by Amethyst

The ringing of his cell phone jarred Jim's attention away from the basketball game playing on the television. Distracted by the furious scrabble of activity on the screen, he gave the trilling annoyance only a small piece of his concentration. Grabbing the phone off the side table where he had tossed it, he flipped it open without so much as a glance at the incoming call numbers.

Just as the line was opened, a spectacular play burst to life on the basketball court. Several frenzied whoops and hollers from the enthusiastic viewers threatened to deafen the caller. The loudest cheer came from a small, whirlwind of curly haired energy who stood up to dance wildly in place in response to the remarkable court play.

Flashing a meaningful look that was immediately recognized by its recipient, Jim raised one long arm into the air, sharply snapping his fingers at the loud, dancing figure. While the volume of the cheering instantly dropped, the joyful dancing continued uninterrupted.

Considering his boss was sitting across from him on the couch, Jim doubted this was a work-related call. He’d barely managed a coherent greeting before his attention shifted back to the screen. "Ellison."

Simon Banks shot Jim a curious glance, watching his face for any sign of trouble. It was unusual for a call to come in on Jim's cell phone without his home number being tried first. It had to be someone outside of his co-workers and family, or more interestingly, someone who didn't want to contact the detective over a line that could be tapped. Ever since the emergence of Blair's crime lord grandfather, they had all changed their cell phones over to the newer, untraceable digital phones as an added precaution.

Jim suddenly straightened up from his comfortable slouch on the sofa to focus his attention on the caller on the other end of the line.

"Hey, it’s been awhile. . . . When?. . . We’ll be here. . . . .Do you need anything waiting for you? . . .Patience?" Jim snorted in amusement and shot a teasing grin over at the still dancing figure. "You’re not going to find any of that in surplus supply around here. A certain short someone uses up most of mine by lunchtime on a daily basis."

Jim deftly caught the small throw pillow before it landed in his face. He winged it back at its original launch point so fast its startled recipient failed to realize it was returning until it was too late. Blair fell over backward from the impact to land inelegantly sprawled in the chair behind him.

"In ten then." Jim snapped the phone shut and looked up at his expectant audience. Both Simon and Blair had questioning expressions on their faces. Blair’s held a touch of fear in it, while Simon looked resigned to imminent doom.

Jim shook his head at them and flashed his best reassuring smile. "That was Daniel Burke. He and Ray Weston are in town."

"Cool!" A brilliant smile lit up Blair’s expressive, eager face. He regained his feet and glanced anxiously towards the door in anticipation of the arrival of two of his favorite ‘uncles’.

Simon merely dropped his head to his chest and groaned. "What diabolical plot are we about to be tangled up in now, pray tell?"

Jim stood up and clapped the woefully petulant captain on the shoulder. "Relax, Simon. It’s nothing like that. He and Ray can’t even stay long. They’re just passing through on their way home. He asked if he could drop off a package they picked up in London for safekeeping for a couple of days."

"Just a ‘package’?"

"Just a package."

Jim moved to the kitchen to check the beer supply. Satisfied there was plenty to offer guests, he settled back down in his seat to catch a few more minutes of the fast-paced game that had already recaptured most of Blair’s attention.

Sipping at his own half-empty bottle of brew, Jim distractedly gestured at Simon, smirking at the man’s sour, doubtful expression. "Come on, Simon. How tough can it be?"

***********

Sighing, Jim hung up the phone. It looked like it was going to be a longer evening than he thought. He glanced up to meet the two identical questioning expressions staring back at him from the couch.

"Looks like plans have changed. They had to make a detour. They’re at Cascade General, in the Emergency Department. Burke didn’t say why, but he said not to worry. We’re to meet them there."

"Great, let’s get going." Blair jumped up from the couch and bounced in place. "I can’t wait to see the guys, even if it’s just Daniel and Ray. It’s been months since the last time we heard from them." He gathered up his backpack and began stuffing books and papers off the coffee table into it. He had enough experience with emergency rooms to know to bring something to do if they had to wait an extended period of time. "I wonder what they’ve been doing." Sudden inspiration hit and he whirled around to face the two older men. "I bet they had something to do with that news release last week." Never pausing for a breath, the young man charged around the sofa, backpack in one hand, headed for the coat rack by the door. "You know, the one about the mysterious disappearance of that--." Blair passed within arms reach of his father and found himself stopped in mid-flight and mid-sentence, one long, Sentinel strong arm wrapped around his waist.

"Oh, no, no, no, Motor Mouth. This little excursion doesn’t include you." Jim swung Blair off his feet and turned him around so he was facing his bedroom. "It’s just me and Simon this time."

"What?" Whirling around, Blair let his backpack drop, the leather pack hitting the hardwood floor with a heavy thump. "Why not? Why do I have to stay home?"

Jim rolled his eyes toward the wall in the kitchen where the clock hung.

"Ah, come on man. It’s barely eight-thirty." Blair’s hands flew through the air in time to his rapid-fire speech. "And I’m on Spring break."

"And you’re still grounded." Jim pulled his jacket down from the coat rack and tugged it on.

"I haven’t seen Daniel and Ray in ages." A definite whine was creeping into Blair’s voice.

"And the conditions of said grounding are that you will be home by nine every night and in bed by ten. We’ll be gone for hours. You know what the ER is like." Jim patted Blair on the cheek, then slid his hand up to ruffle his wild curls. "I’ll call when I know something. Let you know when you can expect us. You can wait up until I call you."

"What if Daniel or Ray are hurt and needs one of us to stay there with them?"

"Burke said it was nothing to worry about, so don’t worry." Jim gestured towards the living room that was showing the effects of three of them watching basketball and eating pizza and snacks for the last three hours. "Why don’t you clean up a little and get out some clean sheets for the couches in case they need to spend the night."

"But, Jim--." Blair all but stamped his foot, aborting the move at the last moment in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid Jim’s swinging arm. This time the pat landed on a cheek that was much lower and wasn’t anywhere near as teasing. A squeak of surprise escaped before he could catch it. His face turned a dark shade of pink, the glow deepening at the sound of Simon’s distinctive hee-hee-hee.

"Give it up, kid. You lost this one before you even started." Simon patted Blair’s hunched shoulder before retrieving his own jacket and joining Jim at the front door. "If I recall, the reason you’re grounded now is because you broke the grounding before this one." Simon watched the young man pale a little and drop his gaze to the floor. "You must like living dangerously, boy."

Blair suffered only a brief moment of remorse over the small reminder of his recent predicament. "I keep telling you two, it was all a misunderstanding. A common and easily understood delay in adjusting my watch." Warming to his subject, Blair began bouncing on the balls of his feet, all movement and barely contained energy, without once leaving his spot in front of the two big men. "Thousands of people forget about the time change every year, twice a year in fact. I was barely over an hour late and that--"

Reaching out to stop the flow of words before they threatened to overwhelm everyone in the room, Jim planted a hand on the top of Blair’s head, bringing the bouncing and the conversation to an abrupt halt. "Can it, Junior. One—we already went over this. I changed your watch for you, you changed it back. So, not only did you break your curfew, you lied about it."

"Honestly Jim, I thought Lisa did it. She was fiddling with my watch for twenty minutes." An exasperated grimace twisted one corner of Blair’s mouth. "Who knew she wasn’t smart enough to figure out how to adjust it?" The thumb attached to the hand still on top of his head darted down to thump him on the forehead in retribution for the unkind remark.

"Two—if Burke needs anything, Simon is probably better equipped to help me out with it. Any involvement with Burke is never simple."

Hope flared briefly in Blair’s eyes. "All the more reason to have a third person available to you, Big Guy."

Jim applied a little more pressure to the hold on Blair’s head, re-enforcing his next words. "Which brings me to three—you… are… not… going." He spun the compliant, but unhappy boy under his hand around one more time and punctuated his sentence with a swat to the small backside.

Blair jumped forward two steps and turned to face him, one hand rubbing away the lingering sting. "Okay, okay. I get the message. I’m staying home."

Jim opened the door and nodded at Simon, indicating his friend should take the lead out of the apartment. "That’s my boy." One long finger pointed at Blair’s nose. "I’ll call."

"Don’t put yourself out on my account," was the sarcastic reply.

Simon gave Blair a resigned look and a mournful shake of his head before walking out of the front door. He glanced at Jim as he passed him. "Boy never learns, does he?"

"He does, it just takes a lot longer than you’d think, considering his IQ." Jim eyed the dejected figure half-slumped against the back of the sofa. "Behave yourself. Wait for my call and don’t pick up until you know it’s me." A sullen stare answered him. Jim sighed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

From the imagined safety of being several yards away behind a closed door, Blair threw himself down onto one end of the sofa. He decided he could risk one small final act of defiance for his wounded pride’s sake. Tossing a throw pillow from beside him at the door, he chattered bitterly into the empty room. "Golly, does that mean I’m allowed to break my grounding to talk on the phone? Oh, I see, you’re allowed to change the rules to fit what’s convenient for you." He tossed a glare at the front door. "Damn control freak."

The front door swung open and Blair’s heart jumped into his throat as he leapt up off the couch. One hand still holding the doorknob, Jim leaned into the room and gave Blair a mild look. "I didn’t hear you lock the door."

Stumbling nervously forward a few feet, Blair gave a dry, forced little laugh, halting before he entered the older man’s reach. "Ah, um, yeah, yeah, you’re right, Jim. I-I forgot. I’ll get it."

"Good. You do that." Jim let his mild expression grow stern and a little chuckle of his own joined Blair’s. "And we’ll discuss that smart mouth of yours when I get back." Wide, guilty eyes stared back at him. "Lock it." The genuine smile of triumph at having caught the sulking young man in his own web of frustrated ranting stayed on Jim’s face all the way to the truck.

As soon as the door closed, Blair raced the last remaining feet and slid the locks into place, for no other reason than it would slow down Jim’s return if the man decided to pop back into the apartment again. Blair slumped against the door and smacked his forehead on the cool surface of the thick steel door.

"Augh! God, please let the Emergency Department be really, really busy tonight."

***********

Daniel Burke shifted his weight from one foot to the other, leaning a little of his upper body against the thin cushion provided by the hospital stretcher’s mattress. Each little movement caused the vinyl covering on the thin foam to squeak and crinkle. The sound was muted and indistinct, but Burke found himself annoyed by it. After all that had happened over the last twelve hours, the young man beside him deserved more comfort than a hard, narrow stretcher in a cold, sterile cubicle.

Rubbing his hand over Quill’s slender back again and again to help ease his panic, Burke placed his free hand on the boy’s chest and applied a gentle, but firm pressure to persuade Quill to relax back against the raised support of the stretcher.

"Relax, son."

One glazed eye turned to stare up at him, unfocused and wide with increasing panic. Quill’s hand was clamped over the clear plastic mask strapped over his nose and mouth, as if clinging to it would increase the amount of oxygen being blown into his face. The vapor from the medicated mist the mask provided seeped out from behind it’s edges and curled up to disappear into the cool air.

Burke ran a hand through the jumble of unruly hair, brushing it away from Quill’s pale, frightened face. He had managed to wash most of the blood and gore from the longish hair at the garage back in England, but the curls had become tangled and fly away on the long plane trip to the states, most of which Quill had slept through. It wasn’t until they left the private airfield that Quill started having more difficulty breathing. It was a poor time to find out his inhaler was empty.

"Relax a little bit. I’ve got you."

Moving in closer, Burke wrapped his arm around Quill’s back and forcefully eased him back into his supportive embrace. After a moment of resistance, he felt some of the tension drain out of the trembling muscles of the boy’s back. Despite the fact this was the second breathing treatment Quill had since their arrival in the emergency department, an audible wheeze continued to rasp out a rapid rhythm with each breath the teenager took.

A shiver shook the slender frame and Burke released his grip long enough to accept a second blanket from Ray’s offering hand, wrapping it around Quill’s upper body. The corner of the blanket snagged on the short piece of tubing attached to the IV catheter they had inserted in Quill’s left arm, making the boy jump at the unexpected jab of pain. Burke worked the blanket free and slid his arm back around the hunched shoulders, surprised when Quill’s head dropped down to rest on his chest. He could feel Quill’s heart hammering against his rib cage at a startling rate. The small gesture of trust amazed him, and brought that sharp flash of tightness to his chest. This time though, it was a pleasant sensation.

A muffled voice from under his chin drew Burke’s attention. "Never been… this bad… before." That one glazed eye peered up from under heavy, red-rimmed lids. "Guess the air here… doesn’t agree with me." Quill rolled his head to one side and blinked, trying to bring Burke into focus. "It’s a bit scary,… never been in casualty." Giving up the battle to see straight, Quill rolled his head back down onto its former resting-place. "Don’t like strangers… poking at me."

Burke looked up and caught Ray’s eye over the jungle of tangled hair. Both men shared a look of guilty concern, knowing there were going to be a lot more strangers in Quill’s immediate future for the boy to deal with.

The brief respite only lasted a few minutes before a nurse pulled back the curtain and entered the cubicle. Quill jumped at the sudden invasion, the jittery restlessness caused by the medications fueling his exhausted efforts to breathe. He lifted his head from Burke’s chest to shift position on the narrow stretcher again, one hand still glued to the mask. Burke prepared to release him and back away until Quill’s free hand latched onto his sleeve and the boy’s forehead pressed back into his shoulder, blocking out the newcomer.

The nurse raised her eyebrows at the obvious dismissal and looked at Burke for an explanation. "My name’s Lisa. I’m one of the nurses here. I’m taking over for Kathy, her shift’s over. How’s he doing?" The question was meant for Quill, but it was clear the distressed teenager wasn’t willing to talk right now.

"This is his first emergency room visit. He’s a little overwhelmed." Burke gave her one of his most charming smiles, dismissing Quill’s response as normal. "I’m sure you understand how panicked they get when they can’t breathe."

"I’m surprised this is his first ER visit if the inhaler you showed me is the only thing he’s been using to help his asthma." The nurse walked over to the opposite side of the stretcher from Burke and put a stethoscope on Quill’s back. After listening for a few seconds over each lung field, she pulled the earpieces from her ears and swung the stethoscope around her neck. "He’s a little better, but not as much as we’d like him to be." She slipped the mask off of Quill’s face and turned the oxygen flow meter on the wall off. "This one’s done. In about twenty minutes we’ll do another treatment and check his peak flow again."

Quill let her remove the mask from his face, but he refused to let her take it out of his hand. He buried himself deeper into the blonde man’s side, one hand still clutching the oxygen tubing and mask, every muscle twitching and his heart pounding.

Burke tightened his grip on Quill without realizing it. "What’s wrong with his inhaler? I mean, I know medical care in England isn’t exactly like ours here, but I’m sure his doctor would have prescribed what’s best for him."

"You live in England?"

"No, I don’t. But he did, up until today." Burke contemplated all the possible stories he could tell to keep suspicions at bay with the medical staff. Knowing he was dealing with professionals trained to recognize a false story, especially when a young person was concerned, he decided on the tale closest to the truth.

"He and his mother lived there. He’s in the states for a bit spending time with me while we get some issues sorted out." Burke gave her a sheepish smile followed by a ‘its-an-embarrassing-personal-problem-and-I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it in-front-of-the-kids’ grimace, letting his natural charm and rugged good-looks do the rest.

"Divorced, huh?" Interest lit up her face, despite her obvious efforts not to run an appraising eye over him. Dressed in a black turtleneck and black dress slacks that accented his fair coloring and blonde hair, he cut an attractive figure. "That’s… too bad." The lack of sincerity made it sound congratulatory instead of conciliatory.

"Well, thank you. The sudden changes have been hard to adjust to for both of us."

"I’m sure. Anyway," she shook herself to shift mental gears back to the subject at hand, "as I was saying, that type of inhaler is meant for someone with emphysema, not asthma. It really wouldn’t help him much. I don’t think the drug has a different effect in England than it does here." She gave Quill a thoughtful glance. "It’s almost like he’s been using someone else’s meds."

Quill retreated even further into Burke’s side at the nurse’s words, causing Burke to glance down at his charge in concern.

The nurse smiled at the sight of the comforting, protective huddle Quill sought out with the man she assumed was his father. Shrugging away the mystery, she caught the eye of each hovering adult in turn, making sure no one felt left out of the conversation. "I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes to set up that next treatment for him." Pulling the curtain closed behind her, the nurse strode out of the room.

The curtain was still swaying when Burke pried the clinging boy off his chest and moved him back enough so he could tilt Quill’s face up to meet his eye. "Want to tell me where you got the inhaler?" Burke took Quill by the forearms and braced him upright.

Quill gave a non-committal shrug and forced his good eye to focus on Burke’s solemn face, looking for signs that would allow him to anticipate the man’s reactions. The slight movement of his shoulders dislodged the blankets and Ray stepped up to his side to tug them back into place. Quill shot Ray a brief, surprised look when he remained standing and began rubbing Quill’s back and shoulders to comfort him. He darted his gaze back to Burke’s expectant face and swallowed down the lump of uncertainty growing in his throat.

"Nicked it."

