The plan, apparently, was to follow Gideon right into Mason territory. We had been at the bunker for the entire day, and I hadn't had moment alone with Kael. It was growing impatient. I wanted to ask him what the actual plan was, as I had appointed myself his new assistant and would have to go on this mission as well. In addition, I had my doubts about trusting men who had wanted to expose us to electric shock treatments just six hours ago. More than anything though, I wanted to know how he'd gotten that huge scar on his back.

We'd poured over maps, finding the best approach to the Mason headquarters. Porter had produced a blueprint of the place that Gideon had managed to find. Hours were dedicated to looking this over as we planned and replanned the best way to enter, and more importantly exit, the fortress. I offered comments when I felt confident they were appropriate and wouldn't blow my cover. I knew these men had to be at least somewhat clever. So far, however, they believed I was one of them. I was glad Kael had at least reviewed what he had about weapons and combat with me; it made me feel closer to belonging.

Later that evening the men started to disperse to get some rest before we headed out on our mission. I assumed we would do the same, but Kael led me to the back of the bunker through two large steel doors into a long, warehouse looking room. Crates and bags labeled with various supplies were stored floor to ceiling against the walls and created paths snaking through the room. I followed him sluggishly. My earlier desire to find a moment alone with him had faded and was replaced with disappointment to find we would be doing something other than resting like the others.

Instead of focusing on my exhaustion, I mulled over his injuries as we walked. I wondered how much pain his ribs were causing him, but mostly pondered how much that scar had hurt during its creation on his back.

"Kael?" I called his name from behind, but he continued quietly through the maze of supplies. "How did you get the scar on your back?"

Without looking back at me, he shook his head as we turned a corner.

I quickened my pace and moved in front of him. He stopped short when I stepped forward. My voice was pleading now. I couldn't help but take pity on him when I saw the dark circles under his eyes and deep creases on his brow. "Come on. Everyone else here seems to know."

He said abruptly, "Well, you can't know, Harper. At least not now," and tried to push past me but I didn't move. The aisle was too tight for him to get around me. He sighed. "Another day, I promise."

I shook my head, frustrated that he wouldn't comply, but stepped to the side to let him around me.

"When?" I pressed as he passed, "when are you planning to tell me?"

He looked up considering his response.

"Come visit me in prison; I'll tell you."

He looked away but I saw the start of a smile. Perhaps he found some amusement in the thought now, but I doubted he'd feel that way if he knew how resolved I was to see the operation dissolved.

"Come on. I'm not finished with you yet," he called to me.

A few weeks ago, I would have thought his words ominous, but in the present I sighed and followed. He led me over to the far side of the room to an open area, obscured from the view of the door by the crates surrounding it on two sides. He stood in the middle, and, extending his arms, he asked, "Ready for lesson two?"

As I twisted my hair back, I checked the surrounding crates for anything interesting. Most around me were weapons. I lacked the energy for another lesson. On tiptoe, I peeked into another crate of weaponry and asked tartly, "Is that what we're doing in here? I was getting worried that this is where you'd finally kill me."

"Only if you allow it."

He was teasing, I knew, but he hid it well. His hazel eyes had a devilish look to them, and the pure exhaustion I had seen earlier had vanished. I moved back to stand opposite him in the center of the room. Flipping my hair behind me, I prepared myself.

He began, "Ok hands up like this."

He demonstrated and explained, "This arm's protecting your face, the other one you use to punch."

I bent my arms up at the elbows, making a feeble attempt to mirror his stance.

"Where's your face Harper? Like this."

I raised my arms a little.

"Good, good."

He proceeded to throw a few slow punches, giving me plenty of time to block his attempts.

"Faster?" He offered. When I hesitated, he answered his own question, "Faster."

We worked up to speed slowly until I found myself perspiring with the effort. Reminding myself that these lessons could save my life in a matter of hours, I wiped away the sweat. Despite my focus, he could have hit me several times, especially as the speed increased. He held his punches though, and instead stopped to tell me how to adjust something or just to pay attention.

Dropping his arms and backing up, he stopped suddenly.

I asked, "What's wrong?" and looked toward the door.

"Nothing. You're good enough for now. Your turn." He held up his arms to protect his face.

I smiled smugly, not bothering to hide my pleasure.

"You want me to hit you?"

He gave a curt nod.

