Iain's tailbone was starting to ache from sitting on the hard concrete floor, and the gunman's face was growing steadily paler, but the gun didn't waver in his hands as he rested it on his lap, loosely aimed in Iain's direction.

He'd been quick to shut down Iain's attempts at conversation, so they were sitting in strained silence when the door creaked, unnaturally loud in the empty space.

"Sam, you in here?" a voice called.

"Rob?"

A figure strode inside, male, powerfully built, a holdall in each hand, scanning the room as he moved. His eyes fell first on Iain, and he hesitated for a step, then turned to the gunman. Sam.

"You look like shit."

"I feel worse," Sam admitted.

"What happened?" He ran an appraising eye over the injured man.

"That…fucker, Cody," Sam gasped around the pain. "Followed me, shot me. Tried to steal my cut."

"How bad?"

"I've been better."

Rob nodded, his eyes sweeping the warehouse again, this time snagging on Iain, who'd stayed perfectly still throughout the exchange. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on him, and his posture subtly shifted to something more alert. More dangerous.

"Who's your friend?" he asked Sam, not taking his eyes from Iain.

"I couldn't…drive out here. He's the…unlucky civvie."

Rob's expression darkened. "A hostage? Seriously?"

He strode closer to Iain, his face cold and calculating as he studied him. Iain carefully averted his eyes.

"We don't need witnesses or hostages, Sam. It complicates things."

His hand moved to his waistband, and a chill that had nothing to do with the cold concrete swept over Iain.

"Wait! I'm a paramedic, I can help him."

Rob turned to Sam, raising a brow.

"Yeah. It's true. Picked…him up at the…hospital." He gestured to the bandage he was holding in place. "He already patched me up."

Rob assessed Iain with renewed interest, his hand moving away from his waistband—and the weapon Iain was sure was holstered there. "That's…convenient. You sure you didn't grab a porter with a big ego?"

"I'm a paramedic," Iain said firmly, absolutely certain that his medical knowledge was the only thing keeping him alive right now. "My ID's in my back pocket."

Rob eyed him for a moment, then nodded, circling round him. "Lean forward."

Iain leant forward, feeling Rob pull the ID card from his back pocket before he stepped back.

"Iain Dean, paramedic," he read aloud as Iain straightened cautiously.

"Yeah, that's me. I've done what I can with what we have here, which isn't much," Iain said, nodding to the abandoned first aid kit. "He needs proper medical supplies. The bullet's still inside, which means a risk of further damage—infection, internal bleeding. And he's showing signs of shock."

"How bad is it?" he asked Sam.

"Bad enough that he won't get better without help," Iain said before Sam could answer. "He needs antibiotics and proper wound care. Pain management. And fluids, ideally."

And a doctor, he didn't bother to add. He didn't think Rob would have a different opinion to Sam's 'no doctors, no cops' outlook.

"And you can treat him if you have the supplies?" Rob asked.

"I can help," Iain answered carefully, reluctant to make any promises on a man he hadn't even properly examined. "I treated worse in Afghanistan."

"Afghanistan?"

Iain nodded. "I was a combat medic. Before."

"A paramedic with military experience?" He shot a look at Sam. "It's your lucky day."

Then he turned back to Iain. "You, not so much."

"Yeah, I was getting that."

Iain drew in a steadying breath as Rob turned away. Sam he might have had a chance of convincing to give himself up, eventually. But Rob was something else entirely. Calm. Cold. And Iain knew the moment he stopped being useful, he'd become a liability again—one Rob wouldn't hesitate to remove.

"I've got a place set up," Rob said, crouching beside Sam, but his words carried easily though the empty warehouse. "We'll get you there, I've got supplies the medic can use to patch you up."

"What about…Cody?"

"He doesn't know about it. And if he finds it, I'll deal with him." He glanced over at Iain. "Besides, we've got more immediate problems right now."

