A split second.

A split second was all that it took for him to pull the trigger yesterday and kill the young man who had the gun in his hand. The innocent man who had picked it up before they came and just didn't put it down. A split second was all it took for him to lose the little control he had and lash out at the man trying to help him today. He looked at his balled fist feeling his knuckles swell and down at Chris struggling to his feet, holding his hand against his cheek. What had he done?

Chris couldn't speak; even if he could he wouldn't know what to say or even if his voice would work. The flesh on his cheekbone was beginning to throb and his eyes jumped from Sam's bewildered green eyes to his partner's fist. He was only trying to help; Sam had no right to do that. The shock in the pale blue eyes glazed into anger and he silently walked backwards towards the door not trusting himself to stay close to that man for another second. With one last look at the green-grey eyes the American ripped open the front door of the Englishman's apartment and slammed it shut behind him.

There was no one word that would explain how he felt. Hurt? Shocked? Angry? Enraged? He didn't know himself. All that played back and forth in his mind was that his friend, his best friend, had just hit him for no reason and didn't say anything either. Even in his eyes there was nothing that would explain what the hell just happened. The steering wheel of the Nissan hung in midair in front of him almost yearning for him to caress his hands over it and indulge in a burst of pure anger and speed down the highway. To race away from this demon before it got its hands around him again.

The squealing wheels of the Nissan outside had Sam moving to the window looking in alarm as his partner's car jumped form the parking lot into the main road. What the hell did he just do? What the bloody, flipping hell just happened? Chris had spent the whole day with him trying to help with the sudden distress he had slipped into after shooting the man. Death by friendly fire was what Malone had said and everyone else told him that it wasn't his fault, Chris too. He said that if Sam hadn't shot the man then he would have for the unexpected chance that he might have been part of the robbery. When the news came through that he was the brother of the man who was responsible for the robbery Malone had ordered Sam to get off the case and to go home, yelling at Chris to keep the Englishman out of trouble. And he did. He wouldn't let Sam out of the apartment; he refused to let them order in just in case it might be them and that he would cook. The poor man did his best and even though Sam
didn't tell him whatever he tried with the pasta came out pretty good. Then Sam had the bright idea of go for the bottle. The look on Chris's face when he saw that it was half empty by the time he came back from HQ, after a quick check in, made the colour drain from Sam's face. Then... he couldn't remember what happened next, what his partner said. All he knew for a fact was the he had hit his friend and that the American left. He turned away from the window his eyes catching the half filled whiskey bottle on the table and he sighed.

*-*-*-*

Every car that drove past Chris looked the same at the speed he was going. He had specifically taken a road which was straight, flat and not filled with people or London patrol cars. The adrenaline flowing through his veins from the speed he was gaining and the little red indicator of his speedometer working overtime made the hurt go away a little. Dare anybody try and pull him over anyway and he'd show them what this black beauty could do. He'd flown jets before and contrary to Sam's belief he could make this car fly as well.

He had switched his mobile off as well tossing it somewhere in the back of the car so in case of an emergency he would just have to use telepathy to let HQ know. Where he was going he didn't know, to tell the truth he didn't care either. Somewhere far, his apartment sounded nice. There was a Bud in his fridge waiting for him and only the dead to keep him company. Something slammed into the front screen of the car cracking the window right across. The split second break in concentration had Chris turning his steering wheel in an attempt to swerve from whatever was in front of him. The speed the Nissan was going at did nothing to help with the control of the car and he swore as the wheels slipped on the gravel next to the road. He only had time to see the wooden fence come closer before his head hit the steering wheel making him crash into darkness.

*-*-*-*

Richards looked up from his console and sighed. "I've been through his document 15 times and I still can't find anything else more important that what I didn't on the first search. This man is Italian and his father was a bar owner before he was killed by the mafia. What more does the old sod what?" He ran his hand over his very short hair and mumbled something incoherent as he scrolled the document back up.

Spencer sniggered and tapped his pen on his desk. "15 times, that must take long? Do you want another cup of coffee, dear, before your eyes fall shut?" He said with a slight pretended lisp.

The hacker glared at the operative. "Go hug a tree!" He looked at the form of the Canadian walking past. "Backup," he said with such a tone that it made her jump.

She turned around but was interrupted to act on the call as Spencer jumped up from his seat and stomped over to them. "Oh, now you're using a woman to hide behind." He tried to sound serious but the mirth in his eyes gave it all away. Backup looked at the flaming eyes of the hacker and quietly excused herself from the debate knowing that she would not want to be near them when Malone would come storming out his office to see what the hold up and the source of the noise was.

*-*-*-*

Cold was the first thing Chris noticed in his fight back to consciousness. He was shivering and the pounding in his head was strong enough to make him want to throw up. What truck drove over him this time? He rolled his head on the cold hard floor and looked into a black shining shoe. He doesn't know that shoe. Sam didn't have a pair like that. He blinked as the shoe moved and a shape sank down in front of him.

"You're Keel right? That's what your wallet says." Zoekin said gently and sank to his haunches next to the man looking into the somewhat glazed blue eyes.

The option of the truck sounded much better right now.

