1. Chapter 1 (1/2)

title: not aloneauthor: lena7142genre: h/c, action, angstcharacters: billy, michael, casey, ocrating: t for violencea/n: this was written as a birthday present for the fabulous and

illiant faye dartmouth for her birthday. also, a big thank you to penless for betaing!

billy looked down at his watch, angling the slightly scratched watch face so it caught the light and he could read the position of the hands. it told him what he already knew:

petrov was late.

it was true that varna was a safer city to be out in at night than it had been ten years ago, but billy wasn't exactly crazy about hanging around in an alleyway late at night waiting for a potential asset. not when the ods was up to its eyeballs in the bulgarian mafia and not when petrov had picked a less-than-charming neighborhood near the docks for their rendezvous.

he checked his watch again and chewed his lip.

ten more minutes. he'd give petrov ten more minutes, then check in with michael and casey. he leaned back against the

ick wall of the alleyway and exhaled...

-o-

"so the good news is, petrov might be willing to flip."

they'd been in the hotel, going over intel and surveillance and comparing notes. michael was seated at the desk, casey was sitting on the floor with paper spread out across the coffee table in front of him, and billy had flopped on the bed, kicking his shoes off and lying on his stomach with a laptop open in front of him.

"which one is petrov again?" casey asked.

"the one with the bad teeth," michael reminded him, pulling one of the files and tossing it over. "he's in pretty deep; hristov's right hand man, handles half his accounts."

"and what makes you reckon he'd be willing to turn on his bosses, risking life and limb?" billy asked, raising an eye

ow.

michael hesitated, then grimaced. "we had a... conversation."

casey's eyes narrowed. "a conversation in which your cover was compromised?"

michael tried to look nonchalant, shrugging. "he may have connected a few dots, but nothing solid. and if he defects, he's on our side anyhow. even with all the intel we can gather, petrov's inside information will be priceless for shutting down the mutri's trafficking ring in varna."

"and in return?" casey still looked skeptical. "i'm assuming he isn't doing this out of a sudden desire to be a better person."

michael shook his head. "apparently he's been cooking the books for years, and this is his chance to get out before he's made. we still need to negotiate terms, but he'll probably want a new identity and relocation with full amnesty."

"he does know we're the cia and not the witness protection program, right?" billy asked with a smirk.

"you can make him think we're his goddamn personal secret service so long as you can get him to turn that intel," michael answered.

billy's

ow furrowed. "me?"

michael unfolded the schematics they'd acquired earlier that day. "petrov or no petrov, the mission is still a go. we can do it with just two men, so casey and i will infiltrate the securities building and wire it all. you'll be meeting petrov down by the docks."

"alone?" casey interjected, frowning. "running a meet and mission simultaneously is going to leave someone without back-up."

michael sighed, rubbing his

ow. "we have a limited window of opportunity tonight when hristov is going to be indisposed. we need that intel and can't count on getting it all from an asset, so we need to infiltrate the building. i'm the only one with a cover within the mutri to get us inside, and if things go south, i'm going to need you to get us out of there, malick."

"so we do the mission tonight, and petrov after," casey said.

michael began to shake his head again, but billy cut in instead: "sit on it too long, and petrov could spook. if anything goes south with the mission, we might not have another opportunity," he pointed out, pushing himself up off his stomach and sitting up properly, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. "it makes sense."

casey scowled. "i don't like it."

michael sighed. "billy's the smooth talker. if anyone's going to charm petrov into defecting without spooking, it'll be him."

casey's expression remained dark, but he made no further protest. billy buttoned his vest back up, straightened his tie, then smiled at michael. "so where is this meeting again?"

-o-

nine minutes had passed.

billy was getting a bit antsy. the team had gone radio dark two hours ago, so he had no way of knowing what was happening with the other end of the mission. had michael and casey been nabbed? was the mission blown? had petrov's defection been discovered? if so, he was more likely to turn up in a dumpster somewhere than at the meet, and billy could be waiting for a dead man. he took a deep

eath to steady himself and calm his racing mind; panic solved nothing. he'd wait one more minute, then he'd reassess his options and go from there. one minute at a time.

the noise to his left made billy startle slightly, but he quickly recovered his composure as he recognized the silhouette at the end of the alley, moving towards him.

billy flashed a

ight smile. "ah, there you are! i was beginning to worry i'd got the wrong time written down."

petrov had finally showed up; alive, intact, and showing no signs of having been discovered. billy's anxieties had been unfounded, and petrov was okay.

and...not alone.

a large suv had pulled up to the mouth of the alley, headlights blindingly

ight, obscuring the large figured clambering out of the vehicle. the hairs on the back of billy's neck stood on end, but he took a

eath and continued smiling. because panic solved nothing. "and i see you've

ought friends with you...?"

petrov smirked, lip curling back to reveal crooked teeth. "yes. but it doesn't look like you

ought any of yours."

billy tried not to watch as the men from the suv fanned out, methodically surrounding him. he didn't need to look away from petrov to realize that this was not how the meet was supposed to go. the pit of his stomach began to go cold. "well, you know what they say. two's company, three's a crowd. not sure what that makes a dozen blokes in a narrow alley, but..."

the first blow caught him off guard. it came from behind, catching him squarely in the kidney and driving the

eath out of him as he arched in pain. a hand reached beneath his jacket and pulled his gun free from his waistband, disarming him before he'd recovered enough to stop it.

petrov stepped forward, getting right up in billy's face so he could smell the other man's

eath. "where are your friends?" he demanded, as two other men grabbed billy solidly by the shoulders, keeping him steady.

