Hawke hated the cane.

He hated the tapping of the padded head against the floor and he hated the weight of the thing, but most of all, he hated how slow it had made him. When he and Ashe had been Black Ops – really been Black Ops – the scouting reports would sing the praises of his speed.

As he hobbled to his car, Mr. Hawke longed for those days. About the only good thing that came of his handicap was the killer parking spot. The thin man bordered on emaciated nowadays, bony fingers digging into the pocket of his coat for his keys.

The car was nothing fancy (for a man who’d worked so long with Alexandra Pierce, though, that was to be expected – flashy brought attention, after all), but it was equipped with all the top of the line tricks. He unlocked the car by remote, and it recognized him immediately, sliding the seat into its ascribed position. Yanking open the back door, he laid the accursed thing across the seat.

As much as Mr. Hawke hated his cane, not having it made him even slower. He used the car to hold himself up as he pulled open the front and eased himself down into the seat with a swallowed sigh. His phone chirped as he adjusted the fall of his coat. With a curse, he dug the thing out of his pocket, pulling it open as he started the car.

He never said anything when he answered a telephone; if you were calling him, you knew who was on the other end of the line.

''Good afternoon, Elijah.''

The man’s voice sat Hawke up straight, his key falling from his fingers to swing lazily from the ignition. ''Who is this?'' Hawke asked, his quiet voice like a snake’s hiss. He could count the number of people who knew his first name on one hand, and none of them sounded like this man.

''My name is not important right now,'' the caller said, his resonant baritone just as quiet, but far richer. ''What is important is what is going to happen in the next one hundred seconds.'' Hawke reached toward the console, but the voice drew him up short. ''I will have to ask you sit still for them, Elijah.''

Elijah’s head snapped to the left, eyes narrowing as he peered out through the window. ''You’re watching,'' he said, lips barely moving.

''Of course I am. You would be, as well.''

''What do you want?'' Hawke dropped his hand to his lap. ''Clearly, you’re after something, so tell me – it’s the only way I can revel in your brilliance, right?''

''There’s no need for that, Elijah. What do I want?'' The question was almost musing. ''I don't want anything. I just needed you to sit there a little longer.''

Hawke’s eyes widened, hand dropping to the door handle even as the squeal of the tires alerted him to danger.

The lock slammed shut, as if by its own accord.

''Now, now, Elijah – I can’t very well let you go.''

The delivery truck collided into the driver’s side of the car at nearly thirty miles an hour, crumpling the door’s frame and rocking the vehicle up to two wheels. The impact was sudden and jarring – a woman outside the convenience store released a startled scream, running back inside.

The truck backed up and hit Hawke’s vehicle a second time.

After a third, glancing blow, the truck sped off, hopping the curb as it left.

It took the jaws of life to cut Elijah Hawke out of the vehicle, but they found him alive, his cellular phone still clutched in one hand.

Thirteen and a half hours ago.

Alexandra Pierce tightened the glove around her left hand with a firm yank as she ducked around the corner and into the hallway. The Spider’s bloody red hair was tied back in a tiny tail, out of her eyes for once, allowing her a full range of vision as she pressed her back against the wall at the edge of the T-intersection. She slowed her breathing with a soft puff out, lowering her head to strain to hear what was going on.

Pierce held that pose for one second, two, three... then, once satisfied no one was there, she put her shoulder against the corner of the wall, ducking down low behind a wheeled cargo container.

Ahead, she heard voices, male and female, too low for her to make out the words. A smile snaked across the Spider’s face as she picked her way towards the speakers. She walked on the tips of her toes, usually silent steps even quieter. Ahead, a door opened, and the Director pivoted on her left leg, dropping a knee behind a half-disassembled scaffold rig.

The man passed, his loafers striking hard against the tiled floor. She didn’t have to look to know he was hooking a Bluetooth around his ear. She didn’t turn, even when he spoke as he turned the corner.

''Kenzie baby, it's Dan – '' Once he turned the corner, Pierce was in motion again. Her gloved hand went to the doorknob, jiggling softly. It didn’t budge, didn’t move. Locked. She didn’t curse, didn’t really acknowledge it. Instead, she closed her fist and banged impatiently on the door beyond – just like he would.

She heard the exasperated sigh behind the door, the loud (not heavy) footfalls of her approaching target and her smile stretched as she crouched to the side of the door, waiting for it to open. Once it did, before the woman on the other side had a chance to say a word, Pierce exploded up from underneath. Her hip knocked the door open and her hands found the other woman’s mouth and clamped there. Her foot behind the woman’s sneaker brought them both tumbling, and Pierce kicked the door shut as she leaned down.

''Hello,'' she whispered, straddling her victim’s hips. ''Fancy meeting you here.''

'Mmph!'' The mumbled protest was enough to convince Pierce to spread her fingers so the other woman's voice could be heard. ''Jesus Christ, Alex. You can't do that! I haven't beaten anybody to a pulp tonight. The slightest thing gets my heart going a mile a minute. I could've hurt you!''

A simple raised eyebrow by Desade drew a sigh from the smaller of them. ''Okay, maybe not. You're faster than me – God, I feel like I'm on the edge of a fuckin' heart attack.''

Pierce grinned down at her victim – one Kathleen Amelia Campbell. ''The cameras are off, so I decided to stop playing nice.'' There was an uncommon sparkle in the Spider’s stony gray gaze as she lifted her left hand up, tugging her glove off with her teeth. ''But the last thing I want is for you to have heart palpitations. I could perform CPR... I’m a fully licensed lifeguard, you know.''

Amy tried to sit up, only to have shoulders pushed back to the cold tile floor by Pierce. ''You should offer your medical skills to Darcy, especially after claiming you'd be oh-so-worried about his well-being if I got fired. And you're... looking a little scary. Did you seriously trip me?''