"I was hoping that it would be Curtis but, hey, we can make him appear. Ever heard of magic, Mr. Keel?" The Italian smiled and lifted Chris mobile in his hand waving in front of the American's face. "I'm sure you have his number on speed dial."

"Don..." Chris swallowed in an attempt to get his voice to work. "Don't you dare," he gasped with a hoarse voice.

Zoekin swivelled on his heels and looked at him with a quizzical look. "Aaannnd why not?"

A fist muffled the American's reply, his face pulling in protest to the abuse. Why shouldn't he? How about a little payback for the Englishman? He hit him, didn't he? The Italian's voice drifted past saying Curtis's name and the blue eyes snapped open. "Keep your hands off him," he growled with a shocking steady voice only to be answered by another fist.

Zoekin looked with malicious approval as the American spit blood from his already bleeding mouth. "A true friend."

Friend; that word slapped Chris with more fury than the physical fists. He didn't know if the Englishman was still his friend. The look in Curtis's eyes before the hit swam into his memory and he sagged resting his pounding head on the cold cement. "He. Won't come," he breathed softly.

The Italian frowned. "I thought something must have happened judging by the way you sped away. I guess we'll just have to motivate him, then." Zoekin moved his hand down his leg, pulling a knife from the sheath strapped around his ankle.

Chris's vision wasn't completely out of action and he saw the glint of the metal in the corner of his eye. Hands grabbed him viciously around the arms, warm air blowing on his neck from the owner of those hands. The CI5 operative snapped his head up catching the man on the bridge of his nose. A scream wormed out of Chris as he shut his eyes, swearing against the pain thundering in his head from that move. The man roared in Italian behind him, struggling to his feet and holding his hand over his bleeding broken nose. Pain lanced through Chris's flank as Zoekin's knife found its target, forcing a tortured scream out of him.

*-*-*-*

A loud bang from the front door startled Sam on his bed. His eyes drifted in that direction for a few moments and then he shook his head, looking back at the ceiling. He was in no mood to see, speak or listen to anyone preach or console. Damn, he'd had enough of that to last him a while. He has the right to be miserable if he wants to be. The light blue paint on the ceiling looked pale and the longer he stared at one point it began to look green. That phenomenon was given to the alcohol; he was wondering when it was going to start taking effect.

The Englishman looked out his bedroom door towards the front entrance. Maybe it was Malone with his resignation letter. He knew for a fact that it wasn't the American. That crazy Yank would stand hammering on the door till it was opened or until he remembered he had a key. Sam rolled off the bed, waiting until the room stopped tilting like a boat on the high seas before he pushed his legs into working mode. Reaching the door he peered at the vid-cam, one hand resting on the doorknob, the other on the wall. Nothing looked back at him and he pulled on his ears in irritation, but he wasn't drunk enough to start hearing things. His right hand reached out for anything that could be used as a weapon, the first thing his fingers latched onto being an umbrella. With the umbrella in hand the Englishman flung open the door, lifting his weapon as he cast his eyes down the empty street. Great! Now he had just made a complete asshole out of himself. Half dressed, half drunk and standing with an
umbrella over his head, maybe he should consider thinning the whiskey with water next time.

His toe bumped into something and looking down he saw a long, thin package wrapped in paper. Oh look, Christmas in July. Self-conscious eyes looked around for any movement as he reached for it, hiding the umbrella behind the corner of the door.

With one sweep of his foot, Sam closed the door behind him, glancing at the heavy package in his hands. It was too flat and hard to be a bomb and too long to be a thank-you note. He ripped the paper off like a child on Christmas morning, unbothered if it was breakable or not. It fell from his hands as he stared at the blood covering the plate, his hands and now his cracked tile floor. What kind of sick joke was this?! The number plate stared at him from the floor, screaming for him to look closer. Crumpling the white paper in his hand, Sam carefully wiped away the excess blood, focusing on the number. R874UWB.

"This belongs to the Nissan," he said to himself scanning his eyes over it again.

The phone startled him when it began ringing and he looked at the number plate in his hand. Right now his feet refused to move and he waited patiently for the answering machine to go on.

"Curtis here, leave a message."

"Curtis, I know you're there."

*-*-*-*

Zoekin turned his head grinning at the look in the American's eyes.

"I don't think your friend wants to speak to us." His brown Italian eyes glared at the man tided on the floor walking over with Chris's mobile held to his ear. "Shame, I'm sure he would have loved to say goodbye." He pulled a face and rammed his foot into the American's bleeding side.

*-*-*-*

A whimper stuttered over the line and the green-grey eyes locked on the answering machine. He'd recognize that sound in his sleep. Chris. Struggling to his feet, Curtis rushed to the phone, swearing as his numb fingers barely missed the receiver. He was just about to say his name when the sound of a safety clip being undone followed by a gun shot echoed in his ear. It left his mouth dry and his head as clear as the empty whiskey bottle on his bed. There was a sound of a body hitting the ground and then nothing. Sam was left listening to the beep of a dead phone line his hands shaking. "NO!" he screamed into the phone, hoping against hope that someone might answer him. Silence and he threw the phone done with such fury the plastic cracked. Anger coursed through his body his other hand thrusting out sending the heavy plate flying.