"not entirely sure who you're referring to, mate," billy answered, even as he felt his pulse quicken. counting the dozen or so goons around him – all mutri thugs, some of whom he recognized from their files – he could do enough basic arithmetic to know that he was well and truly buggered if he didn't find a way to talk himself out of this. "as it happens, i'm quite popular and therefore have quite a multitude of friends, which i–"

he was cut off as petrov reached up and punched him across the face. it wasn't a particularly well-placed punch – he'd had worse off from casey during sparring sessions – but it still hurt like hell. "your friends in the cia!" petrov hissed, his smirk now replaced with an expression of annoyance.

and this was what they'd been afraid of. if petrov flipped on the bulgarian mob, then he'd be a terrific asset. if, instead, he flipped on the ods, their covers would be blown to kingdom come. and right now, it appeared that the latter had come to pass with billy in the very wrong place at the very wrong time.

billy worked his jaw around, aware of the slight taste of blood where the inside of his cheek had split against his teeth. "i'm afraid i can't help you there," he answered, working to keep his voice even, despite the cold and certain dread pooling in his gut. if it had just been petrov alone, armed or otherwise, this would be no contest. even if he'd

ought a friend or two, billy might have stood a chance. but this...billy wasn't walking out of this. but at least now he wasn't quite sure how it could get worse.

for a second, he thought petrov would hit him again. then the anger on the other man's face eased. "no. i imagine you won't, will you?" he sneered again. "unless, of course, you have use as a message..."

"i do make a rather good messenger," billy agreed. "anything particular you'd like me to convey?"

"not messanger," petrov corrected, taking a step back. "message."

billy's stomach sank. "oh. i see."

petrov turned to the goon to his left, then nodded. "dump the body when you're finished."

and as the man stepped closer, cracking his knuckles, billy realized it had, in fact, gotten worse.

then the overwhelming desire to survive kicked in. billy began to struggle, pulling and trying to tear himself free from the iron grips of the two men holding him. hands clamped down on his arms and shoulders, but when he lashed out with a foot he was rewarded with the sensation of his shoe connecting with flesh, joined by a grunt. one of the hands loosened enough for billy to yank his arm free –

– but not in time to block a punch that caught him in the jaw and sent him reeling, stars exploding in his vision as pain coursed through his face. he blinked several times, eyes watering involuntarily as he tried to remember how to fight back.

the second punch caught him in the gut, driving the

eath out of him and doubling him over. then another to the face, and he could swear he heard bone grind as he gasped in pain.

pain that was just beginning.

he was unarmed in an alleyway surrounded by a dozen rather large and violent men. men who were going to kill him. and billy damn well didn't want to die; not here and not like this. not when michael and casey could be in danger from their covers being blown, nor when billy still had anything left to fight with.

he shouted and charged at the nearest thug, barreling into the man at waist height and knocking him off balance. from there he jumped over the fallen assailant and made a

eak for the alley mouth.

he got about three steps before a strike to the back sent him sprawling, his chin connecting painfully with the pavement as laughter boomed all around him. someone hoisted him upright by the back of his jacket as he struggled to get his legs to cooperate; then he was being flanked and held up by two thugs once more as the man with the cracking knuckles approached with a wicked grin on his face.

and billy tried to pull away, but he couldn't. so he

aced himself instead.

the first punch hit and he knew his nose was

oken. his eyes stung and the pain spiked back through his head, blinding white at first before subsiding to a vicious throb, blood spilling down his lips and chin in a fountain.

the second punch was a bit higher, and he knew his eye would be blackened and likely to swell shut soon within minutes.

the third punch was the nose again. the fourth went lower, catching him in the stomach again, then the ribs. he was a human punching bag now, soaking blow after blow as fists mercilessly pummeled into his body. idly, he wondered if this was how meat felt when being tenderized...

something in his side shifted agonizingly under the next blow and despite himself, billy screamed. the next blow caught him in the mouth – an instruction to shut the hell up, perhaps – and he choked as he almost swallowed one of his own teeth, coughing and desperately spitting out mouthfuls of blood.

michael had trusted him with this job, he thought, vision graying for a minute. michael had trusted him to go alone, without back-up. but he'd gone and cocked it up, hadn't he? if it had been casey alone, he probably could have mopped the floor with a dozen goons, or at least given them a good fight. if it had been michael, he'd probably have seen petrov's betrayal coming a mile away and would have gotten the hell out before it was too late. but billy had gone instead, and now...