He rose and walked over to Iain, each step deliberate, stopping a few feet away—out of range of Iain's legs, not that Iain had any inclination to do something that might provoke him to use the weapon he was undoubtedly carrying. Today had been bad enough without adding a bullet wound of his own to the list.

"Here's how this is going to work," Rob said, staring down at him. "We're getting out of here, and you're coming with us. You keep Sam breathing, patch him up, and maybe—just maybe—you get to walk away from this when we're done. But if you mess me around, give me any trouble at all…"

He left the threat unfinished, and Iain nodded.

"I'm a paramedic," he said as calmly as he could. "Keeping people breathing is what I do."

Rob studied him for a long moment. "We'll see."

He turned back to Sam. "Can you walk? My car's out front."

"Might need a little help," Sam admitted, and wordlessly, Rob crouched and wrapped an arm around him, helping him to his feet. Sam didn't quite manage to stifle his gasp of pain.

"You, medic," Rob said, drawing a handgun from his waistband and gesturing to Iain. "Get up. Slowly."

Iain nodded and rose carefully, acutely aware of the weapon aimed at him, and the steady hand holding it. If Rob mistook his actions for resistance, or an escape attempt, Iain wouldn't live long enough to explain his mistake.

"Grab those bags," he said, gesturing to the two holdalls he'd tossed on the floor when he'd come in. Awkwardly, Iain stooped to retrieve them, conscious of the gun following his movements. Rob nodded in apparent satisfaction. "Good. Out of the door. Try anything, and I won't hesitate to pull the trigger. You're not the only medic in this city. Clear?"

"Crystal," Iain said, moving steadily toward the door, the back of his neck prickling as he sensed the two gunmen behind him. When he made it outside, he saw the second vehicle parked next to his, but he paused, waiting for Rob to tell him what he wanted.

"Bags in the boot," he said. "Sam, where are yours?"

"Back seat…his car," Sam said, his words slurring a little.

"You heard him," Rob said. "Get them, chuck them in the boot with the others. Don't get any ideas."

Iain didn't bother to point out the obvious—that he couldn't drive with zip-tied hands even if the keys weren't in Sam's pocket. He pulled open the door and reached inside, retrieving the two holdalls—identical to Rob's—from the back seat, and loading them into Rob's car.

"You're in the back with him," Rob said, gesturing to where Sam was already in the car. "Don't get any ideas."

"No ideas," Iain promised. "I just want to help Sam."

And make it out of this alive, he silently added. Rob snorted as if he'd heard the thought, but made no other comment, waiting for Iain to get into the car before he climbed into the front seat and locked the doors.

Rob started the car and pulled away, and Iain focused on breathing around the panic. Years of emergency medicine had taught him to stay calm in the face of uncertainty, but this situation was spiralling rapidly out of control, and the deeper he was dragged in, the less chance he had of clawing his way out.

As the warehouse fell away behind them, Iain forced his attention to stay on his patient. Sam's eyes were glazed with pain, but his hands were still steady around the gun resting in his lap, pointing loosely in Iain's direction. His eyelids dropped, and he blinked hard, clearly struggling to maintain consciousness.

"Sam, stay with me, mate," Iain said, pressing his bound hands harder onto the bandage. "Tell me what you're feeling."

"Cold," Sam admitted. "Dizzy."

"Alright, not long now." He glanced up, making eye contact with the driver in the mirror. "Any chance you could step on it?"

"Focus on your own job," Rob said coldly, and Iain clamped his jaw shut before he could point out that he was doing his job. He didn't need to rile the gunman any more, but if they didn't get where they were going soon, Sam was in trouble. He wrenched his eyes away from Rob's, and onto Sam.

"I need you to stay awake for me, Sam," he said. "Talk to me."

"Bout what?" Sam's voice was slurred and uneven; not a good sign.

"Uh, tell me about Rob," he said, groping for a topic that might keep him engaged. "How did you meet him?"

"Choose another topic," Rob ground out from the front, and Iain's pulse spiked. Personal details were off limits. He nodded quickly.