The mirror shattered on impact of the registration plate. Green-grey eyes were frozen in horror and anger on the scattered blood stained mirror pieces on the floor. Blood, his partner's blood. He tired to remember the last time he was surrounded by his partner's blood, but every image that came to mind was where he was with him. Those times he was covered in his partner's blood because he was helping him, fighting to keep him alive. Now his living room was stained with the American's blood and it was his fault. He was so confused right now he didn't know what to think or do. Should he phone Backup and ask her to trace the call? No, that would bring CI5 and Malone in on this. Can he call the guy on Chris's mobile and ask for the directions? They'd probably smashed the mobile by now. His eyes glared over the mirror pieces to the registration plate wincing as a shudder ran down his spine. Think! People like Robert Zoekin always have an underhand motive for doing something. Why did he
send the registration plate, except for scaring the crap out of him? He sank down his hands reaching eagerly for the registration plate. Curtis flipped it over twice smearing the blood off with his bare hands feeling his face glow at finding nothing.

Carefully spreading the crumpled piece of paper out on the tiles he found himself grinning. There it was! They wrote the address down for him, how sweet! Zoekin was expecting him to come. If Zoekin wanted to meet the Devil he sure as hell is going to. He jumped to his feet and as he was about to run to the door he looked down at his black boxer shorts.

*-*-*-*

Ten minutes later a very different Curtis appeared from his bedroom. Clean shaven face, hair still wet from the quick cold shower and his combat boots strapped up his ankles. The gun holster was already pulled over his back as he walked to the front door, moving his feet so that he didn't step in any of the blood covering his floor. His mind was clean of anything and everything except that he had to find the man that killed his partner. And when he did, he hoped that God will have mercy on that man, for he won't have any.

The phone rang again and he found himself in some state of déjà vu. Was it all just a dream or was he stuck in some nightmare where everything happens over and over again? He slowly reached out to the broken plastic receiver, grabbing it before the ringing stopped.

"Curtis," he said with a controlled voice.

It was Backup. "What you doing?"

What was he doing? He glanced at his jeans and combat boots. "Going for a drink."

"I thought you're not supposed to leave your apartment."

Sam looked up at the ceiling and breathed in deeply to keep his voice under control. "We're going to Chris's place."

"Can I speak to him?'

"In the toilet," he said quickly while looking at the blood-smeared paper in his hand, running over the address written on it.

"Enjoy it."

He practically threw the phone down and rushed for the door, nearly tripping over the umbrella as he reached for his jacket. Green-grey eyes glared at the defenceless piece of wood and nylon material. "I'll get to you later," he growled and slammed the door shut behind him.

*-*-*-*

The place wasn't that hard to find. The fact that it was a closed down yogurt factory hiding behind a ‘forest' wasn't much of a surprise either. The notice board on the fence said "Trespassers will be prosecuted". It should rather say ‘Trespassers will get lost' from the looks of things. The 25-minute drive there didn't help much with Sam's mood. The gun shot echoed in his ears every time a car shot past him, nearly making him jump on his seat. He was losing it and he knew it.

When he found the place, at last, he parked the car a bit away and walked the rest of the way. There's nothing wrong for a Londoner to take a walk in London, right? His eyes scanned every leaf, tree and car that he saw. When the coast was clear he simply slipped through a hole in the fence,

He was so angry he couldn't look anyone in the face right now because he knew he'd lose it and lash out at them, even Backup.

Twigs innocently broke under his feet as he walked further. He was fighting every tear, every breath that was threatening to tell on him. He knew what probably happened. Backup went to tell Malone that they were disobeying orders and the old bastard is probably going to come hollering over the phone line any second telling him to get his arse back and not be the stupid idiot he is being. Curtis reached for and muted his mobile. Knowing himself he knew he'd yell back at the man telling him what an obnoxious, fanatic asshole he was and lose his job before he quit.

The muddy ground under him stuck to his black boots and he dug his heels deeper into the ground. This whole damn world is just a bloody mess! Lives mean nothing any more and the harder you try to protect people you care about the harder it hits you. The bushes around him became bigger but not denser. To tell the truth it wasn't a real forest. It was planted by the first owners of the yogurt storage warehouse, when it was still in use, and became like a borderline, now hiding it from the outside.

Sam stepped in a sticky pool of mud and ripped his foot out. flinging the mud in every direction. Looking down at his mud covered boots, he searched his mind for a swear word that would say how he felt at this time but he couldn't find a suitable one. Images flashed in his mind and every one of them had Chris in it. The bomb in the car, the explosion in Novak's tomb, his attempts at comforting Chris that night in Africa when both thought they were not going to make it. Why did Chris have to die before him?! What made him so special?! The Englishman leaned against a tree and silently slid to the ground. The grief and anger he had been trying to keep subdued overwhelmed him like flames over a dry leaf. He had not only lost a partner, he had lost his best friend and he wasn't there to watch his back when it happened. Sam sniffed and pushed his face into his crossed arms as unwanted tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He was not ready for this. He had thought about it many times.
What he would do to cope with such a situation. Theoretically it worked but practically it sucked. How could he just cut Chris from his life? They had been partners for six years.