The Spider pulled off her other glove, setting them down at Amy's side. ''Fuck Darcy,'' she said – sneered, really. ''I don’t want to talk about him. I figure we’ve got... twenty minutes before the ring crew pack up everything or someone comes looking for me. And I want to spend that time with you.''

''You're... you're being a little harsh about a lot.'' Campbell nearly whimpered. ''And I seriously think you might've given me a concussion just now. You know you could've just asked – I mean, I don't think I moved my lips tonight without you somehow being in control of it.''

Alex shrugged, curling her finger and rolling her knuckle down the front of Amy’s shirt. ''I like being in control. I thought you liked me being in control.'' She lowered herself down. ''Besides, it’s not like you’re going to do anything about it,'' she murmured, putting her cheek to Campbell’s, lips at her ear. ''Are you?''

''If-gah!'' Amy exhaled sharply when she struggled to sit up and regain a little space, only to be pinned with Desade's full weight – not that it was much, but it was enough to keep the still-surprised redhead down. ''If I did, I'd end up hurting you or something. Between you and Kensington, I've been caged all night. Though you did just trash my husband, and that's a little unfair given that we're... okay, I'm not really one to talk.''

''You have me on top of you and you’re seriously worrying about your husband again?'' Desade grinned against Amy’s ear, a touch wickedly. ''Just forget about boring old Darcy for... hmmm... eighteen and a half minutes?'' Her clawing fingers freed up space between the champion’s belt and tanktop. ''Then you can go back to being the dutiful wife.''

''I'm concerned about my job, I hate when you remind me that what we're doing is so... Shaw-ish.'' groaned Campbell. ''And since when has only a few minutes been enough? You're not my husband, remember?''

When she heard Pierce's chuckle, Amy recoiled a little. ''That was just cruel of me.''

''You will be fine.'' Alex’s bare fingers skimmed across Amy’s side. ''When I am the one who says you need to live a little, that’s saying something.''

''I hate that suit,'' was all the champion could muster. Her muscles relaxed, but still wriggled gently, defiantly underneath the Director. ''And Desade just makes me angry.''

''Oh, I can take off the suit.'' The smirk was there, if only for a moment, before Pierce leaned back. ''But, you know, if I wasn’t aching, I would probably have given up by now.'' The edges of a pout snuck onto her lips.

Amy smirked herself, drumming her fingers on the Spider's hips before finally looking up to meet her eyes. ''I can't believe Kennedy has to wonder why I'm always around you. I wonder if he suspects I'll help you stretch before your match, or how hard you'll have to work to convince me not to be at ringside.''

Desade leaned over again, nuzzling Campbell’s cheekbone to turn her head to the side. ''I gave my word you wouldn’t. And it’s the only way to guarantee that Kathryn won’t, either.''

''Mhmm, but you also told him you weren't interested in fucking me, so you'll forgive me if I don't want to believe the things you tell the people under you.''

''You’re under me right now. Does that mean that you shouldn’t believe what I am saying?''

''Judging by the fact that you haven't taken your hands off of me in the last couple of minutes,'' Amy winked. ''I'd say you want something, and that means I really shouldn't believe what you're saying.''

Pierce drew back, sitting up and raising her hands in surrender, but the grin made it a lie. ''There we are. Not touching. I just... am tired of having to be a diplomat and a liar about things I would like to shout from the rooftop. We spend too much time worrying about Kathryn and Kieran and Kennedy – people whose names start with ‘K’ weigh a little too much on our minds. I just wanted to... cut loose.''

''Then do it. Just... no more surprise attacks. I felt like someone was about to tie my arms with my own belt.''

''You and your fantastic ideas tonight,'' Alex murmured as she pivoted to her feet, reaching down with one of her ungloved hands to help the Raver up. ''Get your things. We’re going.''

Amy slung her laptop case and duffel bag over one shoulder, wincing. She was still aching from Defiance, but her smile for the Director was beaming. ''And if I don't want to?''

Alex shrugged a little, bending to pick up her gloves. ''Then maybe I’ll go out tonight and pick up someone else and you’ll be jealous. You will also miss out on the spectacular outfit I bought today. And the once-in-a-lifetime chance to go out with me when my phone is off.''

''I was kidding...'' Campbell replied nervously, stepping closer to the door. ''You wouldn't actually pick up somebody else, would you? The few people who aren't terrified of you want to screw you silly, and I'm not sure I can kill any whores tonight...''

The surprisingly light-hearted tone to Desade’s words never really caught Amy off-guard; she knew she was spending time with Alex Pierce, not with the Director. That didn’t change the way the playful grin over her shoulder made Campbell feel. Pierce slammed her palm into the door as soon as it opened. ''Careful, no one can know I’m here.''

''What the hell is going on with you tonight, Alex? One minute, I think we're gonna... yeah, and then we're leaving, and now you can't be seen with me, but you're the one who came in the door and pinned me to the floor.''

Alex’s grin didn’t waver as she pressed herself up against Amy’s back at the door. ''I want to be seen with you, trust me. I ache to be seen with you. I just don’t want Nigel or any of my people or Dan Mulholland to ask any questions about where we’re going.''

''I don't even know where we're going,'' Amy chuckled, ''And I doubt they'd believe if you said you were taking off to get laid.''

''Just... humor me. Leave as if nothing is wrong. Head outside, I’ll pick you up. We’ll have some fun, and then we’ll have some fun. Promise.''

The two women had different definitions of the word ''fun,'' most likely, but neither had disappointed the other, so Amy yanked open the door and flounced out of the room. Desade pressed her back to the door, listening carefully again as Amy halfheartedly berated one of the technicians for getting in her way (even if the girl wasn’t really in her way).

Then Alexandra pushed off the door, heading for the small bathroom attached to Campbell’s locker room. She dropped to a knee by the sink, reaching under the sill and pulling down a package duct-taped to the underside.