"You stole it? From whom? What made you think it would help with asthma?" Burke had to work to keep from gritting his teeth. "Don’t you realize how dangerous it is to take medications that aren’t prescribed for you? And what about the person you took it from? What did they do the next time they needed it and it wasn’t there? Did you even think about that?"

"He had another one. I wouldn’t have… nicked it… if he hadn’t." Quill’s face fell and his words came out in a halting stammer, due in part to his guilty conscience and part to his growing anger.

"Kev and Liam and me… were in a luncheon. There’s an old nob an’ his wife… sitting at the next booth. He’d a bad time… with his breathing. Took him a minute… to find his inhaler. The wife found one… in her purse the same time… he got one out of a pocket." He shot a harsh, accusing glare up at Burke. "He had two of ‘em. He’s huffing and wheezing… just like I do… and it helped him." He dropped his gaze to study the pattern of the weave in Burke’s sweater, guilt overriding the anger for now. "They forgot one… on the table… when they left." He shrugged, trying to lessen the importance of his actions. "So I nicked it."

Keeping his tone mild, Burke asked, "Did they come back for it?"

Quill leaned into Ray’s firm massage of his back, soaking up as much of the comfort as he could before it was taken away from him. "Maybe. Don’t know. Didn’t hang around … long enough to… find out."

Ray said, "That wasn’t very nice." Quill just shrugged his shoulders and averted his face from Ray’s line of vision.

Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, Burke moved one hand up Quill’s thin arm to massage the back of the boy’s neck, working his fingers over the knotted muscles. "It certainly wasn’t the best solution you could have come up with," he felt Quill duck his head lower, "but considering the circumstances, I can see how you’d be tempted. Not being able to breathe must be one of the most frightening things that can happen to a person."

Quill’s head popped up, a look of genuine surprise on his battered, young face. He whispered, "It’s bloody awful. I’d do anything… to keep it from happening."

Ray stilled his hand, but left it on Quill’s back. "Why didn’t you just go see a doctor? England’s health care is easily available."

"Yeah, if you want… some useless, old bloke… at a crowded clinic. Besides, they make you… fill out all kinds of forms… before they’ll see you, and they want…NI numbers, birth certificates and such… to prove you’re on your own." Quill’s voice was growing tight, his words coming in shorter bursts of sharp, clipped phrases. Restless, he shifted his weight on the hard stretcher, grimacing when each tiny squirming movement made his injured knee throb.

"So what’s the problem?" Ray kept his voice soft and soothing, the tone neutral, baiting the boy into revealing more bits and pieces of information in a nice, big brother sort of way. "You’re over eighteen, right?"

The sudden flush of color to Quill’s unbruised cheek told both men Ray had hit a nerve. "Course I am. Nineteen,… two weeks ago." His gaze darted around the room avoiding contact with either of the men. "It’s just… the paperwork. I-I… I didn’t want… any records on me,… that’s all. Bloody hell!… The government… watches those… kinds of places… you know. Don’t be an arsehole… don’t want them… to know… anything more… about me." The last was sentence was gasped out between harsh, squeaky breaths. Quill shrugged Ray’s hand off his back. Drawing his good leg up, he hunched forward and rested his forehead on his knee, trying to give his chest more room to expand, hands clutching the thin blanket closer around his shoulders.

Ray let his hand drop to his side and met Burke’s gaze over the top of Quill’s bowed head. He lifted his eyebrows seeking an indication of what the older man wanted to do next.

Burke tilted his head towards the chair by the wall and Ray retreated to it. Burke scrubbed one hand over his face, fortifying himself with a deep breath. Cautious about aggravating the boy’s condition, but unwilling to let Quill continue to act out in a public place, Burke slipped a firm hand under Quill’s chin, forcing his face up. Crouching down a few inches, he stared into the flushed, bruised face to find Quill’s eyes closed tight.

"Look at me."

Quill tried to pull his face away and Burke tightened his hand just enough to keep his hold firm. Burke kept his tone calm, but firm, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind he expected to be obeyed. "Must be that hearing problem you had back at the warehouse flaring up again. I said, look at me, son."

The mention of the place he had called home for the last year and a half brought a sudden rush of tears to Quill. Recent memories came rushing back to him. All the vivid detail his eidetic memory could provide flashed through his mind, frame after frame of each traumatic moment playing out in full color like a silent film. Quill’s face crumbled. One hand shot out knocking Burke’s fingers away from his face with enough ill timed force to break open the healing split in the corner of his still puffy mouth. Heedless of the fresh damage, he struck out again, trying to push Burke away. Ray sprung up from his seat and resumed his place at Quill’s other side, but refrained from interfering.

"Bastards…why don’t… you just… leave me… alone." A steady stream of tears blinded Quill, but he continued to shove at any large, moving object that came close, his voice raising to a shout despite the rawness of his throat. "I don’t… need you…or your sodding rules… or your… your fucking protection… or your… your…. your damn pity…. I want… to be… left the… bloody… fucking… hell… alone."

The curtain closing off the cubicle to the rest of the Emergency Department rattled sharply to one side. The nurse and the doctor, whom had first treated Quill, moved to the stretcher, aggressively displacing both Burke and Weston. Both men stepped out of their way and stood against the wall behind the stretcher, out of their way, but near enough to help if needed. The doctor tried to listen to Quill’s lungs while the nurse made soothing noises meant to quiet and comfort.

"Quill, it’s okay. Just settle down. You’re not helping things by getting upset. Slow down." She tried to rub his arm, but he batted off her attempts to touch him.

"Leave… me… alone…just…lea…ah… ah…."

Unable to draw an adequate breath, Quill’s anger transformed into panic. His eyes darted about the room, bouncing from nurse to doctor and back again, then flying up to the take in the unfamiliar faces of two strange men hovering at the open curtain. Fending off multiple pairs of grabbing hands, Quill tried to launch off the stretcher, injured knee, pounding head and a chest that felt like it was on fire, be damned.

Burke pushed past the stunned doctor and lunged his upper body across the narrow stretcher, managing to hook his arms around the fleeing boy’s waist just before Quill’s hips left the mattress. Quill’s worn, gray turtleneck sweater rode up during the battle and Burke realized he could feel every rib under the baby-soft, clammy skin. There had definitely been too many missed meals for this kid. With one quick heave, Burke lifted the struggling boy back onto the bed.

Voice harsher than he had intended, Burke barked out, "That’s enough," but words weren’t getting through to Quill right now. Only small, muffled grunts and gasps escaped the struggling boy. Burke grabbed both flailing wrists, crossing them over Quill’s chest, pinning the squirming body tight against his own. Right on cue, a mask appeared in front of him, spewing a new dose of mist and oxygen. Burke shifted so one hand was free to clamp the mask over Quill’s face and hold both it and the boy in place.

Whispering in the ear pinned under his chin, Burke let instinct take over, flashing back to the rare times during his childhood he had needed to be soothed and comforted. "Ssh, ssh. It’s okay, son, it’s okay. Relax, take a breath, relax and breathe, relax. I’ve got you now. I’ve got you. It’s going to be all right. Just settle down and breathe. I’m here."

Quill continued to resist until the soft, continual string of words, spoken in a now familiar voice, broke through his terror. As the deep voice began to register with him, and the breathing treatment pushed back the haze clouding his mind, the voice chased away his fear. Quill tilted and twisted his head until he could see Burke without dislodging the mask pressed over his face.

Burke winked at Quill, never breaking the chant of reassuring noises. Quill went limp with obvious relief and curled into Burke. He closed his eyes, bringing one hand up to cling to the man’s sleeve while the other covered Burke’s hand holding the mask to his face.

The boy’s reaction brought a burst of pleasure to Burke. He adjusted his hold to settle Quill into a more comfortable position.

"I was beginning to question the validity of your relationship with this young man, Mr. Burke." The doctor glanced from Burke to the bowed head buried in the folds of the man’s sweater. "In light of his obvious, recent injuries, we have to be careful, for his sake." He paused, lingering over the sight of Quill’s fingers twisting tighter into the knit fabric. "But I can see he wants you near, despite his behavior to the contrary."

Burke felt Quill’s hold spasm at the doctor’s accusation, then relax as the anxiety of the moment recessed. He kept his expression relaxed and understanding, even when the uncharacteristic urge to knock out a few of the man’s teeth for upsetting Quill again surged through him.

"You’ll have to forgive him, Doctor. The last twenty-four hours have been rough. Between leaving his home, the accident I explained he was in just before we left, the unexpected death of his friends and his asthma acting up, he’s more than a little off balance."

"Extreme emotional turmoil doesn’t help his asthma. Does he always react to stress this way?"

"I couldn’t really tell you. I haven’t spent much time with him before today." A disapproving look settled on the doctor’s face, which Burke felt compelled to wipe off—preferably with his fist. Making a mental note for himself, Burke decided if these aggressive reactions around the boy kept up, he was going to need to add a couple of extra hours to his workout sessions with the punching bag.

"He and his mother lived in England all his life. I’m a Lieutenant Commander with the Army’s Special Forces. I don’t have much say in where I go or how long I stay there, and no one outside of my team and a few superiors even know where I am at any given time. Sometimes for months at a stretch."

Amazed at how easy it was to reveal so many of his own heartfelt worries this way, Burke just let his insecurities have a free voice. At least it should be convincing. It was also a little unnerving how easy it was to adapt the facts of Quill’s life to fit into his own. He could have been the boy’s father, depending on when he was really born, a fact Burke was determined to find out soon.

"It doesn’t make it easy to have time for a personal life, no matter how much you may want it. And very few women are willing to hang their future on a relationship that could come to a permanent and abrupt end any hour of the day, any day of the week." Burke glanced at the man’s nametag to be sure he’d remembered it right. "Just because we’re not in an active war, Doctor Litton, doesn’t mean all the fighting has ended." He tightened his hold on Quill just a little. "There’s always someone who needs a little extra looking after."

Doctor Litton’s olive complexion deepened. He cleared his throat, nodding his head in Quill’s general direction. "I can see that. I think you’re just the man to do it, too."

Now that Quill was quieter and relaxed, the doctor re-examined his breathing, concentrating on each lung field for several long moments. Straightening back up, he removed the stethoscope from around his neck and pointed at the mask clamped to Quill’s face. "He’s going to need a couple more of those before things clear up enough to let him go home. And that’s if he stays calm. I’d like to medicate him with a little something to keep him relaxed."

A muffled, low "no," came out from under the mask. It was followed by a sharp, decisive and more authoritative "yes". Instead of continuing with the rebellion, Quill only gave an exhausted sigh and dug his fingers deeper into Burke’s sweater. Rubbing the boy’s back, Burke repeated himself for the doctor’s benefit. "That was a ‘yes’. I think that’d be a good idea. He needs some rest. It’s been a rotten day."

Doctor Litton nodded and left the room. At some point earlier the nurse must have left the room, because she appeared now with a syringe in her hand. Without dislodging Quill’s hold, she managed to inject the medication into his IV site, then left the room, promising to check back shortly to see if it was working. Within minutes, Burke felt Quill relax against him and his breathing ease as he drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

Movement at the end of the stretcher drew his attention. He watched Weston lift Quill’s legs more fully onto the mattress, then bend over to prop a pillow under the immobilized leg. Two men waiting at the still open curtain popped into sight. Burke returned the newcomers’ highly amused smiles with a wry, self-conscious grin. Being caught in such an uncharacteristic, compromising position of playing surrogate father made him blush, but not as much as he thought it would. He was pleased and proud Quill had turned to him, even searched the room for him when he couldn’t see Burke standing behind the stretcher earlier.

Weston had pulled a sucker from his ever-present stash of pocket candy when the room had settled down. Taking the stick from his mouth, he glanced over at the two men and waved, sucker cutting the air like a miniature sword.

"Hey, Jim. Hello, Simon." Weston was the picture of little boy charm and naiveté, never failing to crumble the older men’s hard-nosed, police detective attitudes and win them over from the first cheery word. "Look what we got on our last European vacation."

Both men’s smiles turned from teasing amusement to genuine pleasure. One nodded while the taller of the two chuckled out loud.

"Hey there, Ray." Simon Banks gestured with an upturned thumb at the two other occupants of the room. "Let me guess. It followed you home and you want to know if you can keep it?"

The confused, guileless expression his teammates were so familiar with descended over Weston’s face. "Well, no, actually." When faced with a polite, straightforward question, Weston did what he was taught to do, he answered honestly. "We want to know if you can keep it, at least for a little while." Weston just smiled at their stunned expressions, and popped the sucker back into his mouth.

"What?" The question came from both men in unison. Not knowing whether the outrageous request was real or not, they both looked to Burke for an answer.

Burke chuckled, amused by all three men. "Give me a hand, Ray. I think they’re considering refusing delivery of our package."

With Weston’s help, he eased the boy into a semi-reclining position and working his sweater out of the lax fingers tangled in the weave. Burke moved away from the bedside, gesturing the men out to the adjoining corridor. Once in the hallway, he stopped and made sure he could see the stretcher from where they stood.

Jim Ellison broke the silence with a low whistle of surprise. "You know, Daniel, every time you come to town our world goes a little crazy."

Burke shrugged. "Probably, but what are friends for if you can’t come to them with a little problem?"

He decided to ignore the twin looks of doubt and suspicion on their faces. "Tell me, my friends. How do you feel about spending the next few days evading probable top-notch military surveillance while harboring a kidnapped murder witness who’s wanted for crimes against the British Crown? One who was brought into this country illegally, by me, is very likely an orphaned minor, who’s been assaulted by an MI5 officer bent on murdering him after he witnessed the execution of his two best friends, and who is currently suffering the effects of mismanaged, brittle asthma?"

Now Burke decided to ignore the identical incredulous looks the men were wearing. "Sounds like a great way to spend a few days, doesn’t it?"

**********

"Evening, Simon." A tall, redheaded nurse walked by the three men in the hall, giving each of them a welcoming smile. Her glance turned heated and her voice husky, lingering over Ellison’s trim, muscular form. "Hello, Jim." She stopped in front of Ellison and batted her eyes at him. "I hope Blair’s not a patient again."

"Hi, Tina." Ellison graced her with a soft, playful smile of his own. She was a beautiful, assertive, intelligent woman. Just his type. "No, my nightmare’s at home, safe and sound." He ignored the two snorts of amusement from the men at his side. "At least, that’s were I left him. No telling what’s happened by now." An exasperated look crossed his handsome face. "It has been twenty minutes."

Tina’s smile widened and a genuine chuckle transformed her face from potential vixen to delighted friend. "You have a point." Tina and the two detectives shared another laugh.

Ellison gestured toward Burke. "This is a friend of ours, Daniel Burke. We’re here to give him a hand. He’s passing through town and his… ," he tossed Burke a questioning look.

Burke picked up the conversation, building on the information he had already let the hospital personnel speculate about. "Quill, the boy in room two, he’s mine."

"The bad asthma." She nodded her head. "He’s had a pretty bad time of it." The ‘nurse’ in Tina quickly reasserted itself. "You might have waited just a bit too long to come in this time." She gave Burke a small smile to soften some of the accusation in it.

Feeling a lecture coming on, Burke decided to head it off. "So I’ve been told. This is the first time I’ve had to deal with this. I didn’t know what to look for."

Puzzled by his answer, Tina asked, "He’s had asthma all his life, hasn’t he? Doesn’t he know when he needs to see a doctor?"

"I don’t know. He’s been living in England with his mother. Recently, he fell in with a bad crowd and got into some trouble. I arrived in England to pick him up yesterday. Just before we left to come stateside, he was involved in an accident. His two best friends were killed and he ended up with the injuries you see now. That was about fifteen hours ago."

Burke couldn’t resist glancing into the room across the hall to check on the sleeping boy. The sight of the thin, huddled figure working so hard for every breath under the mask, even in sleep, made his chest tighten. Burke chalked it up to sympathy pains and tried to ignore it. "He’s had a rough day."

Remembering everything that had happened to the boy caused a sudden burst of protective anger to swell through Burke, the overwhelming emotions coming from a place inside he didn’t even know he had.

"The other nurse -- Lisa? She said stress affects his asthma. She also said it wasn’t being managed well before this. He was using the wrong inhaler. He told me he’s never been bad enough to visit an emergency department before, so I’m not sure anyone’s to blame for this." He held the nurse’s gaze until she blinked, her expression softening, understanding and sympathy replacing the faint, questioning look of disapproval.

"Well, at least you’ll be better prepared to handle it next time."

"I’m hoping there won’t be a next time."

Tina glanced into the cubicle where Weston still hovered at Quill’s bedside. "This all must be a new experience for you. You cared enough to bring him this far, you’ll stick with him over the bumps ahead. Teenagers just need a lot of guidance, support, discipline and love." She turned a half smile that held more knowing smirk than mirth in it on Ellison. "Isn’t that right, Jim?"

"I could write a book on it." Ellison heaved a resigned sigh, falling into his expected role of weary parent for his audience. "But it’s the stuff I can’t put in print that would be the most helpful to other parents. You know -- the chains and manacles, the threats and the beatings. All the stuff that really works."

"And let’s not forget my favorite, the one hundred and one inventive uses for duct tape." Banks joined in on the teasing.