now he was being beaten to death.

oken and bloodied in an alley as some sort of grisly warning. though considering how much of billy's life had been a cautionary tale, it was perhaps rather fitting.

then a fist hit him in the temple and billy didn't think much of anything as his vision swam and the world exploded, then shrunk in on itself. he must have blacked out for a moment, because when he came to, the two goons that had been holding him up had let go and he was lying on his side on the ground.

mutri gang members – their faces all blurred together and indistinguishable – stood over him, chuckling and talking amongst themselves in bulgarian. billy tried to push himself up, but a foot lashed out and struck him in the back, making him cry out and fall back to the ground, twisting in pain. still, he needed to get up. needed to fight back, needed to escape, to survive. he desperately pulled together his strength and lurched unsteadily up into a crouch, lashing out with a fist at the nearest target – the groin of an assailant.

he was rewarded

iefly with a shriek of pain and a string of curses. then a strong pair of hands grabbed billy's outstretched forearm.

and bent.

the scream that tore through billy's throat reverberated in the alleyway, but failed to drown out the sound of grinding and snapping bones. hot tears streamed down his face, mixing with the hot blood that covered him as he fell back to the ground, curling protectively around his arm, clutching it to his chest.

he needed to fight. to escape. to survive.

but he couldn't. he couldn't fight. he could barely move. and as a foot drove into him – then another, and another, kicking him viciously in the back, the legs, the chest – he knew that survival was a diminishing outcome.

pain flared up his spine. pain coursed through his arm, radiating up to his shoulder as a boot connected with it. pain throbbed through his entire body as the onslaught continued, unyielding.

he'd stopped fighting. he'd stopped trying to get up. he only curled in, pulling his beaten and

oken body into the fetal position, trying in futility to shield himself, praying that they'd perhaps just lose interest in him, or that he'd black out soon. anything for a reprieve from this... anything for it to stop...

then a boot caught him in the head and billy's vision dimmed, his world finally fading away to merciful blackness.

-o-

it all went off without a hitch.

in michael's experience, that was a rare outcome, and one that left him simultaneously elated and unsettled as he and casey ditched their gear, scrubbed all evidence of their presence, and made their way back to the bar previously picked out as a rendezvous point. their entry into the private securities firm that was a well-known front for the bulgarian mafia hadn't been questioned; their infiltration had been thorough, and their getaway had been clean. michael was good at planning, he knew, but that was usually because he made all his plans flexible and prepared for contingencies when everything went wrong. and when nothing went wrong -

- well, it was just a bit odd. not unwelcome, of course; he was due a flawless mission, he figured, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking unobtrusive as he and casey slid through the door into the dim and noisy bar.

he scanned the room for billy, expecting to find the scot at the bar, chatting up some pretty thing, or possible lounging in a booth, a satisfied grin on his face. but a quick look around revealed that the scot hadn't yet arrived. michael frowned. the meet with petrov ought to have been fairly short; even with everything going smoothly on michael and casey's end, he didn't expect them to beat billy to the rendezvous.

he glanced over at casey, whose

ow was similarly furrowed. "i'll get a table," he growled, moving to the side of the room. michael nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out his burner phone, which had been powered off during the infiltration, and turning it on. no new messages.

of course, it was possible petrov was just being difficult. or that billy had gotten distracted or was carousing or maybe he was just in the men's room. so far everything in the mission was going according to plan and nothing had gone wrong.

yet.

he went up to the bar and, in

oken bulgarian, ordered two beers. he

ought them back to the table casey had staked out by the wall, halfway between the front door and the back exit, and sat down.

"where the hell is he?" casey growled.

"not sure," michael answered, holding his beer but not drinking it. he pulled out his cell again and dialed billy's number.

it went straight to voicemail.

"we did say radio dark," he pointed out in response to casey's anxious glare.

"we also said to meet up here, and he's late," casey snapped back.

michael was searching for a reasonable explanation when the door swung open and the noise level in the bar leapt up by several decibels. a group of burly men pushed into the bar, their rowdy laughter drowning out all conversation. michael didn't turn his head, but let his eyes flicker toward the door. he felt his hackles rise; he recognized at least three of the men right away as hristov's goons.

"they've been in a fight," casey murmured, leaning forward slightly. "blond guy at seven o'clock is walking funny and the one in the front has split knuckles. blood on the shirt cuff, too."

michael didn't quite dare to look closer, lest he draw attention for staring, but he took casey's word for it. the thought made him uneasy. though if mutri thugs had been out carousing and fighting, they'd probably be dead-set on getting drunk now, and unlikely to notice michael and casey.

this was a distraction, but not a problem. they just had to keep their heads down until billy showed up.

then, casey tensed. "michael..."

michael turned his head, then froze –

– right as petrov walked in, looked over to michael and casey's table, and smiled right at them.

michael's stomach bottomed out.

petrov was here. petrov was here. petrov was supposed to be with billy, but billy was missing and petrov was here with the mutri, and the mutri had just been in a fight. if petrov hadn't rolled on the mob – if he'd backed out of the arrangement – then michael and casey were blown sky high and they needed to get out. and if billy wasn't here...

there had just been a fight.