Sometimes, it pays to plan ahead. But when you’re Alexandra Pierce, planning ahead is part of your daily routine. It’s like ''breathing'' and ''eating.''

Five minutes later (and thanks to Amy’s compulsive need for a nearby window wherever she left), one more shadow joined the rest, making a brisk pace for a Hyundai Genesis in the general parking lot.

Each step clicked as she walked, but if the lack of silence bothered her, the woman showed no sign of it.

Eleven hours ago.

The sign over the door said, ''Pandora Box,'' and, judging from the line of people contained by the velvet rope, hardly anyone wanted to risk opening the lid. The bouncer at the door (a big, barrel-chested Latino man who looked the part) wasn’t exactly struggling with the six people who were trying to get in. At the front of the line, a noodle-thin man shook from withdrawals when the man pulled open the heavy, mirrored door.

''I don’t understand why they only let one group in at a time,'' the brunette next in line said, crimping her hair in the reflective surface. Her voice was accented softly, something from the East Coast. She blew a little pink bubble, turning over her shoulder as she stabbed it with one lacquered fingernail. ''It’s not like the place is crowded inside or anythin’.''

Her companion said nothing, shrugging her shoulders down deeper as if she was huddling in on herself.

''I know, I know, you fuckin’ hate this place,'' the brunette said. ''I kinda like it. Got its own charms to it. Like you.'' Even without the velvet rope (now there to hold five whole people back), a passerby would have known the nondescript building was a club just from the brunette’s attire, knee-high velvet boots with a silver heel, skin-tight leather pants, and a sheer belly shirt only made decent by the vest she wore over it. An ''A'' curled around the woman’s belly button, thumbing its nose at Nathaniel Hawthorne’s classic.

Another moment passed until the bar door shook from within – someone pounding on it. The brunette turned to her companion, red lips parting in a smile. ''That’s it, that’s us,'' she whispered, stepping up to the line and straightening, not unlike a peacock.

The woman behind her grunted a sigh as the bouncer opened the ropes and pulled open the door for the two ladies.

''Relax,'' the brunette said once they were inside. ''Try to have a good time. Live the life you’ve always wanted.''

''I don't believe in changing myself to live something differently.'' The other girl – whose hair looked a little more natural, albeit dyed bright red – had a barely-noticeable retainer in what was once a nose piercing, and her accent was unmistakably French, though it became far more forced an American with every step they took nearer to people. ''I don't know why you wanted to go incognito instead of just hiding out at the hotel like every other sane pair of women having an affair.''

The brunette turned, taking the redhead’s hands in her own. ''Hadley, haven’t you ever just wanted to completely reinvent yourself? These people’ll never see us again, they’ll never know who we are when we go back to our lives. You can literally be anyone you’ve ever wanted to be for one night only.'' She pulled the other woman, smaller even than usual given the difference in footwear, close. ''Anything goes, and nothing that happens in this room leaves this room.''

''All I want is not to have to hold back with you because there're people around. Unfortunately, that involves both of us holding back who we are. I don't like the cycle.'' She made the statement while sliding into a booth and grabbing a napkin to wipe the droplets of various shots dripped by the previous patrons. ''But I also want to see you free, and if that means you've got to call me the name of a TV doctor and wear a wig, I guess I have to be okay about it.''

''All I want... is a drink.'' She waved to a passing waiter, a strapping kid whose hair had the kind of spiky that only a lot of product can obtain. ''Oh, my god, you look like some kinda porcupine, hon,'' she said. ''Whiskey sour, and some tequila for my friend – she can drink legally now. Woohoo!'' She whistled aloud, attracting some attention over the thumping bass beat. Her drinking partner shrunk down in the bench. ''Oh, live a little bit,'' the brunette said, sticking out her tongue briefly.

''You just called the waiter man-child 'hon', Ali-ohthankGOD.'' The redhead suddenly crumpled forward in her seat. Her reply came just as the tequila she'd ordered hit the table - and two of the shots hit her lips. ''I'm not drunk enough to live, but the more committed to that disguise you get, the more I'll order – so I'm sure it's only a matter of time.''

''Ali'' leaned back, pinky extended as she sipped from the glass. ''It’s not a disguise; it’s a whole new way to look at the world. You’d have a better chance understanding if you would have worn what I bought for you.'' She slid partway out of the bench. ''You want to dance? We should dance.''

''No, I most certainly don't. Not unless you've got a truckload of E and glowsticks.'' Longer sleeves covered her tattoos well, even when she folded her arms. ''And even then... no. I don't do clubs and dance floors and rubbing up against strange people. Since when did you?''

''I don’t. Not usually. But Ali feels like she wants to.'' From anyone else, it’d sound crazy. On this woman... well, it still sounded crazy. ''Could be worse,'' she said softly as she turned back. ''That guy at the table at two o’clock just nudged his friend to look over this way...''

''Good, you go release Ali's feelings and I'll go knock his teeth out. Then we'll all be having fun, your personalities and I.'' She grumbled, slipping out of the booth and to her feet, balling a fist. ''I was under the impression that this was for you and I to feel free enough to be as we are together, not to count how many pricks ogle you from across the bar.''

''Oh, come on. I’m sure they’re more interested in my huddled friend.'' Ali turned slightly, raising her glass towards the other table. ''Hadley'' grumbled, but even that was quieted a moment later when the spiky-haired waiter drifted past.

''The guys over there are going to pick up your tabs,'' the waiter said.

''Please send them my thanks,'' Ali said, reaching across to tug a pen out of the man’s apron. ''And this message.'' She wrote on the napkin in looping letters. ''Give this to them and then bring me a bottle of Jack and—'' She swiveled in the booth, drawing one leg up onto the wood. ''You want a bottle, sugar?''