"Not exactly PC, gentlemen." Tina gave them a mock shudder of distress.

"Admit it, you have seen an improvement in a certain young man’s behavior when he’s been forced to be in here, haven’t you?" Ellison challenged her.

Tina pretended to give it some thought. "Well, maybe. What’s working? The chains or the threats?"

"The beatings, actually." Ellison deadpanned.

"Yeah, riiiight, Detective. I’d pay money to see that." Tina glanced at her watch, taking a reluctant step away from the trio of men. "I have to check on a patient. It was nice meeting you, Daniel. If you’re in town for awhile, maybe we’ll met again. Outside in the normal world. Bye, Simon." She flashed them both a smile, then turned a wistful, inviting look on Ellison. "Bye, Jim. Call me. I had fun last time."

"Bye, Tina. I will. I had a good time, too." Warmth filled Ellison’s expression and his tone, memories of a delightful evening and a very hot, satisfying night rushing into his thoughts. "Oh, Tina? Is there a place we could duck into for more privacy? Someplace close?"

"Sure. Go through the door you’re standing beside. It’s a supply room. Hardly anyone needs to use it on this shift. And you can still see into the boy’s room through the door’s window." She pointed at the door to their left, then gave a little wave goodbye.

Ellison stared after her retreating figure, watching her hips sway under the stretch of her cotton scrubs as she walked down the hall, admiring how the jade color of her uniform brought out the red tones in her hair. Ellison gave another, deeper, more regretful sigh, only this one spoke of frustrated adult passions and desires, not weary parental frustrations.

Burke watched Tina depart, as well. He eyed Ellison’s disappointed expression. "Just how good of a time did you have, and why aren’t you having it on a regular basis if you look this down about not having it?"

"Too good. But I don’t have time in my life right now for a complicated relationship. Between police work and being a single parent, I’m lucky I get to take a shit by myself. I don’t have time for it, let alone the energy." Ellison cocked his head to one side to peek around the open curtain. "And if what I just saw is happening, you’re not going to anytime soon either. Welcome to single parenthood."

Taken aback, Burke frowned. "No way, Ellison. This isn’t permanent. I’m just taking care of this little package as the result of a mission gone wrong. As soon as I can make arrangements to ensure his safety, he’s getting cut loose." Burke chewed the inside of his cheek, tensing up as he watched Weston soothing the restless, but still sleeping Quill. "There’s zero room for a kid in a life like mine."

All three men entered the deserted supply room. Burke stayed close to the door, peering out the window to be sure he had a good view of Quill’s room. He tore his gaze away from the room long enough to meet Ellison’s stare. "I don’t need to tell you that." His uncertain eyes drifted back to Quill, voice edged with a touch of longing. "I missed that boat a long time ago."

Banks snorted and clapped Burke on the shoulder. "I’ll tell you a little secret about being a father, Daniel. Nobody is cut out for it at first. Even when you think you’re ready, got the white picket fence, the house, the wife, the good job and a college fund all set up, you haven’t got a clue what to do with them when they finally show up. And it just gets more complicated and confusing as they get older."

Banks pointed at the young man across the hall. "It doesn’t matter if they’re newborn or half-grown like yours is. They still need the same things -- love, attention, discipline and a set of rules you both can live with."

He patted Burke’s shoulder again. "After you’ve pulled out most of your hair, and the rest of it’s turned gray, you get used to them. Then one day you wonder how you ever thought life could be complete without them around causing chaos and havoc. I repeat, no one is prepared for it, but anyone with enough love to share can do it."

He transferred his grip to Ellison, wrapping a long arm around the man’s broad shoulders. "Look at Jim. If he can raise a wild child like Blair, even starting late in the kid’s life, so can you."

"Judist priest, I’m not keeping the kid!" Burke sent both men a dark scowl. "I promised I’d take care of him, protect him, but just until better choices become available. And that’s where you come in, Jim."

Burke shifted closer to the two detectives, leaning on the wall, and lowered his voice, forcing the men to draw nearer to him. "What I told the nurse was essentially the truth in a nutshell. I’m not sure who we can trust right now. MI5’s involved in the killings in some fashion. I barely managed to stop one of their men from shooting this boy in the head. His injuries are from a murder attempt, not an accident. He witnessed two friends being gunned down in cold blood and was standing close enough to be covered in the splatter."

"Christ, no wonder he’s a little stressed. Poor kid." Simon darted an irritated glance toward Quill. "Where the hell are his parents?"

Burke gave a baffled shrug. "No father around since shortly after his birth. No siblings either. Word is the mother stepped out of the picture about eighteen months ago, for some reason I haven’t figured out yet. The two guys killed were like older brothers to him."

Twin expressions of compassion and pity creased the detectives’ streetwise faces making Burke looked hopeful of the outcome of his objective.

"I need some time. I need a secure place to hide him, from both the US Army and the British government, while I check out a few odd things that’ve cropped up. The kid hacked into some pretty sensitive files. It’s possible the kid knows something he shouldn’t." Burke rubbed a hand over his jaw in frustration.

Ellison asked, "Does he?"

"Maybe, but he’s keeping most of it to himself if he does. He hasn’t been in any shape to interrogate. He does admit to reading two of the files, one about my team. He said," Burke gave a deep sigh and shifted his position, restless and conflicted over what to believe, "we were scheduled to be eliminated during our next mission."

"Are you serious?" Ellison’s whisper had a harsh, angry edge to it.

"Dead serious." Burke nodded and shrugged. "It’s one of the things I need to investigate. You can see why I need to be careful with this. Tip off the wrong people, and we’re all dead. I can’t trust anyone outside of you, my team, and our families right now."

Banks couldn’t shift his mental focus off the youth across the hall. He kept imagining his own son Darryl, in the boy’s place. "Doesn’t really matter. The moment you took him out of their circle of control, you were all screwed. If this was a sanctioned hit, they’ll hunt him down no matter where you hide him."

"I know, Simon, I know that. At least here, he has a chance. If we’d left him behind, he’d be dead by now."

"Then you’re responsible for him, Daniel. You accepted the responsibility the minute you conspired to keep him away from the British authorities and took him out of the country. Who else does the kid have now besides you?" Banks expression took on a sour, demanding edge. "I’m guessing the ‘here illegally’ part you mentioned earlier means you left England by private means, bypassing the usual airports, customs and the need for trivial little things like passports and visas."

"We couldn’t leave him to be murdered, and we had to get him someplace safe as fast as we could. That didn’t leave official channels as an option." Burke’s eyes took on a fire that impressed even Banks’ hard-nosed attitude. "They don’t even have a Bill of Rights in England. He’s completely defenseless. Without a family to fight for him, he’ll vanish. I stand a better chance at keeping him alive on my own home turf. Here, I have my rank, some solid political backing and a few very powerful friends in the right places to help find a safe place for him."

"I notice the ‘we’ in those statements turned to ‘I’. You’re making this personal, Daniel. Why don’t you just consider keeping him yourself?" Ellison held up a hand to hold off the excuses that he could already see forming. "Hold on a minute. You’re a natural. I saw you with him. He instinctively trusts you. It was you he was looking for when he panicked. You he wanted. Believe me, that means something."

He let the significance of his words settle into Burke. "Think about this, Daniel. If they really think he knows something they want kept quiet, nothing’s going to stop them from coming for him. Not distance and not time. Who could protect him better over the long term than you and your men?"

Ellison dropped his tough guy veneer and spoke from his heart. "Take it from me, you could use another focus in your life. I’ve been saying that for awhile now, you just refuse to listen. One of these days, you’re going to wake up and wonder where all the time went you planned to use on things you told yourself you’d do later. By then you’ll have nothing to show for a lifetime of sacrifice and loyal service, except an aging body covered in scars, a tidy bank account and a really nice art collection." Jim shook his head, more in response to his own negative feelings than at Burke’s. "Let me tell you, buddy, you can’t take any of that fishing or show it how to make the perfect cast or celebrate a single holiday or birthday with."

"Listen, Daniel, if Jim and I can manage to be a decent parent, so can you. You just gotta want to do it." Banks gave the brooding man a mock punch. "It’s not like the Army is the only thing you can do with your life, man. You have the means to do anything you want. Tour the world. Take a bigger interest in your family’s banking concerns. Hell, start a business of your own. You’re a smart man and, let me be perfectly clear here, a Goddamn millionaire. What the hell does the Army still have to offer you that could possibly mean more than a kid who needs you does? Wake up and smell the napalm, Commander. You’ve done your duty. You’ve just been handed the rare chance to have a few things you gave up. Grab it and hang on to it. Face it, this boy needs you, just like Blair needed Jim to come into his life."

Burke shook his head in denial. "I’m career army, Simon." He waved a hand between himself and Ellison. "Our situations aren’t the same. Jim left the military long before Blair came along." Burke turned away from the two detectives to stare down the busy hallway. "Jim’s team died, my men still need me."

Ellison moved to stand in front of Burke, invading his personal space, his voice low, giving it a dangerous edge. "That’s right, Daniel. My men died." Ellison’s eyes grew cold. "And remember why. They were sent to their deaths by our commanding officer. Sacrificed like expendable pawns in the name of bigger stakes to be won. How is that any different than what the boy says is waiting for your men? Don’t you have an obligation to protect them?"

Compassion crept back into his ice blue eyes. "Stay in the game long enough, buddy, and your number’s bound to come up. My guess is you’ve outlived your usefulness, Commander." Ellison glanced into Quill’s room. "I don’t even know the details and I believe the kid. I know it happens."

Burke stared through the open curtain at the long, too-slender figure of Quill Tarquin. Visions of holidays spent with family in his own home, instead of some foreign country being shot at, and lazy summer days spent teaching Quill how to fly fish and dress his catch, all flickered through his thoughts, intermingled with the faces of his three teammates.

The four of them had been brothers-in-arms for so long, they had become brothers in life. In Burke’s mind, any plan that included keeping Quill would have to include the other three men. Whether or not the Army stayed involved in their lives would depend on what he found out over the next seventy-two hours.

Burke glanced back into the cubicle, smiling at the sight of his youngest, most earnest ‘brother’ playing at being the comforting mature adult. Weston was busy tucking already tucked blankets around the sleeping boy, every now and then reaching out to pat Quill’s disheveled curls back from where they were trapped under the restraining elastic band of the oxygen mask. The candy sucker sticking out of his mouth ruined the whole ‘responsible adult’ effect.

Burke shook his head at the unrestrained tenderness the young man showed the boy. Weston had taken to Quill from the first moment, anticipating his needs and seeing to little things to make the injured, frightened boy more comfortable. One thing was for sure, Weston was never self-conscious about giving his affection or trust to people he cared about. He never worried about putting his emotions on the line. At the same time, he was a terrific soldier, one Burke was proud to have at his side and on his team.

Ellison and Banks were wrong about one thing. He did have something important to show for his time with the Army. He had three brothers -- Jackson, Ethan and Ray. Burke looked up to see Ellison and Banks watching the two younger men across the hall with him, their faces twitching with suppressed laughter.

"By the way, Ellison," Burke said, "it’s a really tidy bank account. A really, really tidy bank account."

"Deadbeat."

"Flatfoot."

"Momma’s boy."

Banks shot them both a disgusted look. "For Christ’s sake, I’m going to the room with the kids in it. I know I can find more mature attitudes in there."

"Spoilsport."

"Old fogy."

"Couple of pain-in-the-ass, over-aged brats."

The dull thud of a door closing in their faces brought an abrupt end to the conversation.

************

One dazed, brown eye stared up at Burke. He had spent the last hour filling Ellison and Banks in on recent events while Quill slept. The boy began to stir as the conversation ended. Burke waited while Quill blinked away some of the drug-induced sleepiness and showed an awareness of the other people in the room. Petting a few stray strands of the boy’s hair back down in place, Burke gestured towards the two men standing at the end of the stretcher.

"I want you meet a couple of friends of mine, son. The one on the right is Jim Ellison, on the left, is Simon Banks. You’re going to be staying with Jim for a few days while I figure out a plan of action."

One hand still resting on Quill’s head, Burke felt an immediate tensing of the boy’s body. A rigid shudder ran through him from head to toe, vibrating so hard Burke’s hand shook, but Quill remained silent, letting his frightened, angry glare do the talking for him.

Burke read the message loud and clear, shaking his head at the thought that he must be spending too much time with the kid if he could read his mind. "Settle down. It’s just for a few days. I --," Burke shot a dark look at Ellison, "we need to clear up a couple of things before we take you back to base. I needed someplace for you to stay where I knew you’d be safe."

Quill shrugged Burke’s hand off his head and turned his face away to stare at a blank wall. Burke took a deep breath and scowled at the amused, knowing look Ellison gave him. "Okay, I get the message, you’re not happy. I can understand that, but it doesn’t change anything. These men are police detectives and ex-military men. They know as much as I know, and they can protect you while I figure out the best plan of action that’ll keep you safe."

Quill swiveled his head back around to look at the men. He straightened himself up on the stretcher and looked Ellison in the eye. "Coppers?" Both men started at the unfamiliar phrase, but nodded.

"Good. Arrest him." Quill turned his face to indicate a flabbergasted Burke. "For kidnapping."

"Why you ungrateful, conniving, little shit." Burke’s jaw dropped open. From his seat by the wall, Weston dropped his head down to stare at the floor, struggling to keep from laughing out loud, his chin quivering with the demands of the effort.

Quill ignored his savior’s fuming remarks, elaborating with high-speed enthusiasm. "Nicked me, he did. Right out of the bloody country. Forced me to come with him here. Never once asked if I wanted to. And he had a gun. Arrest him." Quill was breathing better, but his voice was still raw. He had to pause every few words to take a shaky breath, but the disappointment and hurt was still apparent in his soft, accusing voice.

Ellison turned away to hide the surprised grin on his face. "Found yourself a live wire there, didn’t you, Burke."

Older and more experienced, Banks managed to keep a straight face. He let his voice carry all of the menace and authority his deep base could muster.

"Outside of the fact he saved your undeserving, disrespectful, scrawny ass from being shot, Lt. Commander Burke is an agent of the US government. His actions were done in the performance of his assigned duties and are well within the guidelines of US Army jurisdiction. As such, they’re not open to sanctions from criminal laws, young man." He let his intimidating stare hold the boy’s glare until Quill averted his gaze.

"And that’s ‘Detectives’ to you, boy, but just plain ‘sir’ will do, too." Banks waited a beat before demanding, "Understood?"

The word rang out like a shot, making Quill jump. He darted a look at the tall man, worrying the torn corner of his mouth with his teeth. Banks took a half-step closer to the bed and Quill decided to answer, flinching when the detective laid a hand on his lower leg. Embarrassed by his own reaction, he spit out a rash reply. "I understand. Bloody wanka."

This time Burke intervened. He wanted Quill to feel secure with these men, not frightened or rebellious. He took hold of Quill’s chin and turned his face to look him in the eye. "Hold it right there, young man. These men are friends of mine and they’re doing us, you and me, a favor. So can the attitude. I’m not just handing you off--."

"Dumping me." Quill surprised himself at the amount of bitterness the phrase contained.

Clamping down on his building frustration, Burke ignored the interruption. "To just anyone for safekeeping. Ellison can watch out for you, protect you. He knows the military -- what to look for and how to deal with it. He’s experienced with these kinds of things."

Quill pulled his chin from Burke’s grasp, and shot Ellison a daring look filled with venom. "Make a hobby out of taking people against their will, too? Oh, I forgot Detective, sir, for you it’s a bloody career choice."

With a painful jerk, Burke reacquired his hold on Quill’s jaw. The boy winced as callused fingers brushed over bruises and tender, raw skin. One of Quill’s hands latched onto Burke’s wrist, startling him with the coldness of the boy’s touch.

"Watch your mouth. I’m not going to tell you again."

Quill neither pulled away nor pushed at Burke, but held on as if he was afraid the man would disappear if some type of physical contact didn’t exist between them. His one accusing eye stared at Burke for a moment before turning bright and watery with unshed tears. He blinked hard in an unsuccessful attempt to stem their flow, pulling Burke forward to bury his face in the warmth of the man’s now misshapen sweater. An indistinct mumble was swallowed up by the thick, knit weave.

"What?" Burke tried pulling Quill back by his shoulders, but the effort only made the boy tighten his grip.

Quill pushed his forehead into Burke’s chest, freeing his mouth from the folds of the sweater, but only for as long as it took to repeat his plea.

"Don’t leave."

Burke frowned, rubbing one hand over the hunched back. "You’ll be fine. You can trust Jim and Simon."

Frantic words came out in a rush between choked sobs and little, wheezy gasps. "Don’t leave me. Take me with you. I’ll be quiet. I won’t get in the way. I’ll do wotever you tell me to do. I’ll --."

"Wait. Hold up there." Burke darted a worried glance at Weston, then up at Ellison and Banks. Weston rose from the chair to stand at the opposite side of the stretcher from Burke, lending quiet support. "None of that has anything to do with why I’m leaving you with Jim. I need some time to make arrangements. It’s not safe --."