He lifted his head, watery green eyes staring at the dark cloudy sky. Letting a deep breath flow over his lips, his ice barriers came crashing down, leaving him weak and helpless. Soft cries wormed out of his mouth and he didn't have the strength to stop it. Why?! Why did he let this man get so close? Why did he have to be his friend? The feeling of his fist connecting with Chris' cheek, the look in Chris' eyes of shock and anger rammed a fist into his chest and he sagged against the tree. Every breath shook through his body almost leaving him gasping. "Damn it, Chris..." he squeezed his eyes closed, feeling the warm tears run over his cold skin. The last time he left like this was when Carl Dietrich died, but this time it was different. With Carl's death he had been able to control himself till he was in the safety and closed protection of his apartment where nobody could see him. Nobody but Chris! That damn bastard was there through everything and he tried to help where he could
even if it was just making tea, which the American hated, or sitting up late next to him his silent presence more appreciated than what Sam had ever told him. Curtis inhaled deeply and focused on a black shapeless void in his mind. He erased everything, every sound, every picture right down to the smell. Slowly breathing out he--

Green eyes snapped open. A rustle of a leaf to the left caught his attention and he quickly pulled his sleeve over his eyes to get his vision clear. If it was one of those bastards that killed his partner he would take his damn time making sure that person understood what life was worth. Slowly pushing to his feet, he pulled his Berretta out of his holster and rested it against his chest. The soft footsteps came closer every second, blowing his feelings further into oblivion. The breathing of the person was so soft that Sam had to, for a moment, concentrate on finding out if it was real and not just his over-stressed mind making things up, but a split second later he saw a dark shape.

Sam leapt forward and tackled the dark figure. Their bodies crashed onto the wet ground and the Englishman found himself struggling with a madman. Flailing arms lashing out at his face that he desperately tried to block and somehow grab hold of. After a near miss to his throat he grabbed the man's forearms and bodily pulled him into a sitting position, his glacial eyes boring into the man's soul. "Where is your base?!" He snapped pushing his gun under the man's jaw feeling some demonic satisfaction when he felt the figure stiffen. Sam pulled his hand back and slammed the side of his gun through the man's face. "I'm not going to ask you again!"

"41º northwest from here."

Turning the Berretta upside down, Sam slammed it down on the side of the man's face before letting go of him and watching his body fall boneless to the ground. "Thank you," he mumbled with a voice that would have sent Gandhi running for cover. He looked down finding his finger still on the trigger of the gun still pointing at the unconscious man's head. The desire the pull the trigger and watch man's useless brain scatter over the wet ground sent cramps down his arms. Right now he didn't care what he did or who he did it to. Maybe the void he was concentrating on a few minutes before worked too well. He pulled the trigger. Without having to look he knew the bullet had struck home and he dug his heel into the ground. He didn't want any of the prey coming up from behind him and biting him in the arse later.

*-*-*-*

41º northwest and 5 minutes of running later Sam reached the warehouse dropping to a crouch position next to a tree. The door was barricaded with wood and not guarded. Why did this have the feeling of ‘too easy'? His eyes latched onto the vent door leading inside and he grinned. Time to play James Bond. Working with nimble fingers and the Swiss knife he carries out of habit the Englishman undid the screws of the vent door and quickly pulled himself in putting the door back in place without tightening it again.

Except that it was as dark as midnight in some places the vent was stuffy and Sam had to tell himself quite a few times that he can breathe and he's not stuck somewhere he can't get out of. Turn after turn, fork paths taken on a hunch he moved deeper into the warehouse waiting anxiously for any sound to come his way.

He didn't have to wait long though and stopped dead in his tracks at one of the slit-vent-opening. Voices, two voices right under him. Guards!

He leaned back as the shadow of a man showed at the small slits and Sam reached for his gun.

"Do you hear anything?" the voice directly under him asked and he felt his ears pull back

"No. It could be rats," the second voice replied.

The shadow loomed under the vent door the muzzle of his rifle pushing against the door. "Go see if they have seen anything outside," he said to the second voice and went on his toes to get closer to the door. "I don't like rats.'

Sam heard the vent being opened and he looked behind him. It was too late to turn back and if he moved now they would know for certain that someone was there and so much then for the ‘Surprise, I'm here!' bit. The head of the man slowly poked up the open vent door and first looked to the left then the right, his eyes looking directly into the shape darkened by the darkness in the vent tunnels. Before he had any chance to say anything Curtis's foot made a sudden connection with his jaw sending him crashing to the ground below.

Green-grey eyes peered over the edges of the vent door at the unconscious body of the guard. "Well, that worked," he mumbled with a shaky voice leaning half out of the vent door to see if anyone else was on their way. Hearing nothing for now he moved back and lowered himself down landing quietly on his toes. "If the other guard went that way to check outside then it would be this way," he reasoned with himself and turned to the right. He first rolled the body of the guard into a dark corner, made sure he wouldn't wake up very soon, and pulled his Berretta from his holster.

"Hey, who are you?!"