"Right, uh, tell me about the last meal you had," Iain said, voice steady despite the sweat beading on the back of his neck. "What was it?"

"Burger," Sam mumbled.

"Yeah? Love a good burger, me. Was it a maccies, or a proper one from a burger bar?"

"None of that…McDonalds shit, doesn't fill a hole."

"Yeah, you're not wrong, mate. Keep going, tell me more about it. Did you pack it out with salad?"

"No, I…" He trailed off and Iain moved his hands awkwardly, pressing his fingers to Sam's wrist to check his pulse. Rapid and thready—not good.

"Turn the heating on," he told Rob. "He's freezing."

That was the shock, and it was not a good sign. Time was running out, and rapidly. Rob moved his hand wordlessly, and heat blasted into the back seat. The car took a sharp turn, and a glance out of the window told Iain they were moving away from the city, into somewhere more rural, every mile taking him further from the possibility of help. He hoped that meant they were close to wherever the hell they were going, because he didn't know how much longer Sam could hold on.

"Come on, Sam, tell me about your burger. Do you like it, uh, rare or well done?"

"Wel…" His eyes drifted closed.

"Sam? Come on, stay with me." Iain snapped his fingers in front of Sam's eyes, but they didn't open. Biting back a curse, he gave Sam's shoulder a gentle shake—nothing. His head lolled back against the seat, his eyes staying closed despite Iain's best efforts.

Sucking in a breath, he glanced at the mirror—Rob's attention was firmly on the road—before reaching over with his bound hands in a fist, and pressing his knuckles against Sam's chest in a sharp sternal rub. Sam's eyes flew open, and the gun in his hands twitched upward.

"Easy," Iain said quickly, pulling his hands back. "Just keeping you awake."

Rob glanced back, his expression hardening. "What's happening?"

"He's slipping in and out," Iain said. "Shock, blood loss. He needs fluids and oxygen, and he needs them now."

"We're five minutes away," Rob said, and Iain felt the car accelerate harder. "Keep him conscious."

"Doing my best."

"Well make sure your best is good enough," Rob said. "If anything happens to him, I've got no use for you."

Iain's stomach dropped and he nodded. It didn't take a huge leap of intuition to know what would happen when Rob decided he was no longer useful. He pressed the bandages harder against Sam's side, and the man groaned in discomfort.

"Yeah, I know, sorry mate. I've gotta keep pressure on. We're almost there."

The car turned off the road, jolting Iain around and making it harder to keep consistent pressure on the wound as they bounced along a dirt track, but he'd handled worse in the back of an ambulance. Of course, he'd had access to proper equipment then, and colleagues helping instead of men armed with guns threatening him.

Branches scraped the car windows as the track grew narrower, and then opened up again. Lifting his head to look through the windscreen, Iain spotted a small cottage at the end of the track, and blew out a breath of relief.

The car came to a halt, and Rob twisted round in his seat. "You're not going to do anything dumb like trying to run, are you?"

"My priority is Sam," Iain said evenly. Rob stared at him for a long moment before nodding.

"See that it stays that way."

With that warning hanging between him, Rob climbed out of the car then came round to open Rob's door. He glanced at the gun held weakly in Sam's hands, still pointed at Iain, and took hold of it. Sam's grip tightened and Iain shrank back as the weapon wavered, still pointing at him.

"Easy, I've got it," Rob said softly, and Sam's grip loosened, letting him slide the weapon free. He straightened, tucking the weapon into his waistband, the other gun still in his hand, and then came round to open Iain's door.

"Out. Bring him with you."

"I need my hands free to help him."

Rob hesitated a moment, then pulled a knife from his pocket.

"Hands out," he demanded. Moving slowly, Iain raised his hands, holding them out in front of him. His eyes fixed on the blade as Rob pressed it between his bound wrists. One slip…

There was a moment of pressure, and then the zip tie fell away. Iain lowered his hands quickly, massaging them as the circulation returned, sending pins and needles to his fingertips. Rob turned for the cottage and Iain scrambled out of the car, weighing his options—which were none. Even with his hands free, even if Sam somehow didn't sound the alarm, and Rob somehow didn't see him run, he'd still be out here on foot in unfamiliar territory, with Rob in pursuit.