"Please! I’ll listen. I won’t complain. I’m sorry I asked them to arrest you. I’m sorry!" Quill pulled back enough to make eye contact. "I swear, I won’t be any trouble." His voice dropped to a faint whispering plea. "Just don’t go."

Gripping Quill’s shoulders with both hands, Burke held him at arm’s length. Hunching down until they were face to face, he tried to project as much reassurance as possible into his expression, enunciating each word clearly, judging whether or not the panicked boy was even listening to him.

"You’re not the problem here, the situation is. I’ll be back. I just need to make arrangements —ensure your safety, deal with the charges against you, get your entry into the country made official, find you a place to live, somebody to watch out --. "

Quill launched himself across the short distance between them again, his head rolling side to side on Burke’s shoulder, babbling at top speed. "No! No, no, no, no. She said she’d come back too. But she didn’t. You won’t either. They’ll kill you or you’ll decide I’m… this’s all too much trouble." Whitened knuckles fisted deeper into his clothing. "Don’t leave me behind. Please. Please. I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Please. You promised, you promised. Please, please, please."

Most of the soft pleading was in a whispery thin voice that rose and fell with each new gasped breath and ended with a strained sob. The last few words were so weak only Burke could hear them, each one tearing at his heart and battering at his crumbling resolve.

How the hell had this happened? He was a covert ops soldier, a man who had killed scores of men and destroyed entire clutches filled with the enemy. Why was denying this one mouthy, needy brat so hard to do?

The smart thing to do would be to just walk away. The boy would get over it and understand once everything was said and done. And if he didn’t, what difference did it make? He wasn’t Burke’s concern once things got straightened out. A few days from now, he’d never see the kid again. Leaving now was the only intelligent, professional thing to do.

Which was why, even Burke was surprised when he lifted Quill closer, wrapped his arms tight around the trembling boy, and began whispering reassurances to him. Ellison and Banks flashed smug grins, making him roll his eyes at them. Scowling and swatting at the thumbs up Weston gave him, he continued murmuring soothing words until Quill’s ragged breathing quieted to soft pants.

The curtain was pulled back and the nurse entered. She took one look at the shuddering form huddled against Burke, listened to the light sobs and the raw gasping wheezes filtered through the thick weave of the man’s sweater. She frowned at the group of men hovering around the stretcher. Grabbing the oxygen treatment mask off the wall, she filled it with more medication and turned the flow meter on. Worming her way between broad shouldered bodies she struggled a little getting the mask into place on Quill’s face, having to force it between the tightly entwined pair.

"You guys are never going to get out of here at this rate." She sighed and shook her head at the abundance of handsome males, all of who seemed denser than pea soup about the needs of an adolescent asthma patient. She ran another appraising eye over the men. "Not that I’m saying that’s necessarily a bad thing, mind you."

***********

After he had calmed down again and the repeated respiratory treatments eased his swollen airways, Burke had explained to him what was going to happen. Quill could tell by the man’s attitude he wasn’t taking no for an answer this time.

"You’re going to be staying with Detective Ellison and his son, Blair. They have a nice apartment not far from here and Jim’s agreed to take a couple of days off work to keep an eye on things." Burke tapped Quill on the forehead with one finger to be sure the boy was paying attention behind the petulant, dark scowl he was being graced with. "We’ll be back as soon as we check out a few things, mainly the information you told us about from the stolen data. We’ll figure out the best plan of action to keep you out of the wrong hands, until the bigger issue of who’s responsible for the events that happened at the warehouse is discovered."

"When Kev and Liam were murdered by a sodding copp -- policeman." Quill’s nervous gaze flickered up to look at the two detectives leaning against the far wall. Burke guided his face back until he could look Quill in the eye.

"Lt. Eric Crowe is a British MI5 agent. Hopefully, by now, a soon-to-be ex-agent." Burke looked down for a brief moment to shield Quill from the murderous look he knew was in his eyes. Past experiences had taught him it was a look that could scare even hardened soldiers, let alone a distraught teenager. He regained control of his anger and looked up. "Not an American police detective, not Jim Ellison, and not Simon Banks. You don’t have anything to worry about here, son. You’ll be in good hands until we come back."

Though his chin remained immobile in Burke’s hand, Quill dropped his gaze, studying the weave of the thin blanket covering his lower half, not openly challenging Burke’s opinion, but still refusing to acknowledge his reassurances.

Sighing heavily, Burke tapped his ‘I-want-your-attention’ finger against Quill’s cheek. "It’ll only be a day or two at the most."

His efforts went unrewarded. He tapped again, but Quill’s gaze remained lowered and the silence in the room dragged on. "Do you trust me?"

The muscles in Quill’s jaw tightened and Burke felt him swallow several times in rapid succession before a tremor shook his hand, indicating Quill had nodded.

"Okay then. You trust me and I trust them, so you can trust them, too." The head in his hand stayed perfectly still for several long moments, then another brief, wordless nod shook his hand. "Good." Stifling a huge sigh of relief, Burke released Quill’s jaw to tap him once on the forehead in affectionate approval. One watery, blood-shot, sad, brown eye fastened on his face, draining away all of his hard-earned relief.

"You really dumping me, then?" Quill’s voiced cracked and his chin quivered, despite his obvious effort to keep an unaffected tone.

Dropping his chin to his chest, Burke leaned over to brace his arms on the stretcher on either side of Quill. He sucked in a frustrated breath and fought to keep from reaching out and shaking the boy.

"What in hell -- blazes more can I do to convince — wait a minute."

Burke pulled a large gold ring imbedded with red and black stones from his finger and held it out to Quill.

"Look at this." Burke turned it over and pointed at the inside of the ring’s gold surface where a few words were engraved, worn by the passage of time and continual wearing. "Do you see the writing?"

Quill nodded, confused, but curious.

"Good. Can you make out what it says with one eye out of commission?"

The boy nodded again, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Read it out loud so I can be sure."

The frown changed into a sour look at the implied lack of truthfulness, but Quill licked his dry lips and took the ring from Burke’s hand, adjusting it so the light hit the engraving well enough to read it.

"‘C, forever my love, N 1963’"

Quill tried to hand it back to Burke, but he refused to take it, curling Quill’s fingers around it instead and holding them there, ring cradled in both of their hands.

"That’s right. ‘C’ was my father, Clifford Burke. He married my mother, Norris, the ‘N’, in 1950. Thirteen years later, she gave this to him to announce the impending birth of their second child -- me. My older brother wears a similar ring marking his birth eleven years before mine. My father never took them off until the day he died. Since then, I haven’t had it off my person -- ever. Even on missions, I carry it with me. It’s very precious to me." A small, hesitant smile told him he was making headway in winning Quill’s trust. He felt the tight ball of frustration in his stomach melting away.

"I want you to keep it for me until I get back." Quill blinked in surprise and started to shove it back towards Burke, who easily stilled the action, the boy’s hand still encased in his own larger, stronger one. "I wouldn’t leave it behind. And I’m not leaving you behind. I’ll be back for the both of you. I promise. I always keep my promises."

Burke held Quill’s uncertain gaze until he opened his hand to look at the ring again. Quill sniffed and rubbed his nose on his sleeve, dragging in a steadying breath before taking the risk of using his shaky, emotion-laden voice. "Wot should I do with it? It’s too big, I’ll lose it."

"I think I can help there." Weston stepped up to the bedside and began fumbling under the layers of clothing at his collar. "My sisters gave me this when I joined the Army." He pulled a gold chain out from under his shirt and off over his head, positioning the chain so the two medallions on the end of it rested in the palm of his hand. "One is Saint Benedict and," he used one thumb to slide the first medal out of the way to reveal a second resting behind it, "this one is Saint Barbara. She’s the patron saint of artillerymen and… " Glancing at the boy’s uncertain expression, he decided not to mention the ‘sudden death’ protection part. "And, well, … other things. My sisters thought they were both pertinent to my present career choice."

Weston moved the medals to one side and reached to take the ring from Quill’s hand. "May I?"

Quill offered the ring up and Weston looped the solid length of chain through the ring and secured it next to the religious medallions. He leaned in closer and placed the chain over Quill’s head, settling it down around his neck until the trinkets lay flush against his chest.

Weston ran his fingertips over the medals, giving Quill a crocked smile of satisfaction. "Perfect." He squeezed one of Quill’s hands before dropping his arms to his sides. "I’ll want those back soon. Make sure you take care of them or you’ll have to answer to my sisters."

Burke leaned forward and gave them both a mock look of alarm. "And trust me, son, you don’t want to have to face that."

Twisting his face into a disgusted smirk, Quill shook his head at the two men’s antics. "Right, then. I’m supposed to be afraid of his sisters?" He snorted a forced chuckle. "Ethan’s Sugar sounds like more of a terror to me."

Weston frowned, staring off into the distance, a wistful expression coming over his face. "I wish."

Burke tapped Quill’s forehead in a now familiar gesture to get his attention. "And you will too, if you let anything happen to those."

Wrapping his fingers around the trinkets, Quill just tilted his head to one side. The medals and the ring were symbols of more important things for him to think about then the consequences of something that hadn’t happened.

"You buggering off now?" Quill’s tone was less desperate, but an underlying note of hesitancy remained.

Steeling himself against another emotional tirade, Burke cupped one hand under Quill’s chin and ran the fingers of his other hand through the boy’s curls trying to make the goodbye less abrupt and cold. "Yeah, we are. The faster we get things in motion, the faster we can get back here." Releasing Quill’s face, Burke touched his family ring hanging on the chain. "Keep track of those. And if you think the threat of Ray’s sisters isn’t bad enough, wait until you meet the woman who bought that ring."

A spark of interest lit up Quill’s sad expression. "Will I? Meet her, I mean?"

Burke understood the boy was really asking if he was going to be around long enough to have that opportunity. "We’ll see. Give me time to work this all out."

With a final rustle of Quill’s hair, Burke made to turn away. A slight tug on his sleeve halted his steps and he looked down to see Quill’s fingers holding on to him, not as desperate as before, but still needing something more from him.

"Wait." Quill’s tone had taken on a serious note. Burke was disturbed to see the depth of the boy’s nervousness and uncertainty. "I need to tell you s-something."

Unwilling to break the tentative resolve to offer information on his own for the first time, Burke remained silent.

Quill swallowed past the lump of terror in his throat, and pulled his good leg up, wrapping his arms around it. "Didn’t trust you much, you know, … before." Nervous, twitching fingers played with the chain around his neck. "But … now’s a bit different." He sighed and rested his forehead on his folded arms, hiding his face from view. "It’s going to happen soon, sooner than yours is."

Recognizing the start of a confession when they heard it, both police detectives straightened up from their casual stances by the wall. Weston stepped closer to the stretcher to hear the muffled words better.

A confused frown marred Burke’s face. "What’s going to happen?"

"From the bloody files." The words were whispery soft and strained. "The next… murder."

"What?" The word was a chorus spoken in four different voices, all startled and outraged.

Burke resisted the urge to shake Quill until his teeth rattled and demand a clearer explanation. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he leaned in closer and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, massaging his palm over the tight muscles of Quill’s back, ignoring the slight effort to pull away from his touch. He could feel small tremors run through the thin body with each shuddering breath the boy took. Just when he thought Quill had decided not to continue, the boy raised his head up and spoke, enunciating each sentence as if he was reading from a report laying in front of him.

"Colonel Brian Wright, codename ‘Magpie’. Aged 37. Dark brown hair, gray eyes. Married, wife named Gina. Two children, Gary and Mark. Attached to the Allied Air Base at Hereford. On loan to Anti-terrorist Division, MI6. ‘Obstacle to justice’ status verified by service record."

He blinked and shifted his eyes until they met Burke’s, then dropped them to stare into his lap. Quill’s words came out in halting, stilted phrases. "He’s s-scheduled for term… termination while on family… family holiday in Switzerland." His voice fell to a bare whisper. "They’d prefer the authorities were unable to… unable to retrieve any… physical evidence."

Burke took hold of both of Quill’s elbows and gave him a demanding shake. "Are you sure about this? Very sure?"

Miserable, Quill nodded. "Aye."

"When?"

Quill drew in a fortifying breath and blew it out. He licked at his dry, cracked lips, forcing himself to lock gazes with Burke’s intense, demanding stare. "Three days."

Burke closed his eyes for an instant and willed away the building frustration threatening to make him do physical harm to the kid. He opened his eyes to find Quill’s guilt-ridden face still staring into his own, waiting for some kind of retaliation or harsh condemnation from him. Burke didn’t have the heart to add to all the boy’s other troubles. This situation wasn’t Quill’s fault. He was just unlucky enough to have launched himself into the middle of a covert black military operation.

"That’s quite a memory you have there." Weston cocked his head to one side and studied Quill. "Kind of like when you told us about Ethan’s file." He watched twin stars of color bloom in Quill’s cheeks, stark against the pallor of the rest of his face.

"Nothing special. Was important to remember it right, is all." Quill’s mumble was so soft and hesitant Weston had to strain to hear it.

Ignoring the small audience in the room, Burke moved back to the stretcher and wrapped both arms around Quill’s shoulders, crushing the boy to his chest. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll check into it." He rubbed a brisk hand up the boy’s spine and squeezed the back of his neck in affection. "In the meantime, you’re going to be fine. Listen to Jim and behave yourself and I’ll be back in no time."

Burke felt a shudder race through the slender body pressed against his chest. The boy surprised him by relaxing into the embrace and returning it. He squeezed Quill tighter, then released him, drawing back until he could see the boy’s face.

"Anything else you should let us know?" A tense silence filled the room. Burke pressed with a more specific question. "Did you read any of the other files, son?"

Quill blinked to end the staring match, lowering his eyes and darting them back and forth, never landing on one spot more than a few seconds at a time. They settled on watching the fingers of one hand pick at the tape over his IV site. "No." A jerky, sharp shake of his head sent an unconvincing message. "Didn’t have time."

Burke hooked two fingers under Quill’s chin and raised his face up while one hand halted the ongoing destruction at the IV site. Burke’s eyebrows lifted in a silent, imploring gesture.

Quill responded with a choked, "I didn’t. H-honestly." He averted his eyes away from Burke’s skeptical stare after only a few seconds of scrutiny, turning tight-lipped and sullen.

"Okay. I’ll take your word on that." Burke watched Quill’s guilty expression darken. He exchanged dubious, frustrated looks with Weston, who responded with a clueless shrug. Ellison and Banks both gave him looks of disapproval, doing nothing to hide their obvious disbelief.

"I’m going to trust you on this." Burke sighed, but tightened his grip, giving Quill’s head a small shake. "But if I find out you’ve been lying, I promise, you’re going to be one very unhappy young man. I keep my promises." He felt the nervous swallowing under his hand and had to fight to keep his face solemn. "All of them."

He watched Quill nod as best he could, still trying to hide the fact the tears brimming in his eyes were threatening to fall. Burke felt that tight sensation in his chest constrict his breathing then melt away at the look of forlorn innocence staring up at him from Quill’s watery eyes. Pulling Quill in close for a quick hug, they both jumped when the curtain rattled back and Quill’s nurse, Lisa, walked in, a stack of papers and prescriptions in her hand.

Lisa took one look at the emotional scene and felt a dizzying sense of dejá vu. Waving the papers in the air, she turned a steely look on her patient. "Oh, no you don’t. This is not happening again." She let her eye touch on every person in the room. "Listen up. It’s teaching time, gentlemen. I live for these few moments, so pay attention and don’t interrupt. What you five know about asthma, I could put in a medicine cup and still have room left over."

Lisa upped the intensity of her glare, pinning Burke in place. "I’ll start with you, Poppa Man." Burke blinked at the absurdity of the nickname, opening his mouth to protest, but let it pass when he saw an amused smile touch Quill’s lips at the sound of it.

Catching sight of the smile, Lisa continued, ignoring Burke’s reaction. "I know you’re new to the parenting game, let alone the asthma thing, but there’s a couple things you’re going to have to learn." Burke was left with his mouth hanging open as, once again, she ignored his attempt to answer. "One. Stop winding him up. The middle of an asthma attack isn’t the time for intense discussions. It’s the time for comforting and quiet, not a room full of visitors and shouting matches."

She threw Ellison and Banks an exasperated glare. "It’s always a zoo around you guys, even when you’re not the patient." Two more mouths gaped in startled silence as the lecture progressed.

"Two. Treat his symptoms appropriately from now on. These new prescriptions will help and," she pulled a box out of the pocket of her lab coat, "this new inhaler should get you through any flare ups until you get the rest of the scripts filled tomorrow." She tossed the box to a startled Burke, who caught it one handed. "Directions are on the box. Read it over, see that he uses it right."

She waved a small stack of papers in the air, all with different scribbling slanted over their surfaces, presumably a doctor’s handwriting. "Make sure he takes all of his meds the way the prescription calls for them." She poked one well-manicured finger at the stack. "And that means until they’re done, not until he thinks he feels better. Got it?"

Burke nodded, looking a tad overwhelmed.