''Sure. I'll write my order on your tits, since you're about five seconds away from flashing them anyway.''

Ali cupped her hand around her lips, whispering to the barman – not very quietly. ''You’d better bring a bottle for her, too. Tell the boys I appreciate it, and... what time do you get—'' The toe of a sneaker met the other side of the booth with a hollow thud, and Ali raised her hand in surrender. ''Nevermind, we’ll talk later. Drink now.''

The spiky-haired kid nodded, striding away, and when Ali turned back, it was clear she was trying to hide her amusement. ''Not going to ask what I wrote?'' she murmured into her glass. ''Or does that push your jealousy too far to the fore?''

''For someone who was nearly into my pants earlier, you're really starting to piss me off.'' The other woman growled. ''If this was us being who we wanted, you'd be on top of me right now – not trying to get under anything else walking in here.''

The laugh that bubbled forth made the redhead’s ears burn. ''Oh, come on,'' Ali said once the bottles were on the table. ''I’m not actually interested in leaving with anyone but you. The easiest way to hide is in plain sight, and now the bar will remember the sleazy girl and her shy, barely-legal friend.'' She picked up her bottle, slithering out of her side of the booth and levering herself into the other woman’s bench. ''I’d rather have them jerking off to memories than spouting them to their friends.''

Ali topped off her glass, then reached over and filled the two shotglasses in front of the redhead. ''Now, you’re the one who wanted to get me drunk.''

''And I'm the one who already started, because you'll catch up pretty quickly. I'm not sure you wanna take me in a drinking contest.''

''Honeygirl, you are always ahead of me in that. And I would rather take you in a drinking contest than take you to the police station for beating up two horny assholes.'' When she tipped a smile to the woman at her side, it was a lot less Ali and a lot more Alex. ''And I once shared a cup full of stuff that’s far worse than what you’re drinking, and held on longer than he did.''

As Amy took down another shot, she shook her head. ''You're so beyond creepy some days.''

Now.

True to her word, Desade’s iPhone had stayed off for the entirety of Ali and Hadley’s outing at the Pandora Box.

But something had changed overnight – neither woman would be able to remember who turned the phone on, but one of them had, gauging from the jangling song that was emanating from... somewhere.

Pierce rolled her head to the side, lifting her face from the pillow as the song (''Secret Agent Man,'' for those of you playing along at home) stirred her. It took some effort to open her eyes.

The song stopped abruptly, phone going to voicemail. But she found herself awake, and, more troublingly, not sure where she was. Alex was on her stomach, facing the foot of a bed. Judging from the ''How to Escape in the Event of a Fire'' map on the wall, they’d found their way to a hotel room.

Judging from the smell, it wasn’t a very nice one. The wig she’d worn to the bar tickled her nose, curled up close to her on the pillow. Her leather pants were in a heap on an olive green vinyl chair, and the bed... was groaning. Pierce rolled to the side, prodding the comforter beside her gently.

It didn’t groan again, rolling to the side and resettling.

Once she was sure she was among the living and that Amy was beside her, Alex regretted that living part, as her brain woke up right beside her, having apparently clawed its way out of her head – or so it felt.

Her head flopped back to the pillow, drawing the discarded wig over her eyes, which suddenly felt like evil gelatinous mutineers. She’d make them walk the plank.

But that was later. Right now, she was sleeping aga—.

The phone had rung.

The phone had rung.

Pierce flailed out with one hand, catching her fake nails in the sheets. One was missing, she noted with some bemusement. As soon as she moved the fake hair off her face, the pain returned to her eyes, and it was all she could do to open one of them.

''Ugh,'' was all she could get through her lips.

With its own pained moan, the pile of blankets beside her shifted a few times, following by the sound of fabric sliding against fabric and smooth flesh. After a moment, a bedraggled mess of neon red poked out from the white comforter. The eyes attached tried to blink, but the morning sun spilling through the cracks in the curtains was enough to send a hand to pinch the pressure point on her forehead. ''Wow.'' It was Amy, grinning despite an obvious headache of her own, having just noticed the faux-brunette at the foot of the bed, where she'd snaked to underneath the covers. Her smile grew when she voiced her observation, catching her own dry, cracked lower lip between her teeth. ''You look like crap.''

''Nng. What did we do last night? I remember... pieces.'' She pushed herself up into a modicum of a seated position. ''You didn’t punch that guy too hard, did you?''

''I didn't get arrested, nobody died, and you had fun.'' The little redhead beamed, though she scrunched her nose momentarily after the sharp stab of a cranky hangover hit her brainstem. ''Actually, we both had fun from about two in the morning to... god, whenever you finally passed out. The sun was coming up.'' She chuckled, reaching one of her arms out from under tussled covers to run fingers along the side of the Director's face. ''Don't worry; you'll remember more in a couple of hours. You were a lady to the end, though – finished the night with about four hundred bucks' worth of my ice wine. That's why you probably feel like someone's got your skull in a clamp right now.''

''Ice wine?'' Pierce muttered. ''Could have been worse – could have been boxed.'' She leaned back on her elbow, pinching her nose between thumb and forefinger. ''Have you seen my phone? It has been ringing since... goddess, my head. This must be what giving birth from your skull feels like.''

Amy laughed, though it was strangled by her own headache. ''I haven't seen your phone, but chances are it's in the pile of stuff you tossed off the second the door closed. You're clumsy, too – broke the button on my favorite jeans.'' She grinned, finally stretching sore arms and legs with a tiny squeal, letting one arm fall off the side of the bed and come back up with a near-empty bottle of tequila. ''Here. You wanna punch me for suggesting it, I know – but you'll feel a lot better after a couple of sips. I had the presence of mind not to finish it myself because of that. My head's still spinning, so you'll forgive me if I'm not running around to find your phone.''