And Sam would be dead.

He moved round to the far side of the car and wrapped an arm around Sam's waist, helping him from the vehicle.

"That's it, mate, lean on me, I've got you. One foot in front of the other, we're not going far."

Staggering under Sam's weight, he managed to get him to the door as Rob opened it and gestured him inside. He made it across the threshold, which opened into a dated looked lounge with a sofa, a coffee table, and two armchairs, and not much else besides. A small kitchenette was set into the far side of the room, but it was the sofa he made for, easing Sam down onto it as gently as he could.

The sound of a door locking echoed through the small space, and Iain looked up in time to see Rob putting the key in his pocket, gun still in his hand. He looked away quickly, not wanting Rob to get the wrong idea.

There were two doors leading off the room at the back, probably a bedroom and a bathroom, and just one window, which was covered in a thick curtain, currently drawn.

"Looking for something?" Rob asked, his voice close enough to make Iain start.

"You said there were supplies here," he said, forcing his voice to come out calm. Rob nodded, thumbing the light switch and flooding the room with dim artificial light before crossed to the kitchenette and pulling out a large holdall. He dumped it on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Help me lay him down flat," Iain said, crouching to take hold of Sam's feet.

"Why?"

Iain bit back a retort, working hard to keep his tone even. "He's in shock. Getting him flat keeps the blood where his brain needs it—and that'll give me a chance to stabilise him with whatever's in the bag."

He jerked his head towards the holdall, and watched Rob, waiting. After a moment, Rob took hold of Sam's shoulders and helped to lay him flat as Iain lifted his feet. Iain took the opportunity to wrap his hand around Sam's wrist and check his pulse. Definitely weaker than last time he'd checked, and colder. He grabbed a cushion and shoved it under his feet, then shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over Sam's chest and shoulders, careful to avoid blocking access to the wound.

"Hypothermia will kill him faster than the bullet," Iain said in response to the question he could almost feel forming from Rob. He didn't wait for a response before pulling open the bag, blinking in surprise at the contents. All the usual—bandages, gauze, plus a wad of haemostatic dressings—gauze loaded with clotting agents. An IV kit caught his eye, and he quickly pulled it out, checking it over. Fluids and pressure were Sam's best chance right now. He glanced over at Rob.

"Whoever packed this kit knew what they were doing."

"Just help him," Rob said curtly, moving away to a position where he could watch both Iain and the window. "I'll be right here."

Iain nodded, quickly sorting through the rest of the bag. Antibiotics, pressure bandages, suture kits, even a morphine shot. His hand hovered over that before leaving it—morphine could make Sam's blood pressure drop. He'd have to make do with the other pain relief in the bag for now. He paused long enough to pull out a pair of gloves, switching out the soiled and torn ones he was still wearing from the warehouse.

"Sam, can you make a fist for me?" he asked, tying a tourniquet around his arm. Sam complied weakly, curling his fingers into a loose fist.

"Good man, sharp scratch coming up."

The veins in his arm had collapsed from the blood loss and dehydration, making the needle insertion difficult, and the tremble in Iain's hands wasn't helping, either. He took a slow breath, steadying himself, and tried again, this time getting it. Sam's arm jerked in his grip, but Iain kept his thumb over the needle.

"Alright mate, I know. Just hold still for me while I tape this in place." He reached over with his free hand, pulling out some tape and quickly securing the catheter before stretching over to start the saline running.

"Alright, Sam, this is going to feel a bit cold, but it'll help with the dizziness and bring your heart rate down, okay? You're doing great. I'm going to get these dressings changed, then I'll get you something for the pain. Sam? Talk to me."

"Cold…"

"Yeah, I know mate. Bit chilly in here, innit? You're going to feel warmer soon, just hang in there for me."