"And one last thing." Her tough, no-nonsense tone softened and she reached out to brush a lock of stray curls off Quill’s face. "He’s still a child, teenager or not." She again ignored an attempt at protest, this time from an affronted Quill. "Sssh. I’m talking to your Poppa Man here. Your turn is coming up." Her stern eyes never left Burke’s face. "It’s your job to make sure he takes his medications, not his. It’s your job to monitor his breathing and get help when the home meds aren’t doing the job, not his. It’s your job, Poppa Man, to be supportive, calming and firm with him when these attacks make him panic. There’s nothing like feeling like you’re suffocating to unnerve a person. Empathize with him. Nothing levels a person back to childhood, if he’s not already still in it, quicker than an illness or an injury."

She shot the two police detectives another knowing glare. "Isn’t that right, Detectives?"

Not waiting for an answer, she turned her sights on Weston, thrusting the prescriptions at him and flashing a warm smile. "Be a darling and take these for Poppa Man so he can sign the discharge papers."

Weston fumbled with the slips of paper, startled to be included in her teaching session. He flashed her a sweet smile back, earning him a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, a surprised blink from Quill, a set of rolled eyes from Burke, and a pair of long-suffering groans from by the wall.

"Sign here, where I put the X." The nurse pushed a clipboard and a pen into Burke’s hands, her eyes still lingering over Weston, delighting in his darkening, pink complexion. "Ignore those two," she tilted her head toward Ellison and Banks, "they just hate to have their tough guy masks pulled off. Whiners, both of them."

She retrieved her clipboard and tore off the front copy handing it to Weston, making sure her hand rubbed against his in the transfer. "You, darlin’, can put that with the other papers." She gave him another warm, suggestive smile before turning back to her patient.

By the time she faced Quill, the warm, soft look was gone and a stern, maternal expression schooled her face into an understanding, but unyielding frown. "And you." She touched Quill’s arm to make sure he knew she was talking specifically to him. "You’ve obviously been left to you own devices for too long. It shows in the lack of proper medical care you’ve had, your poor understanding of your own illness, the state of your overall health and your lack of nutritional reserves." The blank stare she got was all the confirmation she needed that she really was dealing with a child.

"I eat. Lots." Quill’s indignation turned to defensive whining with one severe glance from the woman. "Do to."

"Uh-huh. What’s all this mean in plain English? I’ll tell you, sweetie. You’re a young man who needs taking care of." Her eyes flickered up to catch Burke’s for a moment. "You’re too thin, probably fifteen pounds underweight for your build. You don’t eat regularly or well, and that makes it difficult for your body to cope when a crisis occurs, physically or emotionally, and with asthma you get the limitless joy of experiencing both at the same time." Out of the corner of her eye she saw a small smile tug at Burke’s lips, which she ignored.

"I also realize this is a difficult time right now for you and for your father, so I’ve been taking it easy on you." A disbelieving glance came from every male in the room, which she ignored. "But you have a job here too, Quill, and a few things to learn just like the Poppa Man."

She held up her index finger and waved it under his nose, fighting off an involuntary smile when he tracked the finger’s path through the air. "One. Settle down. I know you two have a lot of idiotic male posturing to do figuring out where you stand with each other, but getting upset won’t help either the problem you’re having, or your asthma. And don’t use the illness as a manipulative weapon. The last thing you need to do is make it difficult for anyone to tell if you’re really in distress or you’re just trying to win an argument the easy, underhanded way. You end up risking your life that way. You have to trust each other."

Grimacing, Quill dropped his face a little lower at the mention of trust, but remained silent.

The nurse folded her arms across her chest. "Two. Do what the Poppa Man tells you to do. Take your medications when and how you’re supposed to. It’s not optional, child."

She reached out and ghosted her fingertips over the bruised swelling on his face and lip. "And finally, you’ve had a rough twenty-four hours, honey. Drop the petulant brat act for a little bit and let somebody take care of you. You need it. Your dad and his cute friend seem like nice men, and I can personally vouch for the slouches against the wall. They’re good guys. Give them a chance."

Quill shot her an embarrassed look from under his lashes and nodded. Satisfied, she whirled around and released the catch on the siderail to lower it. "Good. Now that everybody’s healthier, happier and better informed, I want you all out of my ER before anything else happens."

She pointed to the half open curtain behind Banks. "Captain, if you would? There’s a wheelchair outside the curtain you could bring in." She turned and gestured at Burke. "Poppa Man, you lift him off the stretcher and into the chair. Ellison, give your friend here a hand supporting that sprained knee." The nurse stepped back and watched as they all scurried to do her bidding, supervising from afar.

She positioned herself next to Weston and gave his arm a little nudge with her shoulder. "They take orders pretty well."

He looked down at her and grinned. "You’re good at giving them."

"Thanks. How about you? You like taking orders too?" Although the question was innocent enough, the way she licked at her upper lip wasn’t.

Weston stared back, grin slipping a bit, at a loss for words "Ah,… well, ah…I-I-I…ah…."

The nurse grinned at his display of little boy distress. "You’re too adorable." She leaned closer and whispered near his ear. "If you’re ever back in town for longer than a couple of hours, give me a call. There’ll be a pair of soft, fluffy wrist restraints waiting with your name on them. Think about it."

"Ah… I don’t… that wouldn’t….ah, well… ."

She slipped a square of paper into his free hand and marched off to take control of the hovering group around the wheelchair, deftly releasing the chair’s brakes and wheeling Quill out of the room, her entourage in tow.

Weston stood alone in the room for a moment staring from discharge papers to the phone number on the note, gaping like a fish out of water, until a single, squeaked word worked its way out of his dry throat. "Ah… yes?"

************

Quill turned over and blinked at the sight of the unfamiliar room. Bright colors were splashed across every surface, changing texture from geometric designed fabric pillows at the bottom of the bed to rough tribal masks on the walls. A digital alarm clock on the bedside table told him it was 2:43PM. He had been asleep for over fourteen hours.

Rubbing the grit from his left eye, Quill sat up, dragging his stiff, sore right leg back a few inches at a time until he could rest his back against the wall behind him. A panicked start made him grab at his chest, searching for the gold chain hanging around his neck. Sliding his fingers down the flexible, cool metal, he wrapped them around the trinkets suspended from it.

Eyes closed, he replayed the last few minutes before Burke and Weston said goodbye to him over in his mind, using his eidetic memory to call up every detail and syllable uttered. For once, Quill didn’t mind having ‘the curse’ of perfect recall. The memory gave him a warm feeling of security, the first he had felt in a very long time.

A light rap on a glass pane in the bedroom door startled him, chasing away the warm glow of security. Without waiting for a reply, the door swung open and one of the detectives from last night stood framed in the doorway. It was uncanny and more than a bit scary how much the man looked like Crowe. Quill tried not to dwell on it, but even Ellison’s precise, over-efficient body movements were similar to the killer’s.

"Good, you’re awake. I thought I heard you moving around."

Ellison made Quill uneasy. In addition to his physical resemblance to Quill’s attacker, the big man made him feel like the detective was always intensely listening to him, even when Quill wasn’t saying anything. It was unnerving to be under such tight scrutiny from a stranger. Quill resigned himself to it, chalking it up to the man being a police detective, but it still made him uncomfortable. Ellison reminded Quill of a restrained, wild animal always stalking for prey and Quill felt like the gazelle once again.

Quill rubbed a hand over his face. "Ah, yeah, ‘am."

He couldn’t remember doing anything that would have alerted the man he was awake. Quill wanted more time to think about his present situation before falling back under the big man's watchful eye. He wanted more time alone. A lot more time.

"Think I’ll just drift back off for a bit, ‘m still knackered." He started to slide back down under the covers. A hitched groan of pain hissed out of him before he could bite it back and both hands flew down to grab his twisted knee.

Ellison moved to Quill’s bedside and tossed the blankets to one side. "Let me take a look at that." Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Ellison tried to brush Quill’s hands away from the injured knee, but the boy jerked forward in a defensive posture, batting at him, one hand still holding his throbbing knee.

"No. Don’t." Quill dropped his gaze at the sight of Ellison’s less than happy expression. "Um… I-I… It-it’s all right. Doesn’t really hurt that bad. Just startled me is all."

He swallowed several times trying to decrease the growing tightness in his throat. God, he wished the man wouldn’t get so close to him. It was all he could do not to lash out and try to run from the room, just like he had tried to do at the warehouse. But this time there was no Daniel Burke to save him, it was Burke who had put him here with this man. The same thought eased some of his fears and Quill relaxed enough to lean back a few degrees. He looked up at the man, letting a shaky smile waver across his bruised lips.

"Sorry. ‘m bit jumpy."

Ellison returned the small smile. "I can understand that, but I’m pretty good with things like this. Sensitive hands, they tell me." He leaned forward, trying hard not to be imposing and failing. His broad shouldered body hovered over Quill’s much leaner frame and his muscular arms inched forward to pry the hand from the injured knee. "Let me take a look at this and check on the swelling. With all the commotion over your asthma this morning, I think we forgot about your other aches and pains."

"No, really. ’m fine. ’m--"

"That wasn’t a request." Ellison’s patented ‘I-believe-I’m-only-going-to-say-this-once’ glare put an immediate halt to the objection.

Quill blinked twice at the chiseled face, shivering at the coolness in the ice blue eyes, unable to read the expression, but understanding the put out tone in the voice. The look was much like Crowe’s hard expression when he shot Kevin and Liam. Quill’s perfect memory dredged up the vivid details of that horrific moment in time and he dropped his gaze to his lap. He nodded a fraction of an inch, feeling helpless and trapped again.

After removing his blood-encrusted jeans and sweater, Burke had given Quill a new sweater and a pair of jogging pants that snapped up the sides. Unwilling to give up his last link to his life before this nightmare started, Quill had demanded the old clothing be kept. He had no idea where they were now. He wished he had his old, comforting sweater back.

"‘Kay."

It was more like a breath than even a whisper, but Ellison had no trouble hearing it.

"Good. Let’s get this over with so you can have something to eat."

In a few short, blurred strokes, the Velcro immobilizer was unstrapped from his leg and Quill’s pant leg opened. His knee was still swollen and discolored, the bruising running from mid-calf to just below his groin. It was an impressive sight even for someone as experienced with injuries as a police detective was.

Ellison grimaced at the thought of how brutal the attack must have been. He eased his sensitive fingers up each side of the leg, probing for kinks from contorted tendons and cramped muscles, sensing where the areas of the greatest inflammation were. Each new grouping of stretched ligaments and abused tissue increased his anger over the level of damage done to the boy. An increase in breathing and heart rate let the sentinel know when even the slight pressure from his fingertips was too much for Quill to tolerate. Finding a large knot of bunched muscle in the upper thigh, Ellison massaged the area, deepening the pressure and widening his circle of attention until the muscle began to loosen.

Unwilling to challenge the aggressive, no-nonsense stranger, Quill managed to contain himself to grimacing when the probing hurt, not having the courage to ask him to stop. The man never looked up to see Quill’s reaction, but slowed or lightened his touch just when the pain was to the point where Quill wanted to protest. Then the pressure was gone and the torturous fingers were re-snapping his pant leg and replacing the immobilizer around his knee.

"I know that hurt, but you’ve got a lot of cramped, sore muscles under there, ligaments that were stretched too far when the knee was dislocated. Later on, I’ll help get you into a hot bath and you can soak a few of them loose." Ellison stood up and put his hands on his hips, studying the boy. His voice turned softer, losing its hard, commanding edge. "You didn’t have to suffer through that. You could have told me if it got to be too much to handle. I’m not going to bite. At least, I won’t if we get out there and get something to eat soon."

Quill rubbed at his leg just above the edge of the splint, letting the ache of the bruise he was kneading keep him focused and alert. Crowe had a sarcastic, flippant sense of humor too, but it turned dark and mocking just before the killings.

Quill risked a quick, shy glance up. "Not hungry, thanks. Think I’ll just take another kip." Not sure how his suggestion would be received, Quill didn’t move. He doubted very many people told this man ‘no’ and made it stick.

"That wasn’t a request either, Quill."

Without another word, Ellison bent down and swung Quill’s light frame to the edge of the bed. Taken by surprise, the boy grabbed onto the closest solid object at hand and wound up clinging to Ellison. The detective moved one arm around Quill’s waist and lifted him to his feet, supporting him while he got his balance.

"Bloody hell!" Quill gasped at the sudden surge of pain shooting through his leg, circulation racing down into swollen, achy vessels with gravity and his tormentor’s kind help. "Could ‘ave given some warnin’, dirty bastard."

Quill found himself tilted to one side, then pulled close to the man’s hip, his weight balanced between his one good leg and the man’s body. Quill gasped again, this time in surprise. A powerful, stinging blow from behind landed square on his backside, making him jump within the confines of the tight hold he was locked in. He turned wide, confused eyes on Ellison, his mouth hanging open in indignant shock.

"I did tell you we were going to go eat. Now I’m telling you to watch your mouth." Ellison watched the boy’s chin quiver for a moment, then settle into a betrayed, offended expression. He mentally rolled his eyes at the theatrics.

"And put away the puppy dog eyes. I get enough of that around here without having to deal with it in stereo." Ellison propelled Quill to limp forward, taking most of the boy’s weight on himself. Once out the door, he headed them down the hall. "Bathroom?"

Reluctant to cooperate, but in need of the offer, Quill nodded. To his relief, the man deposited him between the sink and the commode, pointed to a stack of folded towels, and left him to his own devices. After relieving himself and washing up, Quill found himself shaking from the effort. This was the longest he had been on his feet since the attack. A sudden wave of dizziness forced him to grab onto the edge of the small sink.

He turned sideways and managed to sit down on the lid of the commode before bright lights began to dance behind his closed eyelids. He rested his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink and shivered, wave after wave of uncontrollable shudders racking his weary, abused body. Gulping several great gasps of air, he attempted to calm the rising nausea and pain.

A loud, popping noise came from only a few feet away. Though desperate to know the cause, he couldn’t find the strength to raise his head far enough to see what had caused it. The sound made him jerk and flinch, unseating him from his tentative perch on the commode. In his mild state of disorientation, the noise reminded him of the sound of Crowe’s silenced gun firing. He lost his grip on the sink and began to slide forward. Thick, strong arms wrapped around him, cradling and confining him, halting his rapid drop to the cold tile floor.

A burst of terror shot through Quill at the unexpected contact, the alarming memory of being pinned to the floor and restrained with brutal strength and ease fresh in his mind. Mental snapshots of Crowe and the dismal battle he had waged with the soldier flashed behind his clenched eyes, bringing with them the fear and helplessness he had experienced at that moment.

"No! NO! Leave off, you prick. Let me go."

"Settle down, Tiger, settle down. You’re all right."

"No, no, no, noooo! Let me go! I didn’t mean to find out about everything. I only read it because I needed to. I swear, I swear!"

Quill lashed out at the new attacker, swinging random punches and twisting and arching his body to break the man’s hold. Every time Quill tried to open his eyes, the room swam in a dizzying swirl of colors and bright light. Few of the punches landed on anything solid and the arching and twisting was reduced to a bare squirm by the gentle, but confining arms.

Loud, fearful cries of distress mixed with a deeper, calmer voice confused him until he realized they were his own cries being soothed by someone else.

"Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, it’s okay. Slow down there, Tiger. You’re safe."

"No ’m not! You’re tryin’ to kill me. Like you’d Kev ’n Liam. Let me go, you murderin’ bastard. Piss off!"

Ellison tightened his hold on Quill, pinning the boy’s back to his chest, his thick, muscular arms wrapped around the slender frame with both of Quill’s wrists secured in his hands. Pressing his head against the boy’s to keep from being knocked in the face, the detective tried to gentle the frightened, wild creature in his arms.

"Slow down here. Listen to me." The desperate squirm continued. Ellison gave the boy a hard shake. "Listen. That wasn’t me." A marginal slowing of the frantic movements gave Ellison hope he was getting through whatever flashback the boy was having. "That was a man named Crowe, Eric Crowe. My name is Jim Ellison. I’m Daniel Burke’s friend."

The heartbeat pounding in his ears jumped at the mention of the blonde commander’s name, a gradual easing of the thundering rhythm telling him using Burke’s name was the right thing to do. "That’s right, Burke’s friend. You’re safe here. Daniel left you with me for safekeeping. You’re safe. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you."

Working for each breath through narrowing airways, Quill opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings, recognizing the strange bathroom from earlier. He wasn’t in the warehouse anymore. This wasn’t Crowe pinning him down and hurting him. He slumped into the bigger man’s embrace, only now registering the fact the man was only holding him in a firm, protective grip so he didn’t hurt himself, not a harsh, brutal display of domination like Crowe’s grasp had been.

Reassured by Quill’s slowing heartbeat and the draining of most of the tension from his body, Ellison focused on the boy’s breathing.

"Sounds like all this activity’s kicking up your asthma. You done here?" A single nod against his shoulder was the only answer. "Okay. You take a couple of nice, slow breaths and calm down. Then I’m going to take us both out to the living room, okay?" Getting no response this time, Ellison turned Quill’s face until he could see his eyes. "You with me, Tiger?" Ellison could still see the terror in the boy’s eyes, dark and wide against his ashen face. He patted Quill’s cheek and gave him an understanding smile. "It’s okay, I think I understand. Bad day coming back to haunt you?"

