Every motion they made was in unison... each step took them upstairs with a hesitancy that lost synch with their hearts and eventually gave out by the time they reached the seventh floor.  "We got two more floors.", the younger brother panted.  "They should be here any time now.".

            "What the **** are you out of breath for?  Youre not the one carrying...", Castor muttered before catching his tongue.  Absentmindedly, his fingertips traced the edge of her bandages, over and over, still not wanting to believe they were there.  Without another word, he plunged onward past Pollux without so much as a sideways glance.  As they turned to reach the last staircase, they heard the choppers blades overhead, a bitter reminder of the night in Vitória when they first met.  It was so similar to this moment only now it was seen through cold, deadened eyes.  He could feel his throat tighten a little, but he forced himself to swallow.  The wind hit their faces defiantly as they laid her on the back seat, her head cradled in Castors lap, and he stroked the cool flesh of her cheek tenderly.  "Baby baby, speak to me, please its OK, Im here now.".  He placed his left hand on her heart, and when he felt her heart race he smiled broadly.  "You still got some fight in you.".  Pollux sat in the front seat, next to the pilot, and looked down below, rubbing his face in annoyance.  He was silent.

            Rain pelted at the chassis of the helicopter without warning, and as the first raindrops hit the windows Castor thought he saw Heathers eyelids flutter.  Her chest rose sharply, and his heart leaped for joy when he saw her open her eyes hesitantly.

            "Castor...."

            He said nothing, but bit his lip and bent low to nuzzle her feverish face, his tears rubbing across her skin.

            "Castor... I hurt.", she murmured, her head a fuzzy mess of lethargia, confusion and slowly growing denial.  "Was I shot?".

            At first he said nothing, but finally he looked down at her bandaged arm, and she followed his gaze.

            "How?  Who shot me?".

            "Baby, when we get him, Im gonna make him talk to you in person.  I'm gonna make him be a ****ing man and own up to this, I swear.".

            "My head I feel dizzy.".

            "You're dizzy because you love me, baby I make you so hot, right?", he whispered, gulping back his tears and laughing aloud. 

            Heather smiled wanly, but when she tried to laugh her chest burned and heaved reflexively and dry coughs erupted from her throat.  "Hold me... don't leave me again.".

            "No, never.  We're together for good now.".  His voice was thinner now, and his soul was infused with fury and determination where it had once been saturated with guilt.   

            Guilt has a way of making time seem abundant, and if one is looking for rectification, they might believe theres no deadline for finding it.  In the murky recesses of a guilty mind, every second brings you closer to a fork in the road to run or to turn and face the truth.  Sean Archer reached that fork within minutes of leaving the hospital, and found himself doubting if he were the sort of man that could pull off what Marcus had suggested could he really walk away and accept whatever came along, knowing that he was what was he?  He wasnt a coward.  He was a professional and a family man.  Everyone knew what a great guy he was, dedicated to his career and to those who loved him.  There could be other words that someone might use to describe him, but he was not a coward.  Maybe she did deserve it, he realized, long after he had pulled over and turned off the engine.  She went willingly with Castor that was obvious.  She was in the wayIm a good shot.  She was just careless.  Outside, the skies were misty, and as he started his engine and wiped off the fogged windshield his comprehension of what really happened of what he and Marcus knew had really happened became clearer as well.     

            As hours slipped through the darkness and the helicopter made its way east across the Irish Sea, the brothers shared the sort of fluid, understood silence that always comes with moments of uncertainty.  They both knew what they were doing was riskythere was no confidence to be found in their actions, but still they pressed on because it was what theyd always done.  Pollux napped restlessly, tossing and murmuring in his seat.  Castor could not sleep at all but instead held Heathers head, which had grown feverish and sweaty by dawn.  Her breath, hollow and wet in her throat, rattled vainly in her chest by the time they landed.

            "Where the hell are we?", Pollux asked, his eyes still squeezed shut against the morning light filtering through the dirty windshield.

            "Wales.", his brother replied, his voice a weary monotone.

            "We had to land in Bodedern.  It's the only airport that was vacant this time of year, what with the tourist season almost ending and all.", the pilot informed them.  "Boss said it would be a good place to light until the heat is off.".

           "The boss?  Nobody controls where the **** we land except me!", Castor replied, his voice lacking any real emotional strength.

            "Dodson.", the pilot responded, and glanced over his shoulder at him with a quick smile.  "He said it was the least he could do.".