Curtis spun around, his finger curling around the trigger in a fluent motion before he pulled it. He watched as the second guard crumpled to his knees and then fell down on his face. His fingers clung to the Berretta expecting to feel metal tear through his flesh any second from someone hidden in the dark or in a corner. Did they hear him this time? He could just imagine what he looked like. Almost viewing himself from outside his body he could see his face a painting of fear and determination. Sam Curtis, one of CI5's best operatives, looking like a lost toddler in a shopping mall. Was this how this was supposed to end? Chris dead before him, as they had joked when they got partnered, and him a scared idiot who had the desire to kill a man he had never seen in his life? Well, he could find out. His face changed in a heartbeat, the old Curtis glare on his face, his jaw set from anger.

Thanks to the fact that the place was shut down, there was no electricity, so most of the place was dark. The ex-spy prowled over the floor, keeping his back to the wall, his eyes fixed on the horizon of the building. A hand of nervousness gripped around his stomach and he found himself looking behind him as if he was looking for the backup of a partner that he didn't have any more. Stay focused, Sam! You were an asshole then and you're an idiot now but don't get killed over being careless! That wouldn't be right for Chris' sake. The room turned into a hallway and he crept into the darker darkness of the building, fixing his eyes on a flicker of light on the other side.

*-*-*-*

This was too good to be true! Malone was out on a call to the Minister and the Control Room was left to the mercies of Richards and Spencer. Backus had tried to control those two but a situation like this only comes along once, if ever.

The ‘forbidden speakers' were attached to their computers playing the music they had secretly downloaded onto their PC's as loud as possible, having a look-out for Malone, of course. Air guitars, drums and trumpets, later the whole control room joined in, seeing with pleasure Admin staring at them from their office next door mouths open in shock. What were they planning on doing when a real disaster struck the world? Have a full-blown office party?

*-*-*-*

Sam stopped and looked at the closed door on the other side of the room. Why did he look at it? Was it his sixth sense telling him that the murdering bastard was in there?

He moved closer, feeling his heart beating in his throat, a feeling of - anxiety? - wrapping over his shoulders. He wouldn't be surprised if the whole crew of the man was waiting for him in there, guns drawn and pointing straight at his head. Right now he didn't care. He had no right to live after what he had done. It was his fault that his partner was dead and he would only deserve it himself. But the anger and desire to get the man who killed Chris first would probably keep him going even if he was shot to Swiss cheese.

He leaned with his back against the wall forcing himself to breathe softly and, more importantly, to breathe. The door was unlocked and quietly swung open in front of him, making him leap back in expectation. The silence in the room made his hair stand up on the back of his neck. Relying on his finely trained senses, he listened for any movement that might spell trouble, at the same time trying to relax his arms and stop the shaking of his hands. Slowly putting one foot in front of the other, the Englishman stalked into the room, the Berretta firmly grasped between his fingers. The room was empty except for a body.

Sam Curtis's arms fell useless to his sides, his fingers barely having the strength to hold the gun. Chris's pale face was locked in his gaze and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't look away. Dry and wet blood covered half of the American's face and his chest making him look like a human piñata. The tears from the forest began to crawl back into his eyes and throat, the world looking watery and blurred. Feeling that his legs weren't going to hold him much longer, Sam sagged against the wall and slid to the ground, his hand gripping the gun so hard that it hurt. It was just a statue of the powerful and elegant Londoner, his face a marble mask. He couldn't breathe, he felt like he was going to throw up, but he couldn't look away, he couldn't even say his partner's name. Chris's lower lip moved and a sour taste pushed up in Sam's throat, swallowing it down with difficulty.

Again a twitch and the green-grey eyes locked onto the American's form with such intensity that it could burn. Slowly Sam got to his knees and crawled over, the gun digging into his skin until it bled. The body looked worse from close up and the Englishman had to force himself to keep it all down. "Chr..." he put out a shaky hand, holding it right above his friend's neck. He couldn't bring himself to feel for a pulse. In previous times he had to force himself not to feel but now he couldn't. Was he trying to fool himself?

The eyes opened sending the Englishman skittering backwards, the finger on the trigger pushing downand blasting a bullet into the wall. "Shit!" The gun clattered as it fell on the ground and Sam stared in shock at the body on the floor as his eyes locked on the blue ones he could see through the slits.

"Chris?" Sam slowly moved closer reaching his trembling hands out to his partner. Pushing his fingers into the man's neck, he felt his body go numb.

The blue eyes were filled with confusion and pain, slowly moving over the bleary face. Maybe the men had come back for some more fun? Nah, they wouldn't be bothered. Then the face spoke.

Sam watched as the confusion was replaced by horror in the blue eyes. He didn't know what hurt more, the pain that his friend was in or the fact that he scared his partner. He watched in dismay as the American tried to push away from him, voice locking in his throat from shock. "Chris." he reached out and grabbed the man in his arms. "Chris, listen to me." The struggling man in his arms pushed unsuccessfully against the restraints of the Englishman, panic clear in the noises coming from his mouth. Sam refused to let go. "Chris, it's okay. It's okay." Another agonized moan wormed from Chris's mouth and it felt like a knife twisting in Sam's chest. What had he done? "Chris..." He blinked but didn't realize that his tears had already fallen on Chris's neck. "It's okay."