Hesitant to acknowledge the man’s insights, Quill gave him a shaky half-smile and tilted his head to one side in agreement, still too breathless to talk.

Ellison nodded, gathering the lanky boy up into his arms, working a bit to support the injured knee in some manner. Moving from bathroom to living room, Ellison deposited Quill onto the nearest couch, settling him down over the back of the sofa into a nest of waiting pillows and blankets. He slid a pillow under Quill’s injured knee, two more behind his back, then threw a blanket over his legs. Hitching one hip onto the back of the sofa, Ellison sat down and pulled an inhaler out of his pocket. He shook it twice then tossed it to Quill, who let it fall into his lap.

"You need to use that. Your wheezing is starting up again."

Quill glanced at the pale pink inhaler. "That’s not mine. Mine’s blue."

"No, that was the old one. The one that didn’t work, wasn’t meant for your problem, and I believe Daniel said, didn’t even belong to you." Ellison suppressed the urge to smile at the sudden ‘deer-in-the-headlights’ look on Quill’s face. So the kid hadn’t forgotten he was a police detective. That was good to know. "This is a new one meant for just you."

Quill picked it up and gave both Ellison and the inhaler a suspicious look.

"One of the nurse’s at the hospital gave it to you just before you were discharged, remember?" Even though the increasing tightness in Quill’s airways wouldn’t be evident to anyone beside himself, the sentinel in Ellison could hear it.

"Come on, use it. You don’t want another visit to the ED again do you? I’ll lose all my good parenting points with the nurses if that happens this soon."

A light snort from behind him made Quill jump. He looked around, trying to pinpoint the cause of the noise. His attention was drawn to a short, fidgeting body topped with long, curly hair facing one corner. All Quill could see was jeans, an untucked, plaid shirt and the long brown curls. The face was hidden, turned into the angle of the adjoining walls, but the body language and the low toned snort said ‘young male’.

Quill looked up at Ellison, unease written all over his face. "Who’s that?"

"That’s my son." Ellison raised his voice, light amusement in every word, to include the third person in the room in the conversation. "Blair, meet Quill. Quill, Blair."

A square hand shot up in the air and waved. "Hey. Nice to met you, Quill. I’d turn around, but I so don’t want to add to my jail time."

"Smart move, Junior." Ellison turned his amused gaze back to Quill, losing his smile, his expression growing serious. "Forget about him and take your medicine." Ellison gestured toward the unused inhaler, tracking the growing tightness in the boy’s chest with his hearing.

Quill ignored Ellison’s urgings, trading the unfamiliar inhaler from one hand to the other, rubbing each free palm against a thigh to wipe away the nervous sweat.

"Wot’s ‘jail time’? Why’s he just standin’ in the corner like a bloody twit?"

"Because I told him to. And watch your mouth." Ellison caught the inhaler in mid-throw, snapping it out of the air with a perturbed grunt. "I said use this, not teach it to fly. Your breathing is tightening up, probably from the scare in the bathroom. The rest of your prescriptions aren’t ready yet, so this’ll have to do for now." He shook the cylinder twice, then popped the cap off of it and offered it to Quill again.

Quill stared at the inhaler, but didn’t reach for it. He darted a quick look at Blair again, then looked up at Ellison, his forehead wrinkling.

"How’dja know wot my lungs are doin’? I’m not wheezin’." A muffled snort drew both of their attention to the corner for a split second.

Indignation flashed across his face, all of Ellison’s words sinking in. "I wasn’t scared neither. Just thought you ’ere someone else. Woke up in a strange place and got confused is all."

His expression reflected how little Ellison believed the protest, but he tried to keep his response neutral. "Uh huh. Then maybe you can tell me what you meant when you said you ‘didn’t mean to find out about everything’, that you’d ‘only read it because you needed to’? You told Daniel you hadn’t read the files. I know, I heard you."

What little color there was in Quill’s cheeks drained out and he dropped his accusing glare to study the folds of the blanket in his lap. Swallowing so hard the sound echoed in the sentinel’s ears, Quill reached out and grabbed his inhaler.

"Told you. I was confused, blabberin’. Didn’t know wot I was sayin’."

Quill stuck the inhaler into his mouth and gave his undivided attention to the process of using it. He took his time in between puffs, lingering over every detail and gesture, stalling for time, hoping the man would forget about his question. Quill tried to keep a small sigh of relief from escaping as he felt the effort to breathe ease. His stomach growled reminding everyone in the room it had been hours since he last ate. He gave Ellison a sheepish look from under his eyelashes, color returning to his cheeks when it happened again.

"Sorry. I guess I am a bit hungry."

"It’s all right. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to stay up." Ellison moved from the couch to the kitchen, gathering up bowls and filling them with thick soup of some kind. "It’s been a long time since your stomach’s had anything in it. After I run to the pharmacy downstairs and pick up the rest of your drugs, you’re going to need a full stomach to get started on them."

A restless yawn from across the room distracted Quill and he glanced at the back of Blair’s head again, watching the short, wiry body bounce in place. A timer in the kitchen beeped. Ellison shut it off and glanced over at the occupied corner.

"Okay, Chief, you’re free. For now."

The small, silent creature from the far side of the room burst to life. Blair spun 180 degrees on his heel and locked eyes with Quill. Stepping away from the corner, a sheepish expression of his own passed over Blair’s face, but it didn’t dim the brightness of his excited smile.

"Hey. Blair Ellison, nice to meet you." Blair bounced in place and did a full body stretch before bounding over to the sofa. He stuck out his hand and grabbed Quill’s, shaking it with enthusiasm. "Jim said your name’s Quill. Cool name, I’ve never heard of it before. So, you came to town with Daniel and Ray all the way from England. I’ve been to England once. Back when I was about twelve. I loved the London underground there. I could ride it for hours, loved the people you’d meet. My mom was dating an actor at the time, can’t remember his name now, but we were always --."

"Hold up there, Motor Mouth." Ellison walked to the edge of the kitchen area and held up a hand, palm out. "I can’t keep up with that, and I know what you’re talking about. Let Quill settle in for a few minutes before you start reminiscing about the good old days, way back a few months ago when you were still a pre-teen. Let him catch his breath."

He turned back to the stove to finish dishing out their meal, arranging a few items on a lap tray as he talked. "You can get your scrawny butt over to the table and sit down -- while you still can. Food’s ready."

Blair blushed, averting his gaze for a moment before looking up to catch Quill’s bewildered, uncomfortable stare.

"Wot’s he mean by ‘while you still can’? Wot’re you doin’ in that corner – countin’ the cracks in the plaster?"

Rocking up onto the balls of his feet with a little less energy, Blair dropped his voice to an embarrassed murmur. "Ah, no. It’s punishment for breaking my grounding last week. I get to spend an hour every day for the next week thinking, undisturbed in the corner. I’m supposed to be thinking about what I did, but," he dropped his voice an octave lower, "I usually end up just thinking about how much the walls need to be re-painted. A nice, pale shade of green maybe--."

"Blair. Table. Now." Ellison’s clipped delivery made both young men look to the kitchen, startled faces wide-eyed.

Whispering, Blair leaned closer for a moment. "One word sentences. Means ‘that was not a request’. Gotta go, my Lord and Master calleth." He ambled towards the table, passing by Ellison. Despite carrying a tray of food, the older man managed to deliver a sharp swat to his son’s backside on his way to the couch.

"Ouch! Hey." Blair found the energy to move faster towards his seat.

"You’re not out of the woodshed yet, kiddo. I wouldn’t push it if I were you." Ellison narrowed his eyes and pulled his lips into a stern frown. "We still have some unfinished business to take care of." He eyes drifted down to Blair’s backside, then back up to the young man’s disbelieving face. Ignoring Blair’s expression, Ellison set the tray down on Quill’s lap and snagged the inhaler from his hand in one smooth move.

"Ah, come on, Jim. Not now. Please." A whine crept into Blair’s voice. "You said Quill would only be here a day or so. Can’t that part wait until then? Just this once, man?"

The edge of desperation in the young man’s voice made Quill nervous.

"No, it can’t."

Startled, Quill jumped when Ellison grabbed the inhaler, the movement shaking the tray perched on his lap halfway off.

"Whoa, hold on there, son. This food goes on the inside of your stomach, not the outside." Ellison straightened the tray back over Quill’s thighs. He held up the inhaler for a moment, then pocketed it. "I’ll handle this for safekeeping. You sound better already. If you think you need it again, don’t wait to tell me, okay?"

Quill’s eyes followed the inhaler from midair to pocket, watching the one thing that was providing any comfort to him in this strange place disappear into the man’s shirt. "I could just keep it. Be quicker."

"Nope. Sorry. Kids don’t get to manage their meds." Ellison tucked a napkin under Quill’s chin only to have it jerked out of his hands.

"‘M not a kid. ’m nineteen." Flushed with a combination of anger and embarrassment, Quill tread down a dangerous path.

"Uh huh. Me too." Ellison replaced the napkin and placed a spoon into Quill’s hand.

"Sodding wanka." The spoon tumbled through the air landing at Ellison’s feet.

Quill found himself face to face with a very perturbed, very large man. Ellison’s nose almost touched Quill’s and the boy leaned back into the pillows in a vain attempt to broaden the tiny gap between them.

"Listen up, little boy. I’ve about had it with your surly mouth and badass attitude. I realize you’ve had a rough deal dropped on you here, but it’s one you brought on yourself when you decided to break the law. And I realize your aren’t feeling your best just now, but I’m done tolerating the attitude. Any more smart aleck remarks, swear words – American or British versions, childish moves like that one with the spoon just now or a less than cooperative attitude from you is going to earn you a little punishment all your own."

Ellison rapped a finger against the immobilizer on Quill’s leg. "I can’t stand you in a corner to critique the paint job, but I can come up with something else to get your attention, and trust me, the seat of your jeans won’t like it one bit."

He picked up the spoon off the spotless, sentinel-clean floor, wiped it off on the napkin’s edge and thrust it back into Quill’s hand. "Eat."

Quill stared at Ellison until the man stood up. Pale and shaky, he fought back visions of Crowe yelling in his face, reliving the vivid memory so well he could feel the soldier’s hot breath on his neck again. Terrified, but trying to camouflage it with a casual bravado he didn’t feel, Quill dipped the spoon into the thick soup and began to eat. It was one of his favorites, but it tasted like ashes to him, the more overwhelming emotions of fear and confusion blocking out everything else.

Noting the rise in the boy’s heart rate and breathing, Ellison backed off a few more steps. He walked to the table and sat down. Starting a quiet conversation with Blair over their plans for the rest of the day, he kept an ear tuned to their guest’s fluctuating vital signs.

"Quill’s medications should be ready in about ten minutes. After we finish eating, I’ll run down and get them." Ellison paused a moment to point an accusing finger at his young companion. "You two stay inside. You don’t answer the door or the phone. I’ll just be a few minutes, but if someone’s watching us, that’s when they’ll make a move. Lock the door and stay away from the windows. Got it?"

Blair bobbed his head in acknowledgement, swallowing down a mouthful of soup. "Think we’re being watched?"

"Daniel thought there was a chance. Remote, but possible." Ellison spooned in another bite before finishing. "But he moved pretty fast and we’re not the first place anyone would look. His and the other guys’ families are where they’d start, which gives us the time he was hoping for to work things out. Let’s hope he’s right."

Blair glanced across the room. Quill’s movements seemed stiff and mechanical, like he wasn’t really paying any attention to anything, functioning on automatic pilot.

"Would they really kill him? I mean, just like that? Bang, you’re dead? Just because he tapped into their computers?"

"Anything’s possible. Especially if there’s more going on here than Burke knows about," Ellison followed the direction Blair’s eyes kept darting to, settling his own gaze on the youth on the couch, "and I suspect there is. A lot more."

Blair shook his head. "That’s harsh, man." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He’s stretching the truth a bit too, he’s not nineteen."

Smirking, Ellison chuckled out loud. "You don’t exactly have room to talk, Chief. I seem to remember someone ‘stretching the truth’ about their age by a number of years."

Blair’s mouth dropped open. "You can’t hold three of those years against me. I only stretched one year. Naomi did the rest."

Ellison rose from the table, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. "Lie about one year or lie about three, it’s still a lie, Stretch."

"Yeah, but --."

"I’m willing to bet he’s stretching it by at least three. His skin’s still baby soft and he only needs to shave about every five days, and then only in spots. I can just see the coarser hairs on his upper lip and chin and there aren’t many of them. His body movements are too awkward, too. He hasn’t grown comfortable with being that tall yet, either."

Noticing Quill had stopped eating, Ellison walked over to him. About half the soup was gone and most of the glass of milk with only a few crusts left from the slices of bakery bread. Not bad considering the boy didn’t act like he had much of an appetite, despite his protesting stomach.

"Think you can get some more of the soup down there, Tiger?"

Quill blinked, trying to clear away the heavy feeling of exhaustion creeping up on him again. The food had been good and he was hungry, but it was taking too much energy and concentration to eat. Each time he looked at the detective, the man’s likeness to Crowe distracted and unsettled Quill. He knew it was unreasonable, but he kept expecting the man to turn on him and hurt him in some way.

"Ah, no. ‘Ta’, I’m done."

Ellison carried off the tray to the kitchen sink and then grabbed his coat off the rack by the door.

"Here’s the deal, boys. While I run down to the drug store, why don’t you two get better acquainted." Grabbing his keys from off the table by the door, Ellison picked out a small key and opened a drawer at the end of the kitchen cabinets. He pulled out his service revolver, checked it was loaded, and tucked it into the holster at the small of his back. Looking up, he caught a look of fear on Quill’s face.

"I’m a cop, Quill. I always carry a gun with me when I leave home. It’s what cops here do." He watched the boy swallow hard and nod, slipping further down the couch, out of view.

"Chief, come and lock the door. Remember the rules. No phone, no windows, no answering the door. I’ll be back in less than ten minutes." He patted the pockets of his jacket, satisfied he had everything he needed on him. "Ten minutes tops. Behave." His gaze swept from Blair to Quill and back again. "Both of you."

Ellison waited on the other side of the door to hear the tumblers of the locks fall into place. He heaved a sigh and hurried down the hallway, wondering if he could make it back in seven minutes. God only knew what would happen if he was gone the full ten.

************

Blair cleared off the table and made quick work of the dishes, aware of Quill’s eyes on him the whole time. Several attempts at conversation had resulted in one word answers or no answer at all. Blair didn’t think Quill was trying to be rude, the boy just seemed distracted and deep in his own thoughts. More than once Blair saw him jerk and blink, looking around the room frightened and lost for a moment. Whatever he’d experienced before Burke brought him here must have been terrifying.

Done with the cleanup, Blair walked into the living area and plopped down on the other sofa so he was facing Quill. Quill squirmed deeper into the cushions and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. Blair sighed and reached for the remote control before remembering he didn’t have TV privileges at the moment. He tossed the controller back on the table and sighed again.

"How old are you, mate?"

The sudden question startled Blair and caught him unprepared.

"Um, twenty-three. Why?"

"Why’dja let your old man put’cha in a corner? Wot’s that all about? You’re a blinkin’ adult."

"Yeah, I am. But Jim’s still my dad and I respect him. If he thinks I’ve done something that deserves punishment, and he’s usually right, I’ve got to respect his decision. I don’t have to like it, just accept it."

"That’s fuckin’ lunatic. You’re an idiot, mate."

Blair had thought this over too many times himself to take offense.

"Maybe from where you’re sitting. I didn’t always have Jim as my dad. I remember when I didn’t have anyone who cared enough about me to bother about whether or not I did the right thing or made safe decisions or took care of myself. I wasn’t important enough for anybody to waste time on things like discipline and responsibility. If I have to make a choice between the two, I’ll give up some independence to have the love and caring, even if that means punishment when I step out of line. I know Jim does it because he loves me."

Confused by Blair’s easy acceptance of the situation, Quill just snorted a disgusted grunt.

"Pussy, mate. Lame pussy."

Blair gave him a knowing smile. "Let me know how you feel a few days after Daniel takes you back with him. Especially if you keep talking like that."

"Piss off." Quill gave him another disdainful glare, making Blair grin all the wider.

"I can’t believe you spent any amount of time around Ethan with that mouth, and didn’t earn yourself at least one good crack."

A guilty, embarrassed look passed over Quill’s face and Blair knew he had him.

"You did, didn’t you? Ethan’s got a heavy hand, doesn’t he?"

Wide brown eyes darted up to stare at him.

"Got me good once, too. A little incident with a poisonous snake, but that’s not important." Blair shrugged off the memory of the dark cave in a Mexican jungle, the terror of the moment having long since faded. "I can barely remember what happened now."

He shifted in his seat as other memories flared to life. "But I do remember how hard he spanks. I had bruises when he was done and he only swatted me about half a dozen times." He shifted his weight again, his backside tingling at the memory. "Wish I could forget that part, too."

Quill stared off into the distance, his voice turning soft and shaky, more like he was talking to himself than Blair, sounding very young and lost. "I wish I could forget sumthin’, anythin’."