He turned to reach for the fresh gauze, and found Rob looming above him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Helping Sa—"

"No, what are you doing? Explain it to me."

Iain nodded, sensing that giving in to Rob's demand would be faster than arguing with him. "Changing his dressings. The ones he's got are soaked through, and these have got a clotting agent in them. They'll buy him some time. Not much, but…"

"Why aren't you giving him anything for the pain?"

Iain's jaw ticked, but he forced his voice to come out even. "Blood loss will kill him faster than pain."

Rob nodded. "Get on with it, then."

Iain nodded and snatched up the dressings before twisting back to Sam and getting to work, pulling off the old ones and getting the clean ones in place, keeping as much pressure on as he could throughout. Sam groaned, twisting weakly on the sofa.

"Yeah, I know mate, almost done and then I'll get you that pain relief."

He grabbed the meds from the bag, hand hovering over the antibiotics for a second before snatching them up. Might as well get them started now. He injected both sets of meds into the IV. "That's gonna help, mate, just give it a minute."

"What are you giving him?" Rob demanded.

"Antibiotics for the infection, and paracetamol for the pain."

"There's morphine in there. Use that."

"Too risky," Iain said, shaking his head.

"I said, use the morphine."

"Look," Iain snapped, "Morphine will drop his blood pressure, and that's the last thing he needs right now. If you want him to live, then it's paracetamol."

Rob stared down at him for a long moment, sending Iain's heart rate soaring, before finally nodding and stepping back.

Iain ducked his head and took in a slow breath. Rob's temper was a hair from snapping, and he needed to be more careful.

"Alright, Sam," he said, turning back to the patient. "Still with me, yeah?"

"Yeah…."

"Good man. Won't be long for the painkillers now. I'm just going to check your pulse."

He took hold of Sam's wrist and pressed his fingers to his pulse, nodding to himself. Still fast, but steadier now, at least. It was as much as he could hope for right now.

"The bullet needs to come out," he said, looking up at Rob. "Ideally in a hospital, but I'm guessing that's still not an option."

"You guess right," Rob said gruffly. "Can you do it here?"

Iain hesitated, weighing honesty against self-preservation. "Maybe," he said finally. "But it would be dangerous."

"More dangerous than leaving it in?" Rob's raised brow said more than his words: he didn't trust Iain.

"I can't see where the bullet is. I could do more damage taking it out—I'd be working blind."

"But you've done it before," Rob pressed. "Field extractions when you were in the forces."

"Yeah, a few," Iain acknowledged. "But those were desperate situations with no other options."

"This is a desperate situation," Rob pointed out coldly.

"Right, I get that," Iain said, working hard to keep his voice steady despite the fear that spiked every time Rob fixed him with that calculating stare. "But the fluids will stabilise him for now. That buys us time to find a better solution."

Rob eyed him coldly, considering.

"How much time?" he asked eventually.

Iain shook his head. Much as he didn't want Rob to push him into pulling that bullet himself, and maybe doing enough damage to kill Sam in the process, he couldn't risk lying. Not for Sam, not for him.

"Impossible to say. A couple of hours, maybe."

Rob nodded. "A couple of hours. I'll hold you to that."

Iain opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut again. Arguing wasn't going to help.

"A doctor could do it here?" Rob probed. "Safely."

Iain nodded. "With the right equipment, yes."

Rob reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone, then paused, fixing Iain with a hard stare. "Don't move from that spot. Anything happens to him…"

He didn't bother finishing the threat, and he didn't need to. Iain swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded again.

"Got it."

"Good. I'm going to be right outside that door. If you try anything, I'll hear it."

"I'm just going to be right here, helping Sam," Iain promised.

"You'd better be. We're miles from anywhere, and even if you somehow got out, I'd find you before you made it to the road." His eyes pinned Iain in place. "And I wouldn't be happy about it."

"I understand," Iain replied quietly, his mouth dry.

Rob held his gaze for a moment longer. "Good. Remember, I'm right outside."