"But I'm already good at that."

Unexpectedly, his arm shot out of nowhere. I saw his fist coming at my face and without thinking, I stopped his blow; ducking out of the way at the same time. I didn't know who looked more surprised - me for having been punched or him for having been thwarted by me. I couldn't deny, I was a little miffed considering he could have hit me. I reached up and surprised him with a blow to the side of his face.

I made another attempt toward his shoulder, but he ducked out of the way. "What was that, Harper?"

His tone was goading, so I punched again, this time grazing his jaw line.

Immediately, I swung again, but he blocked me, further irritating me. I wondered if he'd expect a kick to his abdomen. I doubted his debriefing on me had included my years of ballet in high school and college which, I knew, provided me little in the way of fighting techniques but much in the way of flexibility. I threw another punch which he blocked. Remembering his confounded broken ribs, I glanced down at his abdomen, trying to recall which side had been injured.

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking down to where my eyes had gone.

"Trying to decide," I muttered and kicked high into his left side, not bothering to measure the force of my blow. Luckily, I chose correctly. He didn't double over but only winced. I smiled smugly at his surprise.

Unfortunately, my confidence now outweighed my better judgment. I tried for the same move again. This time he saw it coming and catching my leg, he threw me off balance. In a second of horror I reached for him as I fell backward, landing hard on my back. I gasped for air that had been knocked out of me.

Kael came over and extended a hand, "Sorry."

I glared as I sat up. I couldn't be too angry though. I knew I had been much rougher with him than he been with me until this point.

"Since when are you so flexible, miss?"

He took a squat position beside me when I didn't accept his offered hand. Now that he was beside me I saw that he was barely sweating. I wanted to punch him again, but held back, not relishing another payback.

"Ballet."

I let him help me up then and explained, "Practice was great for my leg strength and flexibility in high school."

He seemed to like the idea of me actually having some skill in the area so we practiced kicks for the next half hour. To my surprise, I was rather good with some coaching.

We'd practiced several rounds of kicking, punching, and blocking when I held up my hand and asked, "Can I take five?"

I wiped the perspiration from my forehead, leaning back into one of the crates. Kael stopped and turned to climb nimbly up to one of the higher crates marked "water." He returned with a couple of bottles and tossed one to me. I caught it, grateful for refreshment. He came over to lean beside me and slid down the length of the crate to a sitting position on the floor. I followed suit.

Feeling an oncoming headache, I took down my hair and shook it into waves around my shoulders. "Are you worried about your ribs? One of Mason's thugs is bound to injure them. Everyone seems to figure out your weak spot." I took another large gulp of water, then added, "Inconvenient isn't it?"

He watched me from the corner of his eye and responded, "Very. But I'll be fine. I've accepted that they aren't going to get a chance to heal for some time."

Letting fractured ribs be continually beaten and bruised didn't sound like a medically sound plan to me, but I kept my opinion to myself. He didn't appear worried about it. He sat spinning the cap from the water bottle on his knee as he waited for my break to be over. I wasn't even close to being ready, if I ever would be. His hair looked darker again tonight, probably from the grime of the day mixed with the poor lighting in this place. He'd taken a few of my blows to his face without much objection, but I could see the faint redness still on his cheek.

I felt drawn to the man who protected me, taught me to defend myself. Little things, like pulling out a chair for me or caring that I was haunted by nightmares were enough for me to care about him, but he had done so much more. It didn't seem fair that there had to be this other side to him that would beat Madeline senseless, pummel a man's broken nose, or send shipments of illegal goods without a second thought, even though some of those actions had seemed appropriate at the time, even to me.

"Why are you doing this?" My voice was soft, serious.

He caught my tone and turned to look at me, letting the lid drop from his leg.

"What, helping you?"

"No."

I looked back at the large room. I was tired of asking that question when it never yielded a satisfactory answer. Instead, I considered the massive, million dollar building we sat in.

"This," I gestured widely as I spoke, "Why are you still doing this? You could get out, right now. Why stay in this terrible business? Just leave."

"It's not that simple, Harper." He leaned back into the crate, his look distant.

"It can be."