"we need to go," michael murmured, though casey was already standing and moving out from the table. michael's head was reeling as they snuck out the back,

acing himself for petrov to sound the alarm. but the man just kept smirking at them until they were out the back door and in the quiet of the alley.

"what the hell was that?" casey demanded. "what's petrov doing here?"

michael took a deep

eath. "i don't know." petrov should have flipped. he should have been on his way to american protective custody. but instead, he was in a bar with hristov's thugs. but if he'd betrayed the ods, then why hadn't he blown the whistle on them then and there, when they were outnumbered and clearly at a disadvantage? why had he been smiling?

the implications chilled michael.

"we need to find billy," casey said, worry etched into his features. "this is going south. i can tell."

michael grimaced. "agreed."

if it hadn't gone south already.

-o-

it didn't take long to get to the docks and the meet point where billy had been set to meet petrov. public transportation at that late hour would have been a nightmare, but fortunately they'd rented a car on arriving in bulgaria, vastly expediting the trip through the city.

as they pulled up and casey put the car in park, michael half-hoped to see billy slouching in the mouth of the alleyway, looking bored and put out. but there was no such luck, and when he and casey got out and scoped the area there was no sign of anyone. the alley was empty; the docks deserted. they were the only living souls around.

"i've got blood."

casey was crouched on the ground a few yards into the alley, face creased in consternation as he lifted fingers slicked with a dark substance. "it hasn't had time to dry yet."

michael's heart was beating faster. blood was bad. though it was possible that it wasn't billy's, he reminded himself. "any other signs?"

casey moved to the left, standing slowly, then inching further down the alley. "i've got a trail..."

his eyes adjusting to the gloom, michael could now make out the dark puddle on the ground. the large puddle. his stomach turned slightly, and his eyes tracked the trail that casey was now following, noting the smear where something – or someone – had been dragged through the blood.

"i've got more drips this way," casey called out, picking up speed as he turned down another side alley. michael followed, silently praying that the blood wasn't billy's. that whatever they found at the end of the trail wouldn't confirm his worst fears. his heart was hammering against his chest when casey stopped ahead of him.

"i found something..." the human weapon took a few hesitant steps forward, but michael kept going,

ushing past him. he needed to see, needed to know that whatever lay at the end of the grisly path wasn't billy.

then, there was a body. he saw the feet first, protruding from the heap of discarded garbage filling the space between two overfilled dumpsters; he felt his stomach flip, his spine prickling in apprehension. stepping closer, michael

aced himself, leaning in to get a better look–

– and even as his inside rebelled and the gruesome sight made him recoil, michael felt a twisted surge of relief. whoever the poor bastard was that they'd found was, he wasn't billy. clothes torn and stained, face purple and swollen, he looked nothing like billy. michael may have sent the scot out without backup, but he hadn't sent him to his death...

"it's not him," he

eathed, lightheaded, stepping back even as casey crouched down beside the body. "we should keep looking–"

"michael," casey

oke in, voice strained.

"–he might have gone back to the hotel, so we can call the conciergerie and–"

"michael!" casey looked up at him, and the anguished look on the older operative's face stopped michael short. "it's him, michael."

michael swallowed. he looked again.

he thought of billy in the hotel when they'd parted ways; the scot had been wearing a suit, per usual, neat and dapper, though with his hair typically spiked and mussy. he'd been a bit tired, but apart from the slight shadows beneath his eyes, he'd been fine.

it was an impossible image to reconcile with the body in front of him.

the suit – and it took a minute for him to even tell it was a suit, torn and filthy as it was – was still there, though the buttons were torn open in a few places and the tie was gone. one arm lay at an impossible, sickening angle, the other limbs all sprawled like a puppet with its strings cut. but glinting on the wrist was a watch – a cheap rolex knock-off, with a scuffed face – that he couldn't fail to recognize. forcing his gaze upward, michael choked at the maimed and bloody face, skin swollen and split beyond recognition, caked in dried blood.

beaten and bloody and

oken.

but still billy.

"oh god," he

eathed, stepping backward, hand flying to his mouth as he struggled to control the rising surge of nausea. billy.

casey carefully and tenderly reached forward and arranged billy's arms, pulling his jacket closed, then hesitating. "michael..."

"god dammit," michael whispered, taking another pace back as he tried unsuccessfully to pull himself together. he felt sick, and his eyes were stinging.

"michael, call an ambulance."

those words stopped him. michael blinked a few times. ambulance. that meant–

"he's alive?" he croaked, terrified to even hope.

casey looked up, eyes wide. "for now. but we need to hurry."

and that was all michael needed.