"What?" Blair heard what Quill said, but didn’t understand it.

Quill shook his head to chase away the dark thoughts and concentrated on the young man watching him with so much intensity.

"Nothin’. I’m just rantin’. I’m tired. Food made me sleepy."

"Well, don’t nod off just yet. Jim’ll want you to take some of those medications when he gets back. Which should be any minute now."

"Why’dja call your dad by his given name? I’d ‘ave got my arse busted if I’d tried that with me mum." Quill’s eyes darted away for a moment. "When she was around."

Blair shrugged. "Jim’s not my biological dad. We’ve only known each other for a little while, but he’s always been like my dad, from day one. He legally adopted me. Sometimes I call him Dad, sometimes Jim. Depends on the situation and how I’m feeling at the time. But I always think of him as my dad."

The rattling of keys at the door drew their attention.

"Speak of the devil." Blair grinned knowing Jim could hear him.

"That’s the truth, mate."

"I heard that."

Ellison entered the room and eyed the pair of innocent faces staring back at him. Quill wore a wide-eyed look of mixed fear and apprehension, while Blair’s characteristic impish grin was in place. He shook his head at both so very opposite expressions.

"What have you two been up to?"

"Nothin’," greeted him in stereo, making him wince at the numerous possibilities that innocent word could cover.

After replacing his gun in the kitchen drawer and locking it, he tossed the keyring back onto the stand by the door. Emptying a white paper bag out onto the counter, Ellison began sorting through the bottles, checking for dosage schedules and drug names. Blair walked over to get a closer look at the various bottles. The older man knew if he waited long enough, his son would start his near-constant prattler to fill the silence and let him in on what the two youths had been talking about in his absence.

"We’re just comparing notes. About Ethan."

Ellison gave him a questioning look and popped pills out of two bottles into an empty paper cup, then added another from a blister pack. Ripping open a small box, he dumped a beige inhaler into his hand and read the label.

"Ah, let’s just say, his tolerance levels and the weight of his hand."

Getting a glass of water from the sink, he gave Blair a stern, uncompromising look, dropping his voice to a lower register to keep it from traveling to their guest. "I’d think you’d be more worried about the weight of my hand considering what your afternoon is going to include, Chief."

"Ah, man. Can’t we discuss this? With words, I mean." Blair’s hands waved as he talked, shaping and molding the air between them, looking for some unknown straw to grasp that would change the man’s mind.

"We did. Now it’s time for my hand and your butt to talk." Ellison grabbed the cup of pills and the inhaler in one hand and the glass of water in his other, and headed off to the living room. "Go wait in your room, Chief. I want a minute with Quill."

"This is so not cool, man." Blair’s words protested the order, but his body knew enough to obey. The slam of his bedroom door seemed to magnify the sudden silence that followed.

Ignoring the childish, but expected display, Ellison sat down on the edge of the couch by Quill, trying to lessen the intimidation factor by not towering over the already skittish youth.

"Here, you need to take these." He offered the cup and the water to Quill. The only response he got was a suspicious stare. "Go ahead. You’re supposed to get started on them as soon as you can."

Still refusing to take the cups, Quill peered down into the one with the pills in it.

"Wot’s it for?"

"One’s a steroid to help keep your lungs clear and the others are antibiotics and something for the pain in your knee." Ellison heaved a sigh when the cups remained in his hands. "Quill, you’ve got to trust me. Your chest x-ray showed pneumonia. That’s probably what’s been making your asthma act up, that and the stress of the last two days. With some decent food and rest, these’ll take care of the problem."

"Don’t think I need ‘em, thanks. ’M feelin’ fine." Quill averted his gaze, looking at the pattern of the fabric weave on the back of the couch.

Frozen like a statue, elbows braced on his knees, Ellison didn’t bother to change his stance. Instead he lowered his voice to a smooth, feral purr and turned his own gaze to blue ice.

"The doctor thinks you do. More important, I say you’ll take them." Uncertain eyes darted up to meet his stern gaze, but Quill still didn’t take the cups.

Undaunted, Ellison decided to go for persuasive option number two. "You know, I used to have dog back when I was a kid. The vet showed me a great way to get him to take his worm pills. I’d just shove them as far down his throat as I could and he’d swallow them the rest of the way. I could add a little water if you needed me to."

The uncertainty in Quill’s expression turned to apprehension in a heartbeat.

"Now, you can take them on your own or I can help you, but you will be taking them. Understood?" He didn’t want to frighten the kid, but he wasn’t going through this four times a day, which was how often one of them was to be taken. They needed to set the ground rules, right now.

"Bugger, ’m takin’ ’em."

Both cups disappeared from Ellison’s grip and were downed in record time. He exchanged the empty glasses for the new inhaler. "Take two puffs."

Quill took it, but made no move to use it. "Just did this ’fore we ate. Not supposed to do it again this soon. Nurses said so."

Ellison reached over and popped the top off of the cylinder. "I know that. This is a different one. It’s not for sudden attacks. This is one you use everyday to keep attacks from happening. I asked the pharmacist. So take it."

Quill narrowed his eyes, but did as he was told. After the second puff, Ellison took the inhaler back and stood up.

"Blair and I have a private issue that needs attention." He returned the inhaler to the countertop and put the glass in the sink, then moved towards Blair’s room. "The pain pill’ll make you drowsy. Get some sleep if you want. This’ll take awhile."

Passing by the couch on his way down the hall, he patted the boy on the head. Quill flinched away from the contact. Ellison ignored the reaction and continued on his way.

"Smarmy git."

The muttered insult almost made Ellison turn around, but he realized he was far enough away he shouldn’t have heard the insult. At least he thought it was an insult.

Tempted as he was to take the foul-mouthed, little shit over his knee, he’d leave it for Burke to introduce to Quill. This short separation would go far in convincing the reluctant commander to make up his mind about whether or not he was willing to bring this kid into his life on a permanent basis. They both could use each other. It only seemed fair for Burke to have a set of parenting problems all his own. The boy’s confusion over the corner made Ellison pretty sure any kind of physical punishment for wrongdoing had never been a part of his life before.

Deciding to handle one problem child at a time, he let it go and concentrated on the issue at hand. Problem Child number one was waiting.

***********

Greeted with the sight of his PC pacing at a manic rhythm, Ellison entered the bedroom and closed the door. He wanted as little sound to carry to the outer living area as possible, both for Blair’s pride and Quill’s sense of security. The English youth appeared uneasy around him, becoming suspicious and fearful over the smallest of things like the medications. The sounds of Blair’s protests during a spanking could unnerve him altogether.

Blair paced and mumbled, raking both hands through his long hair, oblivious to his father’s presence.

Torn between laughing at the frantic vision and being concerned Blair was this upset over the coming punishment, Ellison settled on concerned. Stepping farther into the room, he called, "Hey, Chief."

Pivoting on his heel, Blair rushed forward, arms opening wide in a pleading gesture. Every muscle in his small, wiry body seemed to be vibrating.

"Jim, man, come on here. Please. Can’t this wait? At least until Quill is gone? He’s only twenty feet away. He’ll hear everything, and let me tell you, man, he’s so not impressed with the way we do things around here."

Ellison arched both eyebrows and gave Blair an uncomprehending stare. "‘The way we do things around here?’"

"Yeah. The whole corner routine and the grounding thing. He thinks I’m a complete wuss."

"He said that?"

"Well, no. He said I was a ‘lame pussy’."

Ellison snorted, and turned his amazed gaze to the ceiling, looking for strength from the heavens above. "That kid’s got some mouth on him. Daniel’s going to be buying soap by the case load."

Blair shrugged off Ellison’s amused response. "Yeah, whatever, but let me tell you, listening to you ‘discuss’ things with my butt isn’t going to go over very well out there."

"No one said it had to, Chief."

"But he’ll hear everything."

Sitting down on the bed, Ellison got comfortable, lounging back against the multiple pillows. He patted the empty space beside him and waved a hand at Blair.

"Come over here."

Blair huffed and plopped down on the edge of the bed.

"Want to know what I think, Chief? I think you’re afraid your pride is going to suffer more than your butt."

Guilt crossed Blair’s face and he nodded, his entire upper body swaying side to side with the exaggerated movement.

"Yeah, well, he didn’t call you a ‘lame pussy’."

Tugging the smaller body closer to him, Ellison wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew Blair down to lay beside him.

"Smarmy git."

"What?"

"He called me a ‘smarmy git’. Whatever that means."

"If the rest of his vocabulary is anything to go by, I don’t think it’s a good thing."

Ellison grunted his agreement and ran a hand through Blair’s curls. "I can pretty much guarantee it. I wasn’t exactly in his good graces when he said it."

"I wonder if there’s a British to American dictionary out there. If he’s around for long, I think we’re going to need it."

"If you find one, get an extra copy for Daniel. Otherwise, I think the potty mouth out there will be getting away with a lot more than he should be."

"Or getting swatted for things he shouldn’t."

Ellison laughed. "I doubt that’s going to be a problem, Chief." He ruffled the curls under his hand. "Anyway, he’s Daniel’s Problem Child, let’s let him worry about it." He stretched his long frame and shifted deeper into the pillows. "For now, I can only handle one PC at a time."

Blair sighed and made a move to get up.

"Might as well get it over with." He was surprised when Ellison hauled him back down.

"Just slow down there, Speedy." Ellison tucked Blair under one arm. "Quill’s had a rough couple of days. He’s tired, his leg hurts, and I just medicated him with codeine. He’ll be asleep in about fifteen minutes. His heart rate’s already slowing down. We can hold off on our ‘discussion’ until then, don’t you think?"

Blair relaxed into his father’s embrace, a wry smile on his face.

"I could postpone things that long." Blair raised his head and gave his father a hopeful look. "Even longer if you want." He turned his best puppy dog eyes on Ellison. "For Quill’s sake, I mean."

"Stop that." Ellison batted at the back of Blair’s head and pressed the youth’s face back down onto his chest, hiding the beseeching eyes from sight. "Fifteen minutes’ll be long enough." He patted the same spot he had just batted at and hugged Blair to his side. "For Quill’s sake, of course."

************

Despite his nervousness over the coming punishment with Quill within hearing distance, anxiety had taken its toll. Blair had spent the last half-hour dozing in his father’s warm, comforting embrace.

Ellison rubbed one hand over Blair’s back, then dropped his hand lower and swatted his son’s butt. At the sudden insult to his backside, Blair started awake, letting loose an automatic, indignant protest.

"Ow! What?"

"Time to get this ‘discussion’ over with, Chief."

"What about … you know." Blair waved a hand in the general direction of the living room.

"Don’t worry, he’s fast asleep. If I were you, I’d be worrying about myself."

In one smooth movement, Ellison sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed, bringing Blair up along side him. He gave the younger man an expectant look, prompting his sleep tousled PC to stand up and drop his jeans.

Blair lowered himself down onto Ellison’s lap with a weary sigh, accompanied by the resigned slump of his shoulders. Blair squirmed and shifted until a large, heavy hand landed on his back, pressing him into the hard, muscled thighs, stilling his restless movements. Feeling the soft, cotton of his boxers slide over his butt and down to his knees, he clenched the muscles of his lower body in anticipation of the pain to come.

The first stinging swat still made him gasp in surprise. After all the spankings he had earned, why did he never remember how much this hurt before he broke the rules? Why did a spanking seem like such a small price to pay before hand, and such a large, embarrassing, painful price to pay afterward?

Introspective thoughts soon fled with the landing of the next series of rapid, sharp swats. Blair caught his breath back by the fifth spank and gave voice to his distress.

"Augh!" Swat. Swat. "Ouch!"

"Good, you’re finally paying attention."

Swat. Swat. Swat.

"Want to tell me why you’re getting punished?"

"Augh!" Swat. Swat. Swat. "Auuugh! Because I mouthed off to you behind your back!"

"That’s the newest addition to your offenses," swat, swat, swat, swat, "but what did you do before that?"

"Ouch! OW! OW! Um… ah… I broke…Ouch!… I broke my grounding. Came home late! Augh! AUUUUUGH! I knew … it was late and… I tried … to pretend it was…was a mistake."

"What’s that called, Chief?"

"Ouch, ouch, OUCH! Lying. I lied! I lied about it."

Blair sobbed and gasped between each spank, tears flowing with an ease that told the sentinel his guide had been too wound up over having an audience in the next room during his punishment. Ellison made a mental note to avoid a similar situation in the future. A little bending of the house rules was better then bending Blair’s spirit and self-esteem.

SWAT. … SWAT. … SWAT. … SWAT. … SWAT!

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry."

Ellison had been concentrating on the sound of Blair’s heartbeat and breathing and knew his son was close to his limit of tolerance. The remorseful, apologetic edge in Blair’s voice rang true and he decided to bring the punishment to an end. He delivered a volley of six more hard spanks to the youth’s vulnerable, reddened sit spot, making sure Blair would have a reminder of tonight’s lesson for days to come. He pulled the boxers back into place and manhandled Blair around until the younger man was sitting in his lap, throbbing backside supported between his thighs.

Blair immediately wrapped his arms around Ellison’s neck and buried his face in the folds of his shirt, sobbing out his pain and regret into his father’s chest. Starting a low chant of soothing words meant to reassure and calm, Ellison returned the fierce embrace. He tracked Blair’s racing heartbeat, pleased and comforted himself when the rhythm began to slow.

Distracted from his familiar dialogue of loving support and understanding, the sentinel concentrated once again on his hearing. There was another pounding rhythm drawing his attention, one that wasn’t slowing down, one that was, in fact, racing faster than Blair’s had, rocketing towards the limits of human endurance. It was familiar and yet not. Then a very familiar, terrifying sound overrode the thundering beat.

"Blair, stay in your room."

*************

The sounds of the punishment coming from the other room invaded Quill’s restless dreams, panicking him. Regular, heavy blows, the sound of flesh striking flesh again and again startled him half-awake, high-pitched yelps of pain sending already frayed nerves into mindless overload. Bright, painful visions flared to life behind his closed eyelids, forcing him to relive past moments of physical hurt.

A deeper, mature, masculine voice murmured over the sharp cries, triggering memories of Crowe’s low, menacing growl muttering death threats and crude insults. The blanket tucked around him warped into a pair of constricting, restraining arms and the rough texture of the couch cushions changed into a cold, concrete floor. His nightmare from two days ago became Quill’s reality.

Fighting against what he thought was Crowe’s crushing weight, Quill wiggled and squirmed out from under his attacker, worming his way free and across the floor. A louder yelp of distress jarred his shattered emotions, forcing him to open his eyes and take stock of where he was.

The room around him was only vaguely familiar, the gray shadows of early evening masking most of its features. A dim light illuminated the kitchen area and Quill’s eyes were drawn to the cabinet drawer. There was one thing he did remember, one thing that could protect him from being murdered.

Heart racing, he stumbled across the floor between couch and doorway to snatch the key ring from the stand, the dull ache in his knee turning to agony with each erratic step. Moving the few added feet to the kitchen drawer, he tried each key in the lock, picking out the smallest ones by touch.

More awake, but trapped in his body’s natural ‘fight or flight’ adrenaline rush, Quill was lost, reliving every vivid helpless second of Crowe’s lethal attack. But this time he could make a difference, this time he could protect himself. His hands closed around the cold metal and he cocked the gun, just like they did on television.

A small sound from behind warned him his assailant was near again. Leaning against the counter to take some of the unbearable pressure from his leg, Quill turned to face his opponent, arms extended and gun clenched in both hands. The figure of the man who had killed his friends, and taken away any future he might have had, loomed in front of him. His arms began to shake, the gun wavering in the air.

"Hold up there, Tiger. Just calm down and give me the gun."

Crowe’s voice sounded different -- lower, smoother, less angry than before.

"So you can splatter my brains like ya did Kev and Liam? Soddin’ huge bastard. ’M not a fuckin’ idiot." His voice shook as much as his arms did.

"Quill, I’m not Crowe. I didn’t hurt your friends. My name is Jim Ellison. You’re in my home in Cascade, Washington. Daniel Burke brought you here for safekeeping. Remember Daniel?"

"I-I…" The gun trembled harder.

The man kept stepping closer and closer, the shadows falling away as he advanced into the light. Frightened, Quill blinked hard to push away the tears clouding his vision, adding to his confusion.

"Stand still, you bloody wanka!"

The man came to a halt a few feet in front of him. Crowe didn’t look right. He was taller and broader than Quill remembered. He was dressed in casual clothes, not the all black of the assault team, and there were no weapons strapped to his body. More important, there was no sneer of disgust on his face and the coldness in his eyes was missing, replaced by a look of concern and understanding.

"Quill, listen to me. I’m Jim Ellison. Just give me the gun, before someone gets hurt."

Ellison continued his slow, cat-like advance, monitoring the sound of the boy’s heart rate and breathing, watching the sweat bead up on his upper lip and trickle down the from his temples. He inched closer until he was directly in front of Quill.

A small, sentinel-soft noise from behind him poked at his senses, forcing him to divide his skills between the problem in front of him and the new element behind him. He shifted his weight once more, positioning himself between the gun and Blair’s bedroom door. Keeping his voice from registering the fear and anger he felt, Ellison tried again to get through to the disoriented boy.

