Mark could hear the drone of muffled voices before a bright light hit him in one eye, then the other. "He's coming out of it," he managed to decipher from the man right up in his face. Fighting his way out of the darkness came at a harsh price. The nasty nail-in-the-head, eyelids-like-lead, queasy feeling brought to mind some crazier moments of his younger days.

Only worse. Much worse.

"Call me if you need me," the stranger then said.

Mark groaned and lifted his hand to the pulsating part of his skull that used to be his forehead.

"Hey, boss."

Now that voice Mark knew. He eased his head sideways to see Bruce's face swimming in front of him. Was he dreaming? "What happened?" His voice cracked from its lack of use since . . . How long ago?

He attempted to sit up but didn't make it. "Fuuuck," he gritted, sinking back down to whatever the hell he was lying on, feeling like his muscles were full of knots and a Sumo wrestler was the one working them out.

"Here, let me help." Digging his forearm under Mark's shoulders, Bruce lifted and twisted, leaning him back against the wall while repositioning his legs so that his feet touched the floor.

Like an old man Mark sat slumped with his memory scattered into pieces, a jigsaw puzzle inside his head. After a moment, sections began to take form, outer edges filling in, and suddenly one thing was perfectly clear. "You're back."

Bruce dragged a chair over and sat down in front of him. "They pulled me out yesterday, putting all of this in motion I'm afraid. You're in the Nest. It's Saturday"—he glanced at his watch—"almost noon."

"They did this?" Mark shook his head, sending it into migraine territory. "Shit," he groaned, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead.

Bruce stood up. "I'll find you something to eat. And some Tylenol."

"You're awake." Agent Carter came barging into the office at a fast clip.

As the two men passed each other, Bruce bumped the agent's shoulder, almost spinning the guy around. "My bad," he muttered.

Carter paid no heed, taking Bruce's place on the chair and leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. As those sharp eyes drilled into his, Mark could only assume the man was checking out the size of his pupils.

"Worried about permanent damage?"

He must have passed some test since Carter slapped his thighs and straightened. "Morris called the Pentagon and spoke with the assistant commandant, asking about Major Morgan's previous postings. Could be just his paranoia, but we couldn't take that chance. Besides, we already had what we needed, all of Morris's shipping documents, and they line up with what you had on file. Dates, times, locations, they all coincide. We now have direct evidence that Morris was staging insurgent attacks on Marine arms deliveries and shipping them to Gus. The MPs have picked him up. We have no way of knowing if he passed any of his suspicions on to the Chilvatis . . . which is why we had to move fast."

"You could have just asked," Mark said, rubbing his temples. "What the hell did you do to me?"

"Taser . . . fucks you up pretty good." Carter smirked.

Mark glared back at him.

"Hey, you're a big guy. We couldn't have you fighting us off in the middle of the street. This way the Chilvatis will think you're a hostile witness and maybe buy us a little more time. Plus, we couldn't risk them getting to you first if Morris did indeed raise any red flags." He shrugged. "There was no time to explain."

Bruce returned with tray in hand, and Carter rose from the chair saying, "Don't worry, you'll feel better in a couple of days."

The food was placed beside Mark—a sad excuse for a bagel, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water. Under normal circumstances he would have passed, but having gone twenty-four hours without anything, it looked delicious. And he needed all the energy he could get.

Agent Carter headed back out to the bullpen.

Once Mark had polished off everything but the tray, he was feeling a little stronger. Bruce helped him to stand and make his way into the men's room where they stood arm-in-arm while Mark did his business. After that undignified test of their true friendship, he took his time doing laps around the office, trying to get his leg muscles to work in sync with his brain again.

It was a reluctant collaboration.

)l(

Returning from lunch, Paul poked his head into the office Mark occupied, relieved to see him up and moving about. The suit jacket and tie had been tossed, the sleeves of the dress shirt rolled up, and the man looked stressed but determined as he walked the room with a bit of a limp. Bruce, still in full camo, leaned against the far wall with a fixed focus on his boss, as if waiting for any signs that assistance was needed.

"How are you?" Paul called, catching both their attentions.

"I've had better days," Mark grumbled.

Paul walked over to stand by Bruce. "I warned Carter that if you weren't awake by the time I got back, I was going to hang him upside down on the side of the building until you were."

Bruce barked out a laugh. "Might have done him a favor, added a few inches."

"You guys should go easy on Agent Carter," Mark said from across the room.

Paul arched his brows at Bruce.

With Bruce's shrug, Paul refocused on Mark. "Okay, I'll bite . . . why exactly?"

"He's a decent man, a good agent, and—"

"An ass?"

"—a sixth Dan in karate." Mark smiled a little. "I wouldn't push him too hard."

Paul chopped at the air with flat hands. "Maybe we can get him to show us some of his moves."