-o-

the ambulance didn't take long to arrive, though each second nonetheless felt like an eternity. casey ministrated to billy with surprising tenderness in the interim, gently adjusting the scot and holding him, monitoring his pulse and shallow

eathing while michael watched uselessly. when the wailing sirens finally grew close and the paramedics came running in, michael stood back and looked on in a daze as they loaded billy onto a backboard and strapped his neck into a

ace. then they were loading the stretcher into the ambulance and michael realized at the last minute that he needed to get in now if he wanted to stay with billy... he cast a look over at casey, who worked his jaw then nodded stiffly. michael then clambered into the ambulance, perching in the corner as the doors swung shut and the sirens wailed back to life.

billy was motionless, the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest the only indication of life. the paramedics were lightly probing his chest and head, talking to each other in bulgarian too quickly for michael to follow. then they were tearing away billy's soiled shirt and tattered jacket, exposing his chest, which was horribly patterned with livid

uises. then there were electrodes and wires being hooked up, and one of the paramedics frowned and shouted something at the other, who pressed a rubber oxygen mask over billy's mouth.

michael's palms itched as he sat idly by and watched, powerless to do anything about it. he could send billy into danger; but he couldn't do a thing now to help save him. it was out of his control.

though he was starting to realize the mission had been out of his control from the start.

then the ambulance doors were opening again and michael realized with a start that they were at the hospital. billy's stretcher was rolled out and michael had to scramble to follow, running to keep up as the emts met up with a gaggle of orderlies who had just rushed out of the hospital doors to wheel billy in.

inside the doors, billy was already being hooked up to fresh instruments and monitors, even as the stretcher continued to roll. a young woman in a white coat ran over and began calling out orders, taking charge even as the instruments began to blare. michael's heart leapt into his mouth; he didn't know what a damn one of those monitors meant, but he knew enough that he could tell billy's stats couldn't be good. he was crashing.

and then he was gone as the stretcher was rushed through another set of doors. michael moved to follow, but a large orderly stepped in front of him with arms crossed and shook his head.

"what happened?" a voice asked behind him.

michael turned to see casey standing there,

ow knit in distress. he wasn't sure how the other operative had managed to get to the hospital so fast in the rental car; he wasn't sure he cared. "i don't know," he answered, throat painfully tight around the words. "they wheeled him out..." he swallowed hard, taking a deep

eath and making an effort to pull himself together. he was team leader. he couldn't lose it. not like this. "his stats started going haywire as soon as we got here. my best guess is he's in surgery now," he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

casey merely grunted by reply, staring pointedly at the doors.

"he's still hanging on, though," michael added, feeling the need to keep talking, though he wasn't sure at this point who he was trying to reassure. "he's made it through worse."

casey didn't look at him. didn't acknowledge him.

and michael realized with a sinking feeling that he couldn't blame him. casey had been the one to argue against sending billy in without backup. michael had dismissed him, arguing that billy was the smooth one, that he could handle it.

but even if billy was the smooth talker, he hadn't been able to talk his way out of a set-up. and michael was the one to put him there, alone. he'd been so eager for petrov's intel, he'd placed trust where it didn't belong. in doing so, he may have gotten one of his men killed. a momentary lapse in his customary paranoia could end up costing him billy's life.

paranoid bastard, he thought grimly.

except when it counted.

-o-

michael's sanity was salvaged by the fact that suddenly now, with the mission in the tank and billy in surgery and everything gone to hell, he had things to do. he had to make contact with langley and apprise them of the situation, arguing with higgins' aide for nearly half an hour before managing to set up a remote data transfer for the intel he and casey had recovered during their infiltration. he had to then talk to higgins, and admit that once of his operatives was now in critical condition, getting confirmation that the cia would provide the necessary resources for billy's treatment and recovery. following those calls, there was countless paperwork to be filled out and nurses and orderlies to talk to as michael lied in

oken bulgarian that he was billy's

other.

he and casey were ushered out of the emergency room shortly after their arrival and into a private 'family waiting area' with faded wallpaper and old magazines. michael stepped frequently out into the hall, supposedly to make calls, but largely due to the tension of sharing a small space with casey. the older operative's anger was a quietly simmering thing, and it had michael so close to the edge, he could feel himself teetering on the

ink.

still, he held it together. he slowly translated the forms enough to fill them out, handing them back and asking, with atrocious grammar, how billy was doing.

not that he got any answer worth a damn.

of course, when he stopped, just for a moment, the image of billy's swollen, blood-covered face began to haunt him. if casey hadn't been there to check for a pulse...

it was a good thing, michael reflected, that he hadn't eaten much that day.

and casey still wasn't talking to him. wasn't looking at him. the tension and the silence in the waiting room grew miserably thick, until the door finally swung open and a doctor walked in.

michael stood up immediately. he recognized the slim, dark-haired woman as the doctor who had taken charge in the emergency room. at the time he'd thought her young, but closer up. he could see the heavy circles under her eyes and the careworn look to her face (though whether this was age or exhaustion, he couldn't quite determine). she was in scrubs and a labcoat, and untucked the chart from under her arm as she adjusted her wire framed glasses on her long, pointed nose. "my name is doctor nikolova. you are the family of william conolly?" she asked, and it took michael a second to realize she was speaking in merciful english.