The bedraggled redhead looked dubiously at the bottle. ''I hate tequila,'' she muttered. But she took it, wincing as she took a swallow. Handing it back, she rolled off the bed, half-crawling and half-crab-walking to where her pants lied. ''Remind me never to do that again. Ever.''

''Oh, fuck that.'' Campbell's eyes rolled. ''You had fun. You'll thank me when the memories trickle back. And why do you need pants? It's like, ten in the morning and nobody knows where we are.''

Alex turned over her shoulder as she felt through the discarded clothing. ''I figure my... ah-ha!'' She came back with her black iPhone and a grin. Swiping a finger across the screen to unlock it, she leaned her back against the dresser. ''Do you even remember when we...'' Pierce’s eyes narrowed at the green phone icon.

''I remember when you told me we should 'quit the world' and stay in bed for a month.'' Amy snickered. ''And put that tiny monster down! I should've hid the damn thing. Besides,'' She rolled lazily, closing her eyes against the encroaching sunlight. ''If you can barely remember what happened, I'm more than willing to remind you.''

But Desade already had the phone to her ear, lifting a finger to silence her partner as she listened to a voicemail, rubbing at her eyes. ''Shit,'' she muttered, unfurling her legs and standing up – a process that took far longer than it should have, even with the dresser to hold her up. ''We’ll have to quit the world tomorrow. Get dressed.''

''I... Alex, don't be insane. You're not feeling well, I'm still half gone -- you do not have to march right back into Desade mode. You're allowed to take a couple of hours away from that shit without needing to be drunk or tied to the bedpo—you really don't remember half of last night, do you?''

When Alex looked back over her shoulder, any sense of longing quickly dissipated, replaced with a different kind of pain. It wasn't a look should could maintain for long, and her eyes fell. ''Someone rammed Elijah's car this morning. He went into surgery about an hour ago. So I need you to get dressed.''

Without hesitation, Campbell rolled off the mattress and pawed at her jeans, grumbling. ''One fucking day. One fuckin' day without this. That's all I want.'' She reached for her t-shirt to find a knotted strip of fabric with a band logo on it as a reminder that made her face relax and the smirk return for a second. ''Oh yeah, the bedpost.'' But only for a second. ''God, I'm gonna kill Shaw for real this time.''

When no response to the threat came, Amy looked up to find Pierce chewing at an acrylic nail. ''Hey... are you okay? He's a tough little bastard, don't worry about him.''

''I am fine,'' Desade (and there was little doubt it was the Director) said. ''Just... we need to go. I need to be there for him.''

''And I'm hurrying to be there for you. Just... remind me not to unzip my sweater if the nurses don't want a show.''

Their hangovers still slowed them, but Pierce was pulling on the leather pants. ''It's okay,'' she said softly. ''Pretty sure I wasn't wearing panties.''

It took the two redheads less than two minutes to dress and get out that door, all thoughts of fun behind them.

''You're right. It was a g-string, and another casualty of the fight between strong wrists and a wooden bedframe.''

Well, most thoughts of fun. Pierce squeezed Amy's knee as she jerked the car into gear. ''Thank you for coming. Even if I didn't give you much choice.''

''I always have a choice,'' Amy smiled for her sake. ''I just tend to take the one beside you. Besides, it's been a good twelve hours - I'm sure Hawke's missing my wit and charm by now.''

Campbell tried not to sigh when the quiet smile dripped away from Alex's lips as they pressed together into that impassive thin line; the Desade wall had come back up.

As the Spider eked every bit of horsepower out of her rented sedan, the Raver held on and just hoped the people on the freeway would stay out of their way.

Amy Campbell would never admit it, but she was having a hard time keeping up.

Her partner (yeah, partner...) had been on the phone since the moment the car was parked, issuing a dizzying cavalcade of orders and accents as the Director's people brought her up to speed. And, as soon as the elevator chimed and the mirrored doors allowed Alexandra Pierce into the fourth-floor waiting area at Temple University Hospital, one thing was perfectly clear.

Desade was in charge.

The heels of the boots she'd worn the night before banged out a staccato rhythm on the tiled floor as she walked, presaging her presence in a way that happy, flirty Ali could never have managed. Amy made a mental note to tell Pierce she should wear them more.

Roderick Ashe barely fit in the deep blue wooden chair, but the big man seemed small, cheeks drawn and shoulders hunched forward. He looked up at Pierce's approach, and his sunken eyes almost brought Campbell up short.

''It's bad, Allie,'' Ashe said – muttered, really.

Pierce didn't even offer the man a look, her raptor-like gaze snapping across to a small, dark-haired girl at the nurse's station. Ashe followed that gaze, sighing out. ''They ain't tellin' us nothin'. Lori's tryin' t'fin' out what's—''

Desade turned briefly over her shoulder to the redhead behind her. ''Stay here.'' Without waiting for acknowledgement or even response, the Spider stepped forward, leaving Amy with the unenviable task of comforting Elijah Hawke's best friend.

Ashe made no effort to speak to the little redhead, but the sudden silence was awkward for both, and lightheadedness thanks to the drinking done the night before had forced her to take a seat beside him. A mismatched pair of eyes had danced along the tiles of the floor for what seemed like ages before she finally spoke, offering what she could. ''The, uh. That 'Rawr' kinda thing she does... that's pretty hot.''

Amy hated hospitals, and nerves could turn her to ramble. Hopefully Roderick would notice and keep that in mind as she continued to make rather misguided, but well-intended gestures. ''So, you pretty much know that she and I, we're... yeah. Is Mrs. Ashe here with you, or...?''

He didn't really look over, scratching at the side of his neck. ''There, uh... there ain't a Mrs. Ashe. No girl's been willin' t'stick aroun'.'' Edward Lambert had originally called Ashe the ''Mushmouth Man-Mountain,'' and it fit, especially as worry claimed him. ''Ain't got nobody but Hawkers.''