Bruce laughed as he hit into Paul's chest with the back of his hand. "We should take him out for drinks. Get him drunk." His eyes popped wide. "Get him laid, that'll loosen him up a bit."

"He's married," Mark cut in, "to Christina Bernoff."

Her name alone was enough to stop a conversation, but the claim that she was also Mrs. Carter came with a requisite silence similar to what would be found inside a library. At a monastery. Bruce broke the stillness with a whispered, "The model?"

"No way," Paul muttered.

"That's her," Mark confirmed. "Six years. Still madly in love from what I hear."

"How the hell did he pull that off?" Paul wondered aloud. "Damn, the guy must be hung like a horse."

"More like a donkey," Bruce countered, setting off another round of hilarity.

Mark had to raise his voice to be heard. "You guys should give it a try." As horror-stricken looks were thrown his way, he rolled his eyes and added, "The 'in love' part, not the 'horse' . . ." With a flick of his wrist, he waved them off. "Forget it."

All joking aside, Paul rubbed at his chest. "Not me. I'm not going down that drain." Just then, he noticed Bruce's downcast eyes which seemed to have captured Mark's attention too. Oh, damn. This wasn't a topic they should be dwelling on. Getting back to business, he offered, "I'll be in the bullpen if you need anything." He headed out to the cubicle that had become his home away from home over the last six weeks.

"Paul!"

Mark's call had him retracing his steps.

"Have you heard from her? I'm sure she's seen the news by now."

"No." He hadn't thought about that. "But they have us on high security—no cell phones."

"Damn it," Mark muttered.

It was almost an hour later when the murmuring started. Paul stretched up, looking over the cubicle's wall to see what all the commotion was about. A few of the agents had gathered in the far corner behind one of their own, an obvious dispute going on. Curiosity got the best of him and he got up to take a look.

News coverage offered a live feed from the courthouse where the Chilvatis were being brought in for their arraignments, and Paul spotted the figure that had everyone in an uproar. With her back to the camera and Captain Beal at her side, she stood on the stairs leading up to the building.

Paul spoke to the two agents in front of him. "You're going to tell him, right?"

"He'll bolt. We can't take that chance," the one on the right shot out the side of his mouth without looking.

He really should have looked.

Paul beat feet toward the office he had visited earlier.

"Captain Sullivan!" Agent Carter shouted from god-knows-where. Man, the guy had a knack for noticing things. Not that it mattered. He had no influence over Paul.

"She's back," he delivered upon reaching the doorway.

The muttered, "Great," coming from behind him was the first sign he'd been followed. The blur of polyester was the second, Carter sweeping past him to do some damage control, entering the office with his palms held high in the air while saying, "Now, Colonel—"

No more limping. Mark's strides were long and solid, taking him out of the office in a matter of seconds with Bruce, Paul, and Carter rushing to keep up. As Mark crossed the bullpen, agents scrambled to get out of his way. Fast. Guess that's what happens when a bear gets loose among the general population.

"Over here," Paul directed, leading him up to the screen he'd been watching.

Seeing her still standing with her back to the camera, doubt played with Paul's mind. Maybe it's not even her. As if reading his thoughts, Virginia picked that exact moment to turn and point across the street, and his concerns about crying wolf were gone. The loose-fitting white blouse she wore caught and billowed in the breeze. The surrounding silence told him he wasn't the only one wondering, Was the outfit simply a bad wardrobe choice, or was she . . ? No, she couldn't be.

The wind changed direction, the blouse now pressing against her skin like she'd been shrink-wrapped. Paul had no clue as to whether he was part of all the, "Oh, no," going on around him, but he definitely joined in on the chorus of, "Oh, shit," when Mark took off for the door.

Agent Carter had to run to intercept him. "Colonel, we can't let you go out there."

"You are letting me out of here now, or I don't testify." From the look on Mark's face, it was nonnegotiable.

"Don't threaten us, Colonel, or you'll be up on contempt charges!"

After a moment of locked horns, Carter seemed to reevaluate his methodology, rubbing across his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's suicide for you to go out there."

"They know she is the only thing I will come out of hiding for. They will go after her. I'm going to get her, with or without your help."

"She's got a whole police force to protect her," Carter snapped.

Mark stepped in close to the guy, a mountain next to a molehill. "That's my child she's carrying."

"You sure about that?"

What the fuck? Rage sent Paul barreling across the room, fists leading the way. But before he had a chance to stick up for his sister's honor, Mark had the man backed up to the wall and lifted into the air.

By the throat.

END OF CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Sorry about making you all worry. Well, not really, I like keeping you in suspense.😬

Mark now knows! What do you think of that? Should he take the risk and go to her?😳

Dedicated to @LadySapphire2018 , author of The Seven Kingdoms and queen of interaction, who not only leaves comments but comments on the comments on the comments! It's amazing. A big tail smack for you, my friend. (Good thing it's a fictional story). Thank you for supporting me❤️

Thank you all for reading and voting ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️