addict."

"And who killed him."

"It was an accident. We had him for three days… he cried the whole time."

"Why didn't you drug him like the others?"

"I honestly don't know. I think maybe Steve did, but if he did it didn't work. I just know he wouldn't stop crying. Finally Steve grabbed him and shook him…not hard but firmly and he stopped for a minute, then he screamed…" she studied the table, her finger tracing the wood grain. "So Steve shook him harder… He stopped crying… then he stopped moving, seemed to fall asleep… then he started jerking around, he threw up twice and stopped breathing. It only took a few minutes…I was holding him when he… and… and." She twisted her cuffs quietly. When she looked up her eyes were haunted. "I only wanted to give him a future but…"

"You killed him instead." Diana clenched her jaw. It took every fiber of her resolve to walk away without inflicting damage.

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

As the call disconnected Peter felt eyes on him. He frowned glancing around and remembering suddenly Dennison's organization was not a small one. Was it possible one of his people decided to get revenge for their boss? It seemed unlikely, from what the agent knew of the man he was a hard, uncaring man… inspiring loyalty primarily though the disappearance of anyone who he deemed less than appropriately committed. The man ruled by fear and that didn't usually result in anyone who would kill for him while he lingered unconscious between life and death.

Peter crushed his paper coffee cup and dropped it in the trash. He glanced around again as he walked out of the cafeteria. While he thought he could dismiss Dennison's people, someone was watching him. His thoughts flickered to the conversation he had with Kevin Grant. His boss no doubt knew by now what happened. If Kevin was as valuable to his… agency as Peter suspected he might be, his superiors would not be happy about him being out of commission… possibly permanently. Would they lash out?

He found his steps accelerating as he neared the elevator. Once the doors closed he dialed a familiar number.

"Jones"

"I need everyone to check in."

"What's going on Peter?"

"Someone is watching me… It's probably nothing, but I need you to get the whole team to check in regularly. I want to know everyone is safe."

"Got it, I'm on it." the younger agent hesitated "do you think you need back up?"

"I honestly don't know." He ran a hand through his hair "whoever it is hasn't made a move… hasn't even shown themselves."

"I'll send someone over just in case."

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

"What are you doing?" the agent in charge from yesterday growled behind her. As she bent over the pulled sutures where the feeding tube had so recently been removed, her hands pressing gently searching for worrisome firmness or pain. "Neal are you ok? Did something happen?" his voice softened dramatically, his expression protective.

"I'm fine."

"Actually his bandages should have been change twice yesterday, he pulled his stitches here and I'm concerned about the way his lungs sound." She glared at the agent "I thought you said he was your friend." The agent opened his mouth to respond but the younger man cut him off.

"I've been changing the bandages on my own arms for a month." His eyes sparkled as he looked at her. "What is your problem with Peter…" he turned the laughing eyes on the older man "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing."

"What kind of nothing are we talking about?" his eye darted back to her "he said something insensitive, didn't he? He doesn't mean things like they come out… most of the time." He shrugged helplessly. The doctor kept her eyes on Neal's chest, focusing on listening to his slightly congested lungs. "Come on Peter, what did you say?"

"She didn't appreciate Diana cuffing Dennison." The words were blunt, the tone flat… carefully contained.

"Oh." His voice was very quiet when he spoke, but his eyes hardened and the doctor felt the slight tremor flutter though his suddenly tense muscles, heard the catch in his breath through her stethoscope.. "Trust me… he deserves it." he told her, she looked up ready to enlighten him, but the words died on her lips. His blue eyes reflected too much fear despite his efforts to cover it with a smile.

"He's the one who…" she gestured to his marked body.

"Ordered him tortured, shot and dumped in the river…Yes." It was the older man who answered. "He was dead when we pulled him out, it took ten minutes to revive him…the temperature of the water is the only thing that prevented massive brain damage. Nine broken ribs… nine and a punctured lung. The bullet passed through the membrane around his heart and lodged in his spine." He said it in an even expressionless tone, but she caught the horror that reflected in the man's eyes as he spoke. It matched the feeling growing in her mind,

"He's the one who shot Kevin… and killed Amelia." The younger man added. He didn't look at her, staring instead at his brother, his whole attitude dismissing the importance of his own injuries. There was no trace of the arrogance she saw earlier in his manner.

She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling sick. She had self-righteously lectured a victim's friends about their lack of concern for his tormentor's dignity. Everyone has a story, her guilty conscious reminded her, and you didn't even ask about theirs.

"I didn't realize…" she once again found herself searching for the words. The agent's gaze was brown stone, unrelenting and unforgiving. "I thought it was just because he broke the law…" Both men stared at her silently for so long she felt the need to squirm.

"Did you change the wraps on his ankles and feet?" When the agent finally spoke the tone was surprisingly soft and the words were not at all what she expected. "The burns there were worse than his arms."

"No. I didn't know about them" she quickly lifted his feet to her lap. Pushing back his pants she found herself blinking at the electronic device around his left leg.

"Dennison's cuffs don't bother me in the slightest. But this…" The agent said quietly as he stepped forward and waved a key over the thing "this kills me. The fact that I have to unlock this so you can clean the injuries on my best friend's ankle… that is wrong Dr. Coleman. As I told you yesterday there are criminals and there are monsters… James Dennison is a monster." His lips twitched up in a small sad smile "Neal Caffrey, forger, thief, con-artist… is a good man." The younger man grinned broadly at his words and the agent met his gaze and sighed ruefully "Who is never going to let me forget I said that." The look that passed between the two men contained a good deal of exasperated affection, the part of her mind not flailing for a grasp on reality noted.

"You mean… he's a…?" Her voice trailed off, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment as she remembered her accusations.

"It's not always a black and white world, right Dr. Coleman?"