            The two brothers glanced at each other, their eyes drained of emotion, then turned to face the pilot.  "Dodson?  Ambrose Dodson?", Castor queried in an amused tone.  The pilots smile faltered a little, and his hands gripped the controls reflexively.  "You must mean Ambrose... we dont know of anyone else.".

            Pollux calmly reached under the seat, but his brother stopped him with a gentle touch on his shoulder, then turned to face the pilot with a bemused gaze.  "Tell me you're speaking of Ambrose Dodson, one of our fine former associates, who was strangled to death by a transvestite schizophrenic in the Oklahoma State Penitentiary three months ago.".

            The pilot's face took on an ashen, waxy glow.  "We've got agents coming in fast, *******s..  They're coming in right now.  Shoot me if you wanna shoot me, but it wont stop them from closing in on you.".  His shaky voice betrayed his fragile confidence.

            A teetering giggle erupted from the younger brother, while Castor leaned back in his seat again.  "You're a pathetic little punk.  They've got dozens of guys just like you.  Makes my job a whole lot easier.".  He instinctively reached behind him, his fingertips brushing against the leather back holster, then stopped.  "You know your way around here, *******?  You know where there's a doctor?".

            The pilot stared straight ahead, his clammy hands balled into fists on his lap.  "Thats a ridiculous question.".

            "I dont think it is... you know where there's a doctor, or you know someone who does.  How many other agents are here?".

            "None... not yet.".

            With a jerky movement, Pollux reached under his seat and pulled out his semiautomatic, a wide, sick grin plastered across his face.  The pilot glanced in his direction but remained still, barely flinching as the barrel hovered inches beside his cheek.  "Call a doctor for my brother.".  His voice, tight and reedy in his throat, took on a peculiar lilting quality, and a chill ran down Castors spine.

            "Bro... don't do it.  Hes unarmed.".  Gently, he reached out for his brothers hand but he was just out of reach.  The pilot stared down the barrel in disbelief, his mouth slightly open.  "We need to sit back and think about this.".  He grabbed the pilot by the jacket and jerked him back, forcing him to look at Heather.  "She's one of yours... you owe her.  Look at her... one of your punk ass partners did this to her and now we're trying to get some help here.".  His throat was dry and hollow and could barely push out the words.  "I'm not gonna let her go.".

            "Screw you... screw both of you!", he hissed, refusing to look at the injured woman.  "We didn't do a damn thing to her.  I know what went down... she was in the way.  She shouldn't have even been there.".

            "Shut... the ****... up!!!", he screamed, and for a moment he thought it was another mans voice.  "You have no idea who the **** you're dealing with!  I could crush you right now... I could pull you outside of this helicopter and beat your ass in the ground.  Do you believe that happy horse****?"

            The pilot said nothing, but squeezed his eyes shut.

            "You're gonna find someone to help her or my brother busts a cap in your candy cotton ass... and you wanna hear something really ****ed up?".  He pulled the pilot even closer, his sweaty brow inches from Castors twisted face.  "It's time for his meds.  This is the worst ****ing time to test our patience, *******!".  Barely cognizant, Pollux fidgeted nervously and popped his neck, still pointing the semiautomatic at the back of the pilots head with a trembling hand. 

            "There is one guy... he's on the outside.", the pilot mumbled hoarsely.  "Sometimes the mob calls on him, for broken bones, bullet wounds and stuff... but hes a real physician.".  Imperceptibly, he squirmed under Castors lock hold but didnt try to fight back.

             "Call him.".  He released him with a haphazard shove, and then pulled out his cell phone before the pilot could use his own.  "You must think I'm am imbecile put your phone away and use mine instead.".  His condescending tone set him on edge, but he complied.  After the call was placed, they stepped outside and headed for the airport, the two brothers walking side by side a few paces behind the pilot.  Pollux was fishing for the bottle of Qaxinipam, the straps of the duffel bag slipping off his sloping shoulder, while Castor carried Heather.  She floated in and out of consciousness, her eyes fluttering open but unable to fix on anything, a white paste forming on the corners of her mouth.  In the wispy fog, the airport looked to be nothing more than a large tool shed with an oversized antenna on one side.  Surrounded by unmarked asphalt with thick rashes of trees just beyond, it was the only building within sight.

            After laying her down in the corner of a dingy office, he sat in the dark, drowning in his misery and silence.  He had flipped on the light, but she complained that it hurt her eyes when he tried to put his rolled-up jacket under her neck, she cried out in pain.  Heathers body was hot and rigid with tension.  The pilot, now tied up with bungee cords in the front room, made little sound beyond cursing under his breath, his ferret-like face screwed tight with indignant frustration.