''Girls're dumb,'' Campbell offered. ''You're, uh... you're a great guy, I'm sure. Loyal and caring. Besides, you're not gonna lose Hawke any time soon. We both know he's too stubborn to let a little car accident slow him down. Anymore than he already has—'' Thankfully, Amy knew when enough was enough for once in her life. ''Y'know what?'' She offered Ashe a slightly sad grin, patting him on the knee. It was likely the first time she'd ever touched the man non-violently. ''I should... I'm just gonna... yeah, I think I'll see what Alex and Lauren are talking about.''

The big man offered no response as Campbell slipped away, towards the knot of people that was growing at the nurse's station.

''—appreciate you people not letting us in to see him,'' Pierce was saying as Campbell approached.

''I'm sorry, ma'am.'' The nurse's apology rang hollow. ''But you still haven't told me what your relationship to the patient is.''

Desade laid her left hand on the counter, a ring Amy had never seen before gleaming on her finger. ''I'm his wife, dammit, and this – as she has been trying to tell you – is our daughter. You found my picture in his wallet, I trust.''

Campbell had been going in for an embrace, but her hands fell to her sides as the nurse nodded briefly, backing away from Pierce to scurry to the phone. A muted conversation followed, but Alex didn't look away from the woman, her only nervous twitch a rolling of the ring on her finger. Savant turned over her shoulder, waving Amy closer from beneath the counter. Fox's telltale purple hair was hidden, and the majority of her piercings were out.

''It's okay,'' she whispered. ''Mom'll just be a minute.''

Amy stepped to the desk and leaned in on Lauren's side, trying her best to ignore Alex. ''Everything okay?'' It wasn't until she looked at her own hand that she noticed her own wedding ring was among the missing – likely stashed in her gym bag from the night before. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ''Tell me this is an elaborate ass-covering, and not a secret pile of paperwork at a drive-thru chapel that I don't know about.''

Lauren turned around, not-quite rolling her eyes. Her voice was low. ''There's a secret pile of paperwork, sure. Just not about this. He's told you about Miranda, right?''

''Not exactly...'' Campbell cast her eyes down. ''So what do I do now?''

''Just wait it out,'' Savant said. ''This is what we do.''

The nurse came back, nodding to Alex. ''I'm sorry it took so long, ma'am. We've confirmed what you've said. They'll let you and your family in to see your husband now, and then I'm told the officers investigating the accident have some questions.''

''Thank you.'' Alex straightened her blouse. ''And please...'' She forced a smile. ''Call me Miranda.''

''Of course, ma—Miranda. I'll have them send for you in a moment.''

The nurse turned away, and Desade and Savant came face-to-face. ''The cops...'' Fox began. ''Lazy Susan?''

Pierce shook her head. ''Too risky. Weeping Willow.'' She glanced up to Campbell, who watched the two as if they were speaking a different language. ''I am going to need your assistance.''

Amy rolled her eyes and simply sighed. ''I fucking hate this part.''

He was strapped to a respirator machine, lungs rising and falling weakly, impelled by the clear bag strapped to his face. The hard, impersonal beep of the machines at his bedside struck an ominous chord in the room as the doctor, a twenty-something kid with sandy-brown hair and a compassionate face, explained the details of Mr. Hawke's condition.

''He's been unconscious since the EMT's found him. We're waiting for some tests to come back so we can see how bad the injuries to his cranium and spinal cord are,'' the doctor explained. ''There's some more damage to the leg and the knee on the left side – that must have been where the car was struck.''

''So you don't know how badly he's hurt.'' Pierce's lips barely moved when she spoke. ''You don't really know what... what happened.''

The doctor looked over his shoulder to the doorway, where a uniformed policeman stood silent vigil, Amy lingering in the doorway as Lauren and Desade watched over the man. ''That's a question for the authorities.''

She nodded softly. ''Is he... will he wake up?''

''I can't answer that question for sure, Mrs. Byrd, and I don't want to give you any false hope.''

Alex stepped forward, laying a hand on the small man's leg. ''Can he hear me?'' Her soft voice was small.

''I don't think so.''

Desade staggered, stumbling forward with sudden, hot tears in her eyes. It was as if the cold façade had melted suddenly away. ''Steve...'' she wailed. ''Steve, you've gotta wake up. You hear me? Please, wake up!''

Lauren stepped to the Director's side, steadying her with an arm. ''Mom... Mom, it's gonna be okay. It's gonna be...'' She looked to the policeman watching, then to the doctor. ''My mother has a heart condition – you'd better get someone in here!''

The doctor moved immediately, sticking his head out the door (nearly bowling Campbell over as he did so), calling for help. Orderlies and nurses arrived quickly, one gentleman pushing a wheelchair, which Savant eased the Director into.

''Ma'am, ma'am, can you hear me?'' a nurse asked, squatting down.

''I'm fine,'' Pierce said, defiantly shoving away her ''daughter's'' attention. ''Just get me out of this room.''

Lauren nodded, stepping around behind the wheelchair. The policeman's soft voice was rife with regret when he spoke. ''Ma'am, Detective Higgins is going to want to see your mother.''

Savant turned, sparing the man a withering look as she gestured for Campbell. ''Take her somewhere you can keep an eye on her and no caffeine or strenuous activity. I'll go talk to the police, see if I can get them to be a little more accommodating.''

Amy had nodded, but leaned toward Fox once more, muttering. ''You're both creeping me right the hell out, I hope you know that.''

At that, she slid gingerly behind wheelchair that housed the Spider (whoever she was in that moment) and led her out the door with a shrug and a nod to the officer they'd passed.