The American stopped squirming and Sam found himself hoping that he didn't hug his partner to death.

".am?" The voice was hardly clear but Sam heard it perfectly.

A sigh left Sam gasping, his face split in two with a smile. "I'm here," was all he could think of to say that wouldn't sound stale or stupid.

"As I knew you would be."

Sam looked around seeing the frame of a man standing in the doorway.

"Zoekin."

The shape waved back at him. "Hallo, Sam Curtis, thank you for coming at such short notice."

Green-grey eyes strained to see detail of the man's face in the dark. "What happened was an accident."

The shape shrugged. "You believe whatever you want, all I know is that my little brother is dead and you shot him. That isn't civilised, now, is it?"

"It was an accident."

"So will be yours." Zoekin lifted his hands in a mock head line flash. "Sam Curtis, CI5 operative, killed due to suicide."

"Why did you do this to him?" Sam asked feeling Chris's chest move slowly under his arms.

"You took my little brother away, thought I'd return the gesture."

"He's my partner.'

"Close enough."

"You're going to kill him too?"

"One more hit with the metal baseball bat and he'll never wake up. Either be dead or a vegetable, I guess for what seems an eternity." The Italian pointed to the semi-conscious American. "You should have seen the fight that one put up! He broke one of my men's noses even when I cut him with the knife."

Sam looked down at his hands tainted with his partner's blood. He didn't know if Chris was unconscious or asleep but the bruises on his head and face were nauseating. The bruises of his face! Sam looked at his partner's cheek reminding himself that one of those bruises was thanks to him.

"Oh, and the words he came up with when I said your name, boy, has he got a mouth!"

Sam bit his lip as he thought of what Chris might have said. After what he'd done he'd be surprised if the American even said his name.

"'Don't you dare' and ‘Keep your hands off him'."

Zoekin's words cut into his line of thought and he snapped his head up to look at him. Chris never gave up trying to protect him and he pushed him away. Damn it!

"Oh, and my personal favourite: ‘I'll rip your head off'. Such a pity he never got the chance."

The Englishman watched as the Italian pushed away from the doorframe and disappeared in the dark. "Hey! Come back here!" His eyes drifted to the man in his arms, his fingers digging into the Chris's flesh. He gently lowered the American onto the ground, pulling off his own jacket and bundling it carefully under his partner's head. Resting a hand on the trembling shoulder, he reached for his gun. "I'll be right back." He willed the eyes to open again, waiting anxiously for Chris to give him that reassuring dimple smile and tell him that he'd be alright. Sam shook his head and jumped to his feet, the glacial eyes sweeping from his partner on the floor to the door. He had a bone to pick with Zoekin.

*-*-*-*

The darkness ran along the passage, not a flicker of a light coming from any of the doors. The anger was burning in Sam's throat by now as he took a step closer to the first door. Gripping the Berretta with both hands, he lunged forward, kicking down the door suddenly remembering that he had no light and sank to his knees. If there was anyone he'd probably have heard them and turned to the next door.

His combat boot connected solidly with the middle of the door and the wooden panels yielded under the force, the door swinging open knocking against the back wall. Again nothing and he kicked the doorframe before turning to the hallway. "Where are you, you son of a bitch? Afraid to show yourself? Afraid to go up against someone armed?!"

A bullet chipped into the metal on the door and Sam cringed back, gun pointed in the same direction. A door slammed shut at the end of the hallway and the Englishman broke into a fast run, his feet pounding on the cold cement floor. He didn't stop his pace when he reached the door, simply spun around and kicked the door down from behind. The thump echoed through the room, blowing up dust from the floor. Holding his gun in front of him, Curtis slowly walked in, eyes peering in the dark for any shape of a human. A light flicked on and he dived for the floor, a bullet missing his leg with a few inches.

"You wanted me," the man laughed. "You found me."

"I'm so touched you feel honoured about it." Curtis rolled to his feet and leveled himself with the man standing behind the now fallen door, a .45 Magnum pointing straight at him.

*-*-*-*

Blue eyes slowly opened. Sam? Chris tried to roll onto his side but it felt like a millstone was tied around his neck and he sagged back, feeling the warm material of Sam's jacket brush against his hair. Where did everybody go? He knew he heard voices a few minutes ago... or was it hours? Using one elbow for leverage, the American pushed himself semi-upright, and waited for the room to stop spinning before he attempted another move. Pushing the pounding pain to the back of his mind as best he could, he forced his muscles to work with him.

Blood dripped into his eyes but trying to wipe it away would make him use his hands and those were the only things keeping him somewhat upright. His unfocussed eyes drifted to the open dark doorway and he swallowed. He had to find Sam. Unsteady legs made him crawl to the doorframe, biting back every groan gripping his throat, his eyes ignoring the blood trail he was leaving behind. Gripping the doorframe with shaking hands, Chris slowly got to his feet, swearing softly as he felt his legs wobble. I'm coming Sam. He put out a tentative hand and took a shaky step forward.

*-*-*-*

Neither of the men moved, fingers on the triggers just waiting to be pulled.