"er, yes," he answered, not looking at casey. "is he...?" he stopped. "how is he?"

she sighed,

ushing a frizzy bit of hair from her face. "alive. his condition is still critical, but he came through surgery." she flipped a page in the chart, though michael noticed that she didn't seem to be reading the words so much as relying on it as a prop to avoid eye contact. "the damage was... extensive. we've set the worst of the

eaks and repaired much of the bleeding, but i have him scheduled for additional surgeries once he's more stable."

michael let out a

eath he hadn't known he was holding. "but he's going to be okay?"

the doctor pursed her lips together. "as i said. he is still critical." her voice was slightly accented, but still clear. her meaning, even more painfully so.

billy wasn't out of the woods yet. (if he made it out at all).

michael ground his teeth together. "what are we looking at?"

this time, she referred to the chart honestly. "his forearm was

oken in two places and had to be reset. three of his ribs were

oken, an additional six were cracked. there was a minor skull fracture that we are monitoring, and he suffered a

oken jaw as well as a fracture to his zygomatic arch," she rattled off. "the cartilage in his nose is badly

oken, and will require further intervention. he is very badly concussed. we are doing what we can to lower the pressure, but we will not know the extent of the damage until the swelling recedes."

michael closed his eyes for a moment. "damn." that many

eaks, and the head trauma to boot...

he opened his eyes to see the doctor staring at him over the rims of her glasses. "shall i continue?"

he swallowed hard. "there's more?"

the doctor winced. "the

oken ribs led to a number of internal contusions throughout his thorax. he is at high risk of internal bleeding until his ribs heal. and in surgery... we had to repair a rupture in mr. conolly's spleen. "

michael bit down hard to keep from swearing. "what's his prognosis?"

the doctor – nikolova – tucked the chart back under her arm and then removed her glasses, wiping them off on the label of her coat, blinking tiredly. "we'll be monitoring him closely. if he makes it through the next twenty four hours, i'll be optimistic. but nothing is certain until he comes out of his coma."

coma. of course, michael had known... billy had been unconscious when they found him, and with that level of trauma, it made sense. but it was still a harsh concept to come at head on. that billy was in a coma. that not all people who went into comas came out of them. "thank you," he finally managed to say. "if there's-"

he paused as the door clicked and looked over in time to see casey slipping out into the hall and shutting the door behind him. michael frowned.

the doctor looked over her shoulder at the door. "he is... family also?"

michael sighed, the exhaustion catching up with him. he was nowhere near a window, but given how late it was when they'd found billy, it had to be nearly, if not past dawn now. "yeah. he's not taking it very well."

the doctor's jaw worked for a few moments. "i'm doing everything i can. i promise."

michael nodded.

she hesitated, chewed her lip, then put her glasses back on. "is there... anything you can tell me about what happened to mr. conolly?"

what had happened was that billy had been sent into a set-up with no backup in radio darkness. he'd been left on his own through michael's oversight, then beaten to within an inch of his life. michael looked down, then made himself look her in the eyes. "no."

for a second she looked ready to press the issue, but then stopped and pressed her mouth into a narrow line, nodding. "i will keep you informed of his progress."

"thank you." michael watched her leave, hoping billy's life was safe in her hands.

because it sure as hell hadn't been safe in his.

-o-

michael didn't remember falling asleep.

he supposed it had to happen at some point, of course. they'd been up and moving for well over a day, and while he didn't consider himself past his prime, the truth was that michael wasn't exactly a young man anymore. he might have had a god complex, true, but his body was mortal and succumbed to weakness as easily as any other. so at some point during the arduous wait, he'd apparently dozed off on the waiting room couch.

he only knew this, though, from the fact that casey was now shaking him awake.

he blinked, jerking awake and getting his bearings within a matter of seconds. "billy?" he asked, heart jumping into his throat. had something happened?

casey's expression was blank. "billy's stable. they've moved him to a private room in the icu, but the last time the doc came in, she said he was improving."

michael took a

eath and closed his eyes as he sat up, fighting to slow down his racing pulse. this was good. stable was good.

he opened his eyes, looked at malick, then frowned. "you didn't wake me for that, though," he observed. casey hadn't spoken to him since they got the hospital. if he'd been willing to go out of his way to wake michael up...

casey grimaced, his expression pained. "we have another problem."

michael snorted. "of course we do," he said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair and wishing he had mouthwash or a clean shirt or something. "what is it?"

"petrov."

he froze. "what about him?"

casey was grim. "i was in the lobby fighting with a receptionist a few minutes ago and i saw him."

michael stood up immediately. "where? what was he doing?" had petrov sought them out for protection? did he still intend to defect, but hadn't been able to before?

"ducking into a stairwell. i followed him," casey answered, posture painfully stiff. "i cornered him so we could have... a discussion–" michael didn't miss the way casey's hand balled into a fist at the word, "–and then i realized the sonofabitch was wired."

michael cursed as his hopes were dashed and suspicions confirmed. "so it was a triple-cross."