It can be quite hard to find a quiet area of a hospital – just watch an episode of ER or Grey's Anatomy to see how much travail the characters have to go through to find a moment of solace.

In a 21st century laden with reliance on convenience, however, the stairwell was a good place to find some privacy to talk – or for anything else that might bring one's stress level down.

Alexandra Pierce slid down off the windowsill, buttoning her pants with a long, luxurious sigh. ''Thank you,'' she said softly. She stooped over finding a small bit of reflective metal along the window to smooth down her hair.

Somehow, the redhead who moved to rest her chin on the Director's shoulder with arms around her waist looked even more relieved. ''No need to thank me – I could probably write that off as public service today. I just can't stand seeing you all... whatever you've been for the last couple of hours. I'd say stressed, but you're weirdly calm about it, and the acting really weirds me out.'' She sighed and laid small kisses against the point where the taller woman's neck met the rest of her spine. ''I don't wanna see you do something stupid over this, the same way you've kept me from a million of my own mistakes.''

''Is it wrong of me?'' Pierce didn't immediately turn back. ''Is it wrong that I can't not blame myself for what happened to Elijah?'' She stood, wrapping an arm lazily around Campbell's waist. Her soft voice was barely audible, even in the cavernous stairwell. ''That I can't be me up there because... because I want the guilt. I want the sorrow. I want Miranda Byrd's pain, because I can't find any of my own.''

''The only guilty party was driving whatever hit him.'' Usually, Amy couldn't meet Alexandra's intense eyes directly – but occasionally, the effort was made, and hers didn't flicker away. ''Don't transfer your feelings, and don't borrow them from anybody else. Not to minimize what you're feeling... but these things happen, Alex – accidents or otherwise – and, no offense, it's kind of a risk you and everyone else in your line of work runs. Not one I like. Just... just don't think about how you feel - feel it first, analyze it later. You don't do yourself or anyone else, especially Hawke, any favors by unraveling.''

She spared Alex a smile then, hands at each side of the Director's head, planting lips on the tip of her nose with a chuckle. ''And don't wind yourself right back up, because we don't have the time or energy for me to help work those kinks out again right now.''

''I should get back. They will be missing me, and the policeman will want to ask questions.'' She straightened the hem of her blouse, pressing her lips to the top of Amy's head. ''Hopefully, we can find out what happened, who did this to us.'' Their foreheads touched briefly. ''If I cannot find guilt, I can find revenge.''

''I just told you not to do something stupid over this. I understand if your brain isn't processing much from the top half of your body right now, but listen to me, Alex. Don't go looking for revenge, you'll only find a bigger mess.''

''Do you remember what happened when Darcy was stabbed in his hotel room? Do you remember how you felt, how you wanted to make the whole world pay?'' Pierce turned away, busying her hands with the wheelchair. ''That is how I feel. Elijah has stood by me, no matter what the cost. No matter what happened to him. I cost him his wrestling career, his wife's death... but he has never wavered.''

''Do you remember who talked me out of my revenge? You and your daughter. You're the reason I'm even here to talk you down, and not sitting in a cell in New York state because I got hot-headed and fucked up royally just because I felt justified for five seconds.''

''I am justified.'' Pierce brushed off the seat of the wheelchair, settling in it. ''I have to be. He is my man. If I let this go, if I let it slide...''

Campbell rather suddenly took control, pushing the wheelchair against the wall and going with it – gripping each arm at Pierce's wrists and leaning over, hardly an inch from her face. ''You won't let it slide, but that doesn't mean you have to be a fool. It's not a sign of weakness not to whip your proverbial dick out and show the world how big it is – if anything, you'll show that you're in control of the situation. He's your friend – he's even kind of my friend, after all he's done to help us hide – and don't think I doubt your right to your anger, but anything you think of in this moment will only make things worse down the road. When I'm the voice of reason, you know your head's coming unscrewed.''

''I have to be Desade again,'' Pierce said quietly, for once unable to meet the other redhead's gaze. ''If I am ever going to get away from this on my terms, I have to prove to anyone out there that I am more trouble to bother than I would be to leave alone. But I am not going to fly off the handle; I am not going to do anything crazy. Any revenge we seek will be well-considered.'' Her gaze snapped up to Amy's face. ''Now, please. Just walk me back so I can find out who did this. I have to know who.''

Amy simply sighed as she grabbed the back of the chair, pushing forward and grumbling. ''Good to know I'm only useful when my mouth isn't used for things like conversation or reason.''



She turned to step backwards through the doorway, mule-kicking it open behind them only to hear the door collide with something far softer than the wall. A collision that drew a very half-hearted, 'Whoops, sorry!' from Campbell when she pulled the Director out into the hall, only to find... well, exactly what she didn't want to.



''You...'' It took her a split second to realize the woman who'd been on the other side of that door, and even less time to let go of the chair and punch said woman in the jaw, pressing forward while almost completely ignoring Desade. ''Have got SOME fucking nerve showing up here...''

Kathryn Shaw staggered backwards, one hand to her face. She even fell to a knee. But it didn't stop her smile. ''Good to see you, too, Amy-dear.'' She stood back up, bracing one hand to the wall to hold her up. ''I'll just have to owe you one for that.'' The Sex Kitten looked down the hallway, and, if anything, that grin only gained wattage. ''I see there are some police officers here. Imagine what a hue and cry I could raise.''

''I like a cozy holding cell compared to a hospital waiting room,'' Campbell snarled, kicking at the Siren's ribs. ''Now get the fuck out of the building – nobody cares to let you admire your own handiwork.''

''You think I... you think I did this to Hawke?'' Shaw seemed genuinely offended – but this was Kathryn Shaw. ''Lexi – Alex. I have lied, I have manipulated, I have stacked the playing field, but I have never – would never – deliberately cause one of us to come to harm. You can't think I did this.''