The man's eyes glazed and Curtis jumped back before the bullet left the gun. The Englishman ripped loose with his own, swearing as his bullets hit the wall and he dashed for the door, turning to the left to see a man running.

"Get back here!" Curtis ran after him, willing his feet to go faster, his whole soul hoping that Chris was still breathing where he left him. Matching his strides with the man's, Curtis caught up to him and lunged forward, tackled the man in mid flight. Two bodies crashed to the ground, rolling on the cement floor before coming to a stop. Sam lashed out with his foot, catching the man on the jaw and shoving him against the wall. Not to be outclassed, the man staggered to his feet and kicked out, missing the CI5 operative by a mile. Sam's fist slammed into the man's stomach and across his face, already feeling his knuckles swell. If this man thought he could take on an ex-spy he had another thing coming. Zoekin pushed himself up along the wall, training his gun on the Englishman.

Sam was quicker and pulled the trigger of his Berretta, seeing the material of the man's trousers rip as the bullet hit home. Holding his gun with both hands he trained it on Zoekin and walked closer.

The Italian lifted his left arm and moved his fingers, pulling the small trigger of the gun he had up his sleeve. Sam felt metal rip through his flesh as he stumbled back, hand reaching to his right shoulder and feeling the blood seep between his fingers.

*-*-*-*

Wall scraped against his skin as Sam was hauled to his feet and spun around, his cheekbone hitting the cold wall. The man's breath smelled like garlic and fish. Zoekin pressed the gun against the side of Curtis's head. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

The sound of the shot seemed deafening in the big room. Sam was pushed against the wall before the pressure of a body went away completely, ending with a thump on the ground.

Silence. That awkward silence of the unknown settled. Sam let out a breath a slowly turned around seeing the body of the man under him. His ears were still ringing from the shot and the throbbing in his shoulder was beginning to turn painful.

"Sam?" a voice whispered and the Englishman pulled his eyes away from the dead body to look at his partner huddling in the doorway. The gun in Chris's hand started lowering as the last of his reserves ran empty. "Sa.m?!" he cried out, the worry that he hit his partner instead, raising the adrenaline in his blood just enough to focus on the figure walking towards him. "S..."

Sam took the gun from the nerveless fingers of the American reaching out for him just before his legs buckled under him. "I'm here."

He lowered his partner to the floor, following him down, making sure not to move his bleeding shoulder too much. "Almost there," he said soothingly when they reached the floor, putting his hands out to help his partner lay down. Chris was exhausted, only a few streaks of his face were not covered in blood, blood slowly dripping from his clothes from his bleeding side. So much blood. Sam didn't like it and he was silently praying to whatever deity would listen not to let his partner bleed to death in his arms. Pulling out his mobile, he barked to the operator manning the lines to get an ambulance to their location and to do it fast. Agent down!

Closing the mobile with his good hand he exhaled to get his mind clear and back to the problem at hand. He not only had to keep Chris awake now, he had to keep himself awake. He looked down at Chris. "Hey," he said softly and smiled as the blue eyes opened. "You know I'm going to keep you awake, right?" The eyes blinked as an answer and he nodded. "Right, tell me about the most exciting moment in your life." Strange suggestion but Chris could talk about the weather and he wouldn't mind. If Chris was speaking Chris was alive and right now that was the most important thing in the Englishman's life.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Keel's split lips. "That would involve sex," he whispered his eyes beginning to droop.

Sam carefully put his hand around his partner's chin and rolled his head over to make him focus on him. "I'm listening."

*-*-*-*

Backus looked at the tired face of the Englishman sitting in the hospital bed next to her. When the call came through she was next in line to hear it. Agent down! Sam? Oh hell what happened? Were they waiting for them at Chris's place? Chris? Was Chris okay? She nearly forgot her mobile when she ran out of the office, crashing into Harley outside the door in the parking lot. Mumbling something of an excuse she dashed for the Terrano II, slamming her foot down on the accelerator as fast as she could. She could still remember what ran through her when she saw Sam in the bed arm in a sling, his eyes staring at the wall. The look on his face when they brought Chris in was even more horrifying. Concussions, knife wounds and gun shots, it felt like they were on a mission.

"From what they have told me it doesn't look like there was serious damage done and it wasn't a metal bat that was used. From the impact point it looks more like a chair." That's what the doctors told her but she wanted to see if Sam knew anything else. From the look on his face she knew he didn't hear her. "I guess the alcohol did help a little," she suddenly said looking at his injured shoulder. The green-grey eyes turned to her and she felt her face blush slightly.

"That's a nice way to put it." Sam saw her shrug and grinned. "That will be another thing Malone will put on the role at the disciplinary hearing: Drunk on the job." He shifted his bandaged shoulder to a more comfortable position. "He'll look me up and down, give me one of his most steely stares and snarl something of ‘I expected something like this from your partner, Mr. Curtis. I must say I am deeply disappointed in you.'"

"Don't be so hard on yourself Sam, a lot happened too. " She stopped herself, feeling his glance turning into a glare and she looked at Chris. "I was wondering where you guys were," she said and looked up directly into his green eyes.