"billy walked right into a trap," casey confirmed darkly.

reaching up to rub his temples, michael's tired mind raced to process. petrov had never intended to defect; he knew michael's identity, and he'd seen billy and casey now. all their covers were blown sky high. closing his eyes, michael could see that smirk on petrov's face as he'd entered the bar, looking over at casey and michael but not outing them. not yet...

"they wanted us to find billy," michael realized, gut clenching, not in fear this time but in rage. "that's why petrov didn't sic hristov's goons on us at the bar."

a muscle in casey's jaw twitched. "they left him as a message?"

"no..." michael swallowed, the hair on his neck prickling. "as bait."

they'd found billy. and they'd taken the logical course of action and taken him to a hospital. now they were all collected in one place; tired, injured, and vulnerable. and petrov knew exactly who they were and where they were.

"we need to get out," michael affirmed, heading for the door.

"and billy?" casey demanded.

michael turned. "he's coming with us."

-o-

racing through the halls to the icu, michael half-feared his heart would pound right out of his chest. casey had run into petrov mere minutes ago. but a lot could happen in a few minutes. what if the mutri had gone to finish the job they'd started in the alley? what if michael and casey were too late again?

much of michael's survival in the spy game could be attributed to his tendency to predict the worst case scenario. so when he finally found billy's door, the rising dread was all but crippling. fearing the worst, he burst through the door–

"kakvo pravish?!" doctor nikolova straightened in shock from where she'd been poised at billy's bedside, eyes wide and mouth open. "you- you cannot be in here!" she sputtered.

michael stopped short at the sight of billy. they hadn't been allowed to see him yet. they'd only known the room number because casey had all but accosted a nurse for the information earlier.

billy had been hospitalized before. michael had seen his teammates injured in the past, had been down this road more than once.

it didn't make it any easier.

some of the blood had been wiped away, and billy's tattered clothing was gone, replaced by an untied hospital gown draped over his torso and a thin blanket pulled up to his waist. but it didn't make for much of an improvement; if anything, the

ight hospital lights made his appearance all the more ghastly. and as for all the equipment surrounding him, keeping him alive...

behind him, michael heard casey swear softly.

the doctor recovered herself before either of them did and glared at casey and michael both. "i understand you are anxious to see your

other, but at this point–"

"he's in danger," michael interjected. "he can't stay here. none of us can."

"don't be absurd," she retorted, checking billy's chart once more and scribbling something in it. "his condition is very fragile! he is not going anywhere. now please, return to the designated waiting area before i am forced to call security!"

michael crossed the room in two quick steps, taking hold of her wrist and stopping her pen, looking at her meaningfully. nikolova's head jerked upward, her eyes glinting dangerously. "if you do not let go right now–"

"the people who did this to him are here," michael said, quickly and quietly. "they know where we are and they are in this hospital. if he stays here, he will die."

she opened her mouth, expression of annoyance still furrowing her

ow, but then hesitated.

"please," michael added. "you said you'd do everything you could for him. what you can do now is let us get him somewhere safe."

she looked back at where billy lay in the bed – curiously small, despite his height – then back at michael, indecision clear in her eyes. "i... i can call security. have them get the police to station someone outside his door–"

michael shook his head. "no time. and no good." getting the police involved would put billy in every bit as much danger as he'd been in at the hands of the bulgarian mob.

nikolova chewed her lip and

eathed out her nose in frustration, pulling her glasses off again. "i'm not going to allow you to illegally–"

she stopped and michael spun around at the sound of the door clicking open. casey's posture immediately went into a combat pose – then just as immediately relaxed as an orderly in familiar blue-green scrubs shuffled in with a tray.

he murmured something in bulgarian and the doctor waved her hand dismissively, answering in turn. michael was fairly sure he caught the words "wrong room."

"as i was saying," nikolova continued, dropping her voice to a hiss "i will not allow– hold on–" she paused with a frown. rather than leaving, the orderly had moved to the corner of the room, putting the tray down clumsily.

michael and casey exchanged looks. casey tensed.

nikolova called out to the orderly again, demanding what he thought he was doing; she hadn't ordered those dosages and was in the middle of a consult and what–

she stopped dead and shrieked as the orderly turned around with a gun in hand.

but casey was already moving, lunging in and tackling the orderly just as the gun went off with a muffled bang, the report softened by the silencer attached to the barrel. michael grabbed the doctor and hit the ground, shielding her with his own body out of instinct.

instruments clattered to the ground, accompanied by the meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh. then there was a strangled cry followed by silence. a body hit the floor, and michael dared look up.

casey's face was flushed as he straightened out his jacket. on the ground, the orderly who was likely not an orderly at all lay motionless on his back, eyes wide in permanent surprise at the scalpel embedded in his chest.

"i think we've overstayed our welcome already," the older operative stated. "there will be more where he came from."

michael looked at nikolova. "are you all right?"