"Quill, looked at me. Look at me, listen to my voice." Frightened eyes peered up at him from under a mass of dark waves and long eyelashes. "I’m a friend. A friend of Daniel’s and a friend of yours."

"Daniel?"

"The man who brought you here, Daniel Burke. The man who saved your life at the warehouse. The man who left you with me for safekeeping. A friend."

"Protected me." The confused look in the dark eyes cleared a few degrees.

"That’s right. He protected you and wants you kept safe. He told you to listen to me. That means you need to give the gun to me, Quill. You promised to obey Daniel, didn’t you?"

"Aye."

His voice a mere whisper, hoarse and weak, Quill nodded in a jerky, unsure shiver. Ellison wondered if it was a positive thing. The boy looked less frightened, but his eyes still held a distant, disconnected expression in them and his hands still held the gun.

"Give me the gun, Quill. Just put it down, nice and easy." He extended his arm, palm up, gesturing for the boy to lay the weapon in his hand.

Quill cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes in the effort to see clearer. A flash of recognition lit up his eyes.

"Blair’s da?"

"That’s right, Quill, Blair’s dad. Give me the gun, Tiger."

Just as the trembling weapon neared him, a small noise from behind Ellison startled both of them. Quill jerked back, the sudden movement jarring his whole body. Agonizing pain ripped through his injured leg.

Ellison took advantage of moment and launched himself forward, grabbing the gun and Quill at the same time. He wasted no time in throwing the writhing boy over his shoulder to free up both of his hands. Checking that the safety was on, he emptied the chamber and removed the clip before tossing the gun back in the drawer and locking it, the keys still dangling from the drawer.

He moved in front of the couch and pulled Quill down from his shoulder, supporting most of the boy’s weight by holding him up under his arms.

"Are you all right?"

Shaking his head to clear away the remainder of the nightmare, Quill nodded and looked up at Ellison. His glance darted from the man to the drawer and back again, repeating the routine several times in a row, eyes growing wider and more distressed with each pass. The danger and foolishness of what he had just done dawned on him, forcing tears to well up. He stuttered out a ragged attempt at an apology.

"’M sorry, so sorry. Didn’t… I mean… I… know… thought you… Sorry, sorry, sorry. Shouldn’t have touched it, but was so scared. Thought you ‘ere someone else and…"

Tears spilled down his cheeks and a new panic grabbed control of him. Would this man throw him out now? Was he going to be abandoned again? Why couldn’t he ever get it right? His hands fisted into the fabric of Ellison’s shirt, trying to keep from being separated from the man at the moment.

"Sorry."

Ellison was tempted to give into his own anger and fears and haul the boy over his knee now, but seeing the desperation and fear in the boy’s face and hearing the genuine regret in his voice made him realize Quill needed something else first.

Already holding most of Quill’s weight as it was, Ellison slipped his arm under the boy’s legs and lifted him up so he could sit down with him in his lap. He was surprised when Quill didn’t resist. The boy pressed himself against Ellison’s chest, but couldn’t seem to relax. He appeared to want to crumble into the comfort being offered, but didn’t know how. Ellison pulled him in closer, arranging his splinted leg more comfortably on the couch. Glancing up, he caught sight of PC#1 standing on the other side of the couch.

"Is he all right?"

"I thought I told you to stay in your room?" Ellison’s eyes narrowed and his voice became stern.

"I-I heard you telling Quill to give you the gun, Jim. I had to see what was happening, see if I could help, man. We were getting along okay while you were gone, but I could tell, you make him nervous. I thought I could help."

Blair’s worried gaze shifted from Ellison to Quill. "Quill?"

Ellison gave Blair a ‘I’ll deal with you later’ glare. "Go back to your room, Chief."

Blair made a helpless gesture in the air. "I didn’t know it had gotten so dark. I didn’t mean to bump into the table and startle you." He looked down at the sobbing boy in his father’s arms. "Gave you a chance to grab the gun though."

Blair’s attempt at an optimistic attitude melted away with the intense no-nonsense stare sent his way.

"Bedroom. Now."

"Yeah, okay, Dad. I’m going." Blair rubbed over the small callus on his right thumb, worrying the worn joint almost raw.

Knowing the full warning value of one-word sentences, Blair backed his way out and slid into his room, leaving the bedroom door ajar.

Ellison wrapped his arms around Quill and pressed him to his chest, rocking back and forth just enough to calm. After a few moments, the boy’s tears subsided and he tried to push away from the confining embrace.

"Leave off. ’m fine, gov’." He pushed harder at the thick arms holding him in place, squirming his bottom to move from Ellison’s lap onto a cushion, but the pain in his knee was dampening his efforts. The more he pushed, the firmer the grip became, and he grew frustrated with his lack of success. Quill twisted and turned like a snake trying to slip free, even if it meant ending up on the floor.

"Blinkin’ arse. Said ’m sorry. Leave off."

Ellison reversed his earlier decision about leaving disciplining to Burke’s discretion. With Quill’s penchant for getting into dangerous situations, if he waited, Burke might not have a kid to come back for.

"Not as sorry as you’re gonna be, Tiger."

Transferring his grip to the boy’s waist, Ellison flipped the youth onto his stomach. He found he needed to adjust his usual angle and hold to compensate for Quill’s height difference from Blair. Raising his right knee a little altered the angle just right, bringing the boy’s bottom up to the perfect presentation position.

Not bothering to waste the time it would take to lower the boy’s pants, Ellison delivered a hard, blistering swat to Quill’s backside to compensate for the padding. Once he got started, he knew it was going to be a long time before he stopped. It had been some time since his own problem child had done anything this dangerous or foolish.

Ellison couldn’t remember the last time he’d been threatened with his own gun.

This boy had to understand people cared about him. Burke cared enough he was putting both his career and his life at risk for the kid. That included his team as well.

Spank after heavy spank thundered down on Quill’s tender, uninitiated bottom to a chorus of yelps, screams and foul language.

"Fuckin’ wanka! Ouch!"

"Soddin’…"

"Great…."

"Bastard! Augh!"

"Bloody arsehole! Ow!"

"Blinkin’ berk!"

"Auuuugh! Enough! Enough! Sorry. SORRY."

"Not nearly enough yet, Tiger, nowhere near enough."

"But you will be."

Once the screams had changed to whimpers and the foul words came out as sobs, Ellison thought he could be heard over the remaining noise.

"You know why you’re getting your butt blistered, Quill, so I’m not going to waste any time on asking you. I’m just going to go over the rules I expect you to follow in this house during this hopefully, short visit. They’re pretty simple and there’s only three of them, so I know you’ll be able to remember them all. I’m getting the idea you’ve got a pretty good memory anyway."

He shifted Quill’s body higher and landed the next series of hits to the boy’s vulnerable sit spot. Quill stiffened his body under the renewed assault and burst into tears. Ellison pretended to ignore the reaction, but was grateful for the breakthrough in the boy’s defenses.

"Listen up, Tiger, I’m only going to say this once. One. The gutter language stops here and now. If I hear one more insult, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. Industrial strength."

"Two. You do whatever I tell you to do until Daniel comes back to get you. Everything I tell you, every time I tell you, exactly the way I tell you. No questions, no back talk, and no complaining."

"Three. You never, never, never touch my gun, or anyone else’s for that matter, again. Ever. You, me, Blair, we could have all been hurt here today."

"Kids…" SWAT!

"Don’t…" SWAT!

"Play…" SWAT!

"With…" SWAT!

"Guns!" SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

Finishing the spanking with a volley of hard, rapid hits meant to emphasize his point, Ellison released his pent up anger and fear along with the final swats. He couldn’t remember the last time even Blair had given him such a terrifying scare. Burke was going to have his hands full. No wonder he was conflicted about taking on this live wire. The kid really was a wild tiger cub.

He loosened his grip, wanting to embrace the sobbing kid and offer comfort. The instant his hold lessened, Quill shoved against his chest and propelled himself off Ellison’s lap and down onto the floor. Only the detective’s quick reflexes kept Quill from banging his head on the coffee table. Ellison scooped him back up and wrapped his arms around him, pinning his arms against his chest and his struggling body to his lap.

Quill fought him every step of the way.

"Said I wos sorry! Who made ya master of the bloody universe, anyway? Soddin’--"

"I wouldn’t if I were you. Not unless you like the taste of soap."

The words held an ominous tone that registered with Quill, even through his tearful , blustering panic.

"Leave off. Wot’dja tryin’ to do? Don’t need babied. Leave off, I tell ya." Quill shoved his shoulder, the only part of his upper body he could move more than an inch, against Ellison’s chest.

"And I say you do. Do you remember rule number two, Quill?"

"’Course I do. You just bloody well said it." Quill’s head came to rest in the crook of Ellison’s neck, his words muffled by fabric and flesh.

"Tell me." The struggle continued, but Ellison could feel the boy’s strength waning.

"Leave off!"

"Settle down and tell me."

"Troll!"

SWAT!

"Ow! ’Kay… I ’ave to do wotever you tell me ta do."

"When I tell you, for whatever reason I tell you. Understand?"

"Aye. Now l-leave off."

Despite his fierce words, the struggle was nearing an end, exhaustion and the need for comfort winning the battle over fear, anger and embarrassment. Quill’s last statement was stuttered out in between gasped sobs and his physical resistance was nothing more than an occasional squirm, prompted by the need to relieve the pain in his tortured knee.

Instead of heeding Quill’s request, Ellison pinned the boy to him and began to rub long, soothing strokes down his too-thin back the way he had seen Burke do at the hospital. He tangled one hand in the mess of curls and massaged his fingertips over the hot scalp.

The gesture seemed to flatten the boy’s defenses. Quill heaved a sudden, massive sigh and collapsed into the embrace, fisting the shirt under his hands and turning his face in to his captor’s neck.

"When’s he coming back?" The question was more of a plea than an inquiry.

Ellison halted the stroking action for a moment to deliver a crushing hug, realizing the boy was desperate for his newly acquired father figure.

"Soon. Daniel’ll be back soon."

He sincerely hoped that was true. This boy had a lot of demons to battle and he was going to need some consistent help and a lot of love and understanding to do that. Burke needed to get him settled some place where he could feel safe, whether it was with Burke or somewhere else. The boy needed a home, one with a strong parental influence.

Ellison figured four seasoned, clever, covert-ops soldiers should just about be able to handle this one. God, Blair’s antics were beginning to look mild in comparison. All except Blair’s latest escapade. Christ, he could have been killed coming out of his room like that. Brat couldn’t follow an order even when his life depended on it. He’d have to do something about that.

Ellison rocked back and forth in a slow, hypnotic rhythm and felt Quill relax even more, his heart rate and breathing evening out to normal. Five minutes later, the boy was asleep. The rocking motion continued for several long moments until the sentinel was positive the boy was sound asleep.

He carried the boy to Blair’s room, bumping open the already ajar door with his foot.

"Okay, Chief. Trade places. I think this Tiger needs to be caged, even when he’s asleep, and you and I have some more ‘discussing’ to do."

***********

Ellison eased the bedroom door closed, turning his full attention to his own Problem Child standing by the sliding glass doors to the balcony. Blair bounced in place, shifting from one foot to the other, then tilted forward and back on the balls of his feet. It made Ellison dizzy to watch him.

The display of overwhelming nervous tension was one he hadn’t seen in some time, not since the first few days after his return from being kidnapped by Jason Dow, Blair’s crime boss grandfather’s henchman. Blair had been so stressed out by Ellison’s prolonged disappearance he was bouncing off the furniture and walls. It had taken days of quiet talks and reassurances before Blair’s distress had faded. Ellison suspected it was more the ‘gun thing’ with Quill, than the coming spanking that was bothering the youth.

"Dad. You’re okay, right? Everything’s okay." Blair rushed to embrace his father, pulling back only far enough to look up into Ellison’s face before continuing his verbal assault. "You and Quill? Nobody got hurt, right? Man, what a rush! When I heard you tell him to give you the gun I almost had a heart attack. What the hell—heck, was he thinking? Are you sure he doesn’t have a head injury from getting knocked around by that crazy guy? Because I--."

"Whoa, Mighty Mouth, slow it down. Just take a breath and calm down." Ellison guided them to the couch and sat, forcing Blair to do the same to maintain his possessive hold on Ellison’s waist. The youth squirmed and grimaced, his sore bottom making its displeasure known.

"I’m fine, Quill’s less than fine, but he’ll be okay for awhile. He’s so exhausted, he’ll probably sleep through the night, but the bedroom door gets locked this time, for everyone’s safety. You’re upstairs with me again tonight."

"That’s okay. I can live with it."

Ellison ruffled Blair’s curls and squeezed the slender youth to his side, returning the embrace, reassuring him with a tap to the back of the head. Blair buried his face in Ellison’s neck. Ellison let the calming moment linger a little longer then got down to business. It had been an exhausting 24 hours. He leaned down and kissed Blair on the top of his head.

"You shouldn’t have come out of the bedroom. I told you to stay in the room for everyone’s safety. I needed to concentrate on what was happening with Quill and my gun. I didn’t need the added possibility of your getting hurt to distract me."

"I thought I could help." His voice sounded meek and whiney, even to himself.

"And I thought you’d listen to me." The stern, no-nonsense tone had crept back into Ellison’s voice.

Blair’s face crinkled into a grimace. "I’m not really sure there’s a precedence for that assumption." His attempt at humor earned him another not so gentle thump to the back of his head. "Ow!"

"I was a little concerned about doing this so soon after the first spanking, but if you’re making jokes about this, you’re in good enough shape to answer for your behavior."

In one swift ‘flip and hold’ maneuver, Ellison lifted Blair off of his chest and pulled him across his thighs, pinning him in place with one hand. The other hand tugged Blair’s jogging pants down far enough to expose the still rosy backside before the younger man had time to do more than gasp at the abrupt change of position.

Since they had already talked about the transgression, Ellison skipped the question and answer portion of the evening and went right to the lecture, punctuated with a number of mighty swats in between sentences.

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

"I told you stay in your room, Chief. That was for the protection of everyone. Don’t try and second-guess me. When I give you a direct order, you accept it as law. Understand?"

SWAT! SWAT!

"Ow! Yes. I understand. I do. Augh!"

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

"What if Quill hadn’t snapped out of it?"

SWAT!

"If the trauma he’s been through didn’t fade away in time? If he’d continued to see me as Crowe?"

SWAT!

"If he’d pulled the trigger thinking he was protecting himself from a murderer?"

SWAT!

"What then?"

SWAT!

"I probably could have heard the hammer coming down, seen his hand tense on the trigger, and gotten out of the way in time."

SWAT!

"But you,"

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

"You put yourself in the line of fire."

SWAT!

"You could have been injured or killed."

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

Ellison demonstrated his flip and hold technique again in a rapid reversal of Blair’s position, drawing the sobbing boy to him in a crushing embrace.

"What the hell would I do then, Chief? What the hell would I do without you," Ellison’s voice faltered and cracked, "without my heart? That shot would have taken out the two of us at the same time."

Blair bucked when his raw bottom hit rough jeans, but he burrowed into the embrace all the same, winding his arms around his father’s neck. He buried his face in Ellison’s chest and cried out his guilt and his regret over having caused the other man so much unnecessary pain.

"Didn’t think about it that way, Dad. Didn’t think about it at all, I guess, just reacted. I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. I’ll listen better next time."

Ellison shifted both of them around until they were lying stretched out on the sofa, then he dropped a heavy hand on Blair’s red-hot backside. "There hadn’t better be a next time."

"Ow! All right, all right! I hear you." He flinched as his fleece pants were pulled back up over his cheeks. "Quill’s really messed up about this Crowe guy. How soon before Daniel comes back?"

"Not soon enough or he’d already be here." Ellison shook his head, unprepared to handle all the crisis intervention the boy appeared to need. "The kid needs someone he trusts right now and that narrows it down to Burke, as far as I can see."

"You gonna tell him you spanked Quill?"

"Better believe it, Little Buddy." He gave Blair an exasperated glare.

"So he can deal with Quill’s complaints about it?"

Ellison snorted an indelicate grunt. "Hell no, so he can start getting his swinging arm in shape. With that tiger in tow, even if it’s only for a little while, he’s going to need it." He pulled Blair’s head back down to his chest. "Makes you look like a choir boy."

"Cool. I like Quill better and better all the time. If Daniel keeps him, can he come to visit?"

"He’s not a puppy. And no."

"Ah, Jim--"

"No."

"Just for a few days?"

"I thought we agreed you were going to listen next time I told you something."

"Well, yeah, but--"

"No."

"But--"

A large hand clamped over Blair’s mouth, silencing him. "The only ‘but’ around here is the one cooling off under my hand. Does it need to be reheated?"

Knowing a rhetorical question when he heard one, Blair squirreled down into Ellison’s embrace and within moments had joined his trouble making soul mate in the other room in sleep.

Blissful silence fell at last, punctuated by the steady rhythm of beating hearts. A sentinel couldn’t be happier with the results until he noticed those two young hearts beat in time to one another.

Lord save them all -- twins.

End