He knew this was coming and no matter how she put her words or questions she was going to probe into the whole story anyway. He might as well tell her something now before he would be forced to explain everything. He pulled his face straight in a way that looked more like an expression than a mask. "Chris tried to help, but..." He rubbed his hand over his face. "Then everything happened and the next moment I found myself face to face with a mad man." He was actually referring to himself but she didn't need to know that. "I thought he was dead, the phone call was so short and I don't precisely remember what was said but... a simple whimper that I knew belonged to Chris and then one shot." She saw the shudder running through his body before he continued. "I heard him hit the floor."

"When did you find him?"

"Shortly after I nearly let the whole place know I was there. He was scared, Backup. It was like he didn't recognize me and when I spoke his face fell in absolute horror." Sliding his eyes away from the sleeping American, he glanced at the Canadian. "Yet, he was there when I needed him. He always is."

She rested her hand on his leg. "Friends do that."

He smiled resting his eyes on the closed eyelids of the American. He remembered, vaguely, one time Chris yelled at him almost the same thing, saying that he'd come at the strangest times to pull his arse out of trouble because he was his friend. Strange how much value that one little word has.

"Where did Chris get a gun?"

"Probably from any of the dead corpses I left in my wake."

She sat down on the edge of the bed next to his feet, seeing the relaxed yet haunted look in his eyes. "Sam, are you okay?"

"Hmm."

Now that was a useful question, Tina. "I think you have to stay here. I heard that Malone's planning on coming to see you tomorrow and if you're here maybe he'll bawl you out quietly for Chris' sake."

"Or he'll wait until Chris is ready and then bawl us both out very loudly."

"Who knows?"

"That man can still scare the religion out of anyone when he wants to."

"You two did get Zoekin though, that should be in your favour." Backup jumped when she felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket, seeing HQ's number flash on the screen and quietly jumped off the bed. "Take a nap, you look like hell."

He looked at her with a perplexed face. "A nap?"

She smiled and folded her arms across her chest. "Chris had told me, or should I say, moaned many times about your sleeping habits, so take a nap. I'll come see you tonight."

Sam grinned and pulled a hand through his hair. "He does that, doesn't he?"

Backus stopped in the doorway and glanced at the Englishman. "Does what?"

"Moan."

The smile faded the second the door closed behind her. He was exhausted, angry and most of all scared. Today was close, too close. He couldn't decide what scared him the most. The way he felt when he thought he had lost his partner or that he didn't say sorry when he should have. He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling, blowing out the air in his lungs until it felt like he'd suffocate. The feelings that had rushed through his body when he saw Chris were unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. Relief of course, his heart never gave up hope that the American might still be alive, but there was something else. Not love, not a warm tingling sensation down his spine. Just that numbing moment of seeing someone he trusted alive. He never wanted to feel as lost and weak as he had in the bush. It was humiliating as well as heart-wrenchingly painful. He'd kill Chris if he ever did that to him again.

His eyes peeked to the still form of his partner in the bed next to him, his angel of salvation. Battered, bruised and half dead, but his ticket to sanity. The fact that Chris tried to protect him even in the most useless position only proved again that their friendship was what kept them alive. The one friendship that he valued most in his life and the only one he would willingly die for. He knew now that Chris was the person that he was looking for even with all his mistakes and shortcomings. And no one could take that away from him and *no one* would take his "little brother" away from him either. His eyes followed the slow rise and fall of the American's chest, feeling his own body relax down to his toes. Sam sniffed and pulled the pillow over his head.

*-*-*-*

Hard raindrops knocked on the window driven by the not so strong northwest wind. The light in the other side of the room was on, making the place half dimmed leaving just enough light to read in or do a report.

On the side of the room closet to the window the monitors beeped softly and rhythmically. Two groggy eyes flickered open, looking at the fuzzy shape of his hand resting on the pillow next to him. The pain in his head was reduced to a soft throb but the stitches in his side told him not to move too much. The warm bedspread pressed against his cheek and, letting out a soft moan, he closed his eyes.

"Chris?"

Sam leaned closer, watching the two eyes open slowly and smiled as the familiar blue eyes appeared. "Hi."

Chris closed his eyes and after a moment re-opened them, trying to get a better picture of his partner but it didn't help much. Sam was sitting in a chair his thick sock-covered feet resting on the edge of Chris' bed, his right arm in a sling resting over his chest. The American tried to focus his burning eyes on his friend but the man with the drum kit pounding on his temples had other ideas and he gave up the attempt to keep them open. He saw the tears on Sam's face; he had felt them running down his neck. In his pain-drugged mind everything was forgiven and forgotten for all he cared. Sam was back and that was all that mattered.

The Englishman watched Chris' head sink deeper into the pillow and leaned back in his chair, not taking his eyes off his partner's sleeping form. The face of the ex-SEAL looked so innocent as he lay there, the confusion and pain not even present on his young face.

The nurses had argued with Sam when he, against their advise, dragged the chair from next to his bed to Chris' and unceremoniously flopped down into it and gave them his best obedient glare. He was staying right here and to hell with it. He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting there when Chris woke up somewhat. It was the most peaceful feeling he'd experienced, watching the soft movement of his partner's chest.

Chris was breathing. Chris was alive.

Sam's demons were at peace for now.