"yes," she replied numbly, eyes glued to the body as malick knelt down and recovered the gun, tucking it into his waistband.

michael helped her to her feet. "you see now why we need to move him? it isn't safe. and they'll keep coming."

nikolova was pale; she tore her eyes from the orderly and stared at michael for a few long seconds. then, she put her glasses back on and nodded. "very well. i will go get a gurney and the necessary supplies. there is a small clinic on the edge of the city where we can take him–"

"hold up now," casey interrupted. "what 'we' is this?"

something clicked through the shock, and the dangerous gleam reappeared in nikolova's tired eyes as she jutted her chin forward stubbornly. "mr. conolly is my patient and my responsibility, in or out of this hospital. if i let you remove him, then it will only be with my supervision."

"this isn't your fight. this is dangerous," michael

oke in.

"i was just shot at; i am aware," she replied dryly. "and it is dangerous to move a patient this fragile; if he does not have medical supervision, he will likely die," she snapped back. "i said i would do everything i could. and i intend to do so. besides, you will never get out the doors with him without my help."

michael and casey exchanged glances. she did, of course, have a point.

casey shrugged. michael sighed.

"okay. so, what's the plan?"

-o-

michael knew that doctors tended not to last in their field if they couldn't handle pressure. but even with that knowledge, he was pleasantly surprised by how capable billy's physician was proving in a crisis.

nikolova ducked out and then returned ten minutes later with a gurney and two sets of scrubs, which she tossed to michael and casey with instructions to put them on. she moved back into the hall to let them change, and michael felt his heart skip when, minutes later, a distant alarm went off and a voice echoed over the intercom. but when nikolova reappeared, she seemed unfazed. "i've given us a diversion. most of the nurses will be out of the corridor now, so we will have a clear run to the elevator banks. now, i will need your help moving him..."

watching nikolova detach billy from the equipment surrounding him made michael nervous, despite her assurances that he'd be fine without most of it for a short period of time. the most important thing, she pointed out, would be keeping billy's

eathing sufficient; the medical ventilator would not be able to come with them, so one of them would have to use the bag valve mask she'd gotten from storage to manually ventilate billy in the interim. the chore fell to michael, who stepped in with the ambu bag as soon as the doctor removed the

eathing and feeding tubes from billy's mouth, gingerly covering his mouth and battered nose with the rubber mask while casey secured billy to the gurney.

they moved into the corridor, which, true to nikolova's prediction, was deserted in response to the false code over the intercom. nikolova led, a large bag of medications and supplies slung over her shoulder, while michael followed, holding the stand with billy's ivs in the crook of his elbow and manually squeezing air into billy's damaged lungs as malick

ought up the rear, pushing the stretcher along at a quick clip.

they made it from billy's room in the icu to the elevator bank with no incident. in the elevator, watching the numbers tick downward, michael blew out a lengthy

eath."unhook the iv bags from the stand and slip them on to the gurney," nikolova instructed,

eaking the silence.

michael frowned. "they won't be effective at that height..."

"yes, but no one hooks ivs up to a corpse," she pointed out, reaching into her bag and pulling out a white sheet which she unfolded and spread over billy in one swooping motion.

michael felt himself pale a little, though he could still feel the warmth radiating from billy's skin reassuring him that he was alive. "corpse?"

nikolova nodded. "when we get to the ground floor, we will split up. there are a few more things i need from the pharmacy. you will take a left down the corridor, followed by two rights. you will be headed toward the mortuary, so no one will look twice if you are rolling a body and not a patient," she explained. "cut past the loading bay, then take another left. you'll find the maintenance garage where they keep the off-duty ambulances. i will meet you there. understood?"

"what about the ambu bag?" casey asked. "no one puts a respirator on a corpse either."

she sighed. "his

eathing is compromised enough to warrant mechanical ventilation, but mr. conolly is capable of some

eathing on his own. for the

ief period of time where you are in sight of hospital personnel, he should be alright."

"how–" michael was cut off as the elevator pinged and the doors slid open.

"good luck," nikolova whispered, then turned right out the doors and disappeared.

-o-

they followed the doctor's instructions, and no one looked twice. if anything, as soon as their eyes rested on the form covered by the sterile sheet, anyone they encountered made a point to look away, taking as little notice as possible of the two orderlies pushing a body toward the morgue. as they took a turn into an empty stretch of hall and he reached under the sheet to give the ambu-bag a couple of squeezes, michael nearly felt optimistic that they might pull this off and get billy out with no further incident.

which went to prove that michael really had no business being an optimist.

"wait, was that supposed to be one right or two?" casey asked, slowing down.

michael hesitated. "damn. i'm not..." he trailed off, looking around. there was the sign for the morgue, and a sign indicating the loading bay. "i think it's this way," he said, nodding toward the loading bay. he gave the bag another squeeze, then quickly let go and slid his hand out from under the sheet as the industrial door swung open and two men stepped into the hallway –

– two of hristov's thugs, to be specific.

michael's eyes widened and for a second he prayed that their disguise would hold.

the men looked right at him and casey.