Pierce simply watched Shaw's face, relying on years of experience with the Sex Kitten to judge her. But Amy Campbell didn't have that understanding at her disposal. She just had her gut.

''You've caused enough harm, I doubt this would be far out of your realm.'' Amy pulled the brunette up by her hair as she hissed, nearly touching Shaw's nose with her own. ''And we were just heading back there to continue handling things - so leave.''

''Why are you here, Kathryn?'' It was the first sentence Alex had spoken since her argument with Aimz. ''If you are not here to lord it over us, then you are here because – ''

''Because I called her.'' The dark hair was fake, but Savant still had the spark behind her eyes, and she never faked that. ''When you didn't answer, I called her. And I think she should stay.''

''She's useless!'' Campbell protested. ''And Alex's phone's been in her pants the whole time.''

''That wasn't all that was in her pants,'' Shaw muttered. ''If you're pulling the Willow, you should fix your lipstick. Seems to have gotten smeared somehow. Don't ask me how.''

It was one of those moments that Kathryn Shaw would later be glad both Lauren Fox and Alexandra Pierce were nearby, because they suddenly became necessary to separate the Raver and the Siren.

''She is not useless. Those are policemen out there, and if we're going to find out what happened to Hawke, we'll need every tool at our disposal.''

''He's my friend, too, Lexi,'' Katsidy said. ''I know you'll never trust me like you used to, but let me do this. For his sake.''

''Fine,'' Alex said. ''See if you can learn anything. Amy, I will need you to call my daughter and... Darcy. Find a reason to keep you in Philadelphia for a few extra days. I will need you to be here.''

''What about the match?'' Leave it to the professional wrestler to remind the day job wrestlers about their responsibilities.

''You will help me prepare while we are here.''

Amy didn't smack Shaw again at the knowing look she shared with her stepsister, but she really wanted to.

''What about me?'' Lauren asked quietly, as if she was dreading the answer.

Pierce turned her eyes back to the smaller woman. ''We need to talk. Tell the police your mother is hungry.''

The elevator's chime might as well have been a ring bell, the hospital's cafeteria becoming their squared circle. The doors had barely finished opening before Lauren Fox wheeled around, voice a soft hiss. ''What the hell is wrong with you?''

The six-inch height differential between teacher and student (magnified to close to nine in those heels) didn't seem so much with Savant fueled by her own outrage. In contrast, Desade simply raised a brow and folded her arms over her chest. ''What is wrong with me?'' she asked coolly.

''Look, I know you and Amy are happy, and that's great – really, it is. You've been a patently miserable human being ever since I've known you.''

''But?'' Pierce vomited out the question, as if it pained her to say it.

''But you spend all of your time... with her. Mooning over a woman – a married woman. Everything we've built – everything I held together for you while you were away – is falling apart. And you don't care, do you? Hawke is unconscious up there – someone intentionally rammed him with a fucking truck. Your relationship with Kathi has gone to shit, to the point that it might cost us the brightest star in the Hand. No one has seen Dru in weeks. You even quit the Order that made you Desade. And why? For her?''

''Yes, for her.'' The Spider's words were flat, matter-of-fact. ''Did you expect me to deny it?''

''I expected you to show some loyalty to people who've stood by you no matter what. Maybe that the people who got you out of a fucking asylum...'' Fox winced, glancing back into the sparse late evening crowd. ''That we would mean a damn in the big book of Alex Pierce.''

''You in no position to argue loyalty with me, Lauren. You sat in that room and you saw what Kathryn did – what she said. For months, she told me everything was fine. She was supportive, and then the very first chance she had, she sharpened all of her knives and she put them in me at once.''

''No,'' Lauren said, her voice noticeably quieter. ''She put them in Amy. You just got in the way.''

''It is the same thing – don't you get that? When Kathryn plots against Amy, she's plotting against me. She is the one who put my membership at risk, not Amy. No one had to go to Kieran, no one had to make that call.''

''If it hadn't been Drusilla or Kathryn, it would have been someone else.''

''You?'' Pierce raised a brow; the look still chilled Lauren to the bone.

''No. I still believed in you.''

The Spider chuckled, but it was not a sound of amusement. ''Past tense, I see.''

''Look at yourself. Do you think anyone would have done this to Hawke before? Half the underworld was terrified of you, the other half have no idea you're even a woman. But now you're weak. You're human.''

Desade closed the distance between the two women, her height only emphasized at this distance. ''That I may be, but I have a right to be upset. Kathryn destroyed everything I worked for fifteen years for; she's trying to turn my Hand against me by manipulating the situation so I must wrestle Phillip. And I am okay with that – because that is who she is. But you are standing by her. You are accompanying her poker player boyfriend to ringside.''

''She's my sister, Alexandra.''

''She is your stepsister. And every time you think her actions are justified, you are betraying every lesson I have ever taught you. You can be Kathryn's baby sister or you can be my prize pupil. We approach a fork in the road where you will have to decide which path to take. Choose wisely, for you will only get one chance.''

She brushed past the smaller woman with such snapping steps that every worker in the café turned to look.

''Where are you going? The police...'' She lowered her voice to a hiss. ''The police want to talk to Miranda.''

The Spider did not turn back. ''They will not see me leave.''

Alexandra Pierce left Lauren Fox standing alone in the hospital cafeteria, mouth moving without sound.

It was a full two minutes before she moved, stepping to the line for a chicken salad sandwich.

On the far side of the dining room, a darkly-dressed man folded his copy of the Philadelphia Inquirer and lifted his teacup to his lips in consideration.

He slipped his cell phone from the inside pocket of his blazer and snapped a surreptitious picture of the small, dark-haired woman as she took a bite.

His thumbs flew over the QWERTY keyboard as he sent a picture message.

''Never thought you could sullenly eat before. But this is Lauren. Prepare for phase 2.''