            "I'm telling the doctor to bring us something to eat my stomach hurts.  You want anything?", Pollux asked, sticking his head in the doorway.  Castor said nothing.  "Cas?  I feel compelled to ask... how do you know we can trust this guy?  How do you know its not a set-up?".

            "We have no choice.", he said, his soulless voice clawing its way reluctantly out of his chest.  "If he's an agent, we cap him.".

            Before the sun had pulled itself over the trees, there was a soft knock at the front entrance.  A man, squarish but thin, identified himself to Pollux.  He was flanked by two men who had to duck to walk inside.  "Hope you don't mind my friends.", he whispered.  Without being asked, he showed his wallet to the younger brother.  "You said the patient is an FBI agent?  Were you ****tin' me?".  Pollux shook his head slightly, nodding it in the direction of the office.  Castor met the three men at the doorway. 

           "Can you work in the dark?  The lights hurt her eyes.".  The doctor glanced at him with weary, expectant eyes and kneeled beside her.  Minutes upon minutes later, after he had checked her thoroughly, he eased himself to his feet.

"She's in the early stages of meningitis.", he succinctly answered, not wanting to be pressed further.             

"What... what the hell are you talking about?".

          "It's from the gunshot wound.", the doctor replied defensively, partially to protect Castors ego.  "She needs a ****tail of antibiotics... an IV.".  Castor knew what should have been said next... it hung above their heads, a fog of accusation.

          "She's not going back to the hospital!  She stays here  and you'll take care of her!!!", he screamed.  Grabbing a chair, he hurled it across the room, smashing a computer monitor and scaring the two goons out of the way.   Pollux was stricken cold, cowering against the wall.  The doctor was amazingly calm given his unorthodox roster of patients, he was used to violence.

"I can't guarantee anything, Mr. Troy.  I'll do what I can, but a hospital would be the best place for her.  If we had left her there, this wouldn't be an issue.  But since thats out of the question,", he added, "I'll see if there's anything I can give her.".  Without another word, he slipped out of the room.

Time, stretching endlessly in the darkness, only added to his grief. 
          "Baby, baby, no...", he sobbed quietly, clutching her hand and stroking her face tenderly.  "I'm not giving up on you... **** them... **** all of them.  They aren't taking you away from me.". 

In the shadows, Pollux stood quietly, watching helplessly as his brother loomed over Heather.  When Castor learned of her existence, he had found something tangible, something to work for, something that couldnt be bought or sold or even given away, and once discovered he craved it above all else.  Now she was nearly gone, and there was nothing either of them could do about it.  Pollux's eyes, glittering with fragile anger, saw what no one would ever understand love yanked through his brothers fingers by an outside force . As he tried to be strong for him, he realized the soul of this man, whom he had idolized his whole life, was slowly being torn apart and reconstructed by pain and fury into one that was deeper, desperate and morose.  He dimly realized that Castor would never be the same after this he was already too far gone.
        "Cas...", he interjected, timidly.  Castor ignored him. 
        "I know I'm not the kind of man you want to be with.", he said to Heather, his voice gaining strength despite his fear, "I know I'm not good for you.  But I love you, baby... I've dreamed about you for a hell of a long time, and I'm not letting you go now.".  Dipping the cloth in cold water and pressing it to her face, he bit his lip in consternation, forcing himself to stay in control.  If he could rip his heart out of his chest and give it to her, he would have gladly done it... his throat swelled and burned, and in the dark recess of his conscience there was the need for both confession and denial, at odds with each other and fighting for the fragments of shredded emotion that still clung to him.  "It wasn't my fault... it wasn't... I tried to protect you.  No... no, it's not my fault.".  He swallowed hard and covered his mouth.  The guilt gnawed at him, nauseating him, and finally he turned to face Pollux, his shoulders hunched and his knees buckling under the weight of his grief.  "Where is he?".

"Hes picking up some supplies... he said he'd be back soon.".

          "Not the doctor... the pussy bitch agent!", he bellowed, making Pollux jump back a little.  "The ****ing coward who shot Sinclaire!  Where the **** is he?".  Rubbing his temples, he squeezed his eyes shut, and turned away from his younger brother, stalking into the shadows of the back room.  Seconds later, he emerged... Pollux's eyes, still adjusting to the darkness, saw a flash of gold-plated metal. 

"Find him.", Castor whispered hoarsely.  "Send every ****ing goon we have to find him.  And make sure hes alive.  I wont let her die without an apology.".