I leaned forward to see his face and urged, "Say what you will, but I know this isn't you. You're not some blood thirsty mercenary who's only interested in themselves and their net wealth. After all you've done for me, it isn't possible." I set my bottle down emphatically. Becoming even more passionate about this discussion, I pressed on, "Honestly, why don't you leave? After we get this mess resolved, don't go back to Gideon and the smuggling business. You've got the diamond. Go live on a beach somewhere for the rest of your life where no one knows your history."

I thought my idea was a fantastic option, but I could tell by his face he didn't share my opinion.

"Yeah, and neglect my responsibilities? You don't know what you're talking about. I'm not going to run," his voice was even, resigned, "It's not an option."

"About the time you say you don't have any options is when you're about to choose the wrong one." I tapped my finger thoughtfully on the side of my bottle and insisted, "Think about it; it's almost always the case."

He glared at his own bottle. Obviously not appreciating my speech he argued, "So with that logic, helping you is the wrong decision because I don't consider the alternative an option." He looked at me and asked pointedly, "Do you?"

I crossed my arms and insisted, "Well, I would respect you more if you at least considered all your options before just falling into whichever seems the only choice in your limited view."

"Harper, you don't know what you are talking about," he said as he stood, "Are you saying I should consider killing you because that might be the better path?"

"No!" I stood up as well and put my face inches from his and shot back, "You know exactly what I'm saying. If you don't at least consider leaving this business it might be the death of you. Then, it will be too late to consider the other options won't it? Even if they are much better in retrospect."

"I know what the consequences are for people in this business. You think I'm not aware of the risks?" He backed away from me. His movement put a couple of feet between us where I had put inches.

"But why won't you even consider getting out?" I was so frustrated, I couldn't let go of my point until it had been recognized.

"I've considered all the options! I considered them long and hard when I was eighteen years old! You're ten years too late Caraleena Harper."

He tossed his water bottle angrily, sending a spray against the back wall of crates and creating a small puddle on the floor, before turning his back to me. He ran a hand through his hair and when he spun to face me a moment later, his eyes locked with mine. I didn't flinch, and I didn't look away, even though his gaze was piercing through to my soul.

"You should go get some rest," he said flatly. It seemed unnatural considering our previous exchange. "We have to leave in a few hours."

I didn't heed the warning his tone should have given me and retorted, "Invite more ghosts to haunt my dreams? No, thank you." I kicked one of the crates, miffed at how poorly our discussion had gone. I had really thought he would see my point of view, consider getting out, but he couldn't or, more accurately, he wouldn't.

Although I wouldn't leave the topic, I kept my gaze on the crates, using the toe of my newly acquired black boot to pick at a loose corner as I said, "I don't know why you got dealt what was supposed to be my lot in life. I don't pretend to understand what my father was thinking. You've said yourself, he's insane. And to be honest with you, I was jealous that for some reason he picked you and not me. That's ridiculous, but I was. All those years in the orphanage, I thought I'd been given up because my family couldn't care for me. So, you can imagine my disappointment in finding that he not only could have raised me, but that he went ahead and raised you instead."

I shook my head in frustration, kicking at the crate more vigorously, still not looking at Kael, who remained silent, and continued, "Anyway, after all this, seeing what's happened to you, your life, I thank God I didn't stay here. I could have been a different person. I would hope that if you came along and saw me in this mess that you would try... that you would say something to get me to reconsider my life choices while I still could. As a friend. That's why I have to say something now."

I glanced up to see if the bearing of my soul had had any effect on him.

Startled to see he'd come to stand beside me, I blinked and whispered, "How do you do that?"

His hazel eyes searched my face and I grew scared as I tried to guess what he was thinking.

"You would know if I hadn't stolen him from you," his voice matched my own quiet tone.

I was relieved that he wasn't angry. I had given him the complete truth. If nothing else worked, maybe that would. That old familiar jaw muscle twitched as he looked down at me. I almost suspected I was going to get a hug, but he reached down and tucked a lock of my hair that had fallen forward behind my ear instead. In the process, his fingers brushed my cheek and sent tingles down my spine. He watched me for a moment longer. When I didn't move, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

I almost didn't follow. His response had taken me by surprise. After the water bottle had been sent careening into the crate, I had expected more anger, an argument even. Instead, he'd offered one quiet observation and an oddly caring gesture before turning to go. Just when I thought I was starting to understand his complex character, I realized I didn't know him that well at all.

When I finally made my way to the door, he was standing there waiting for me with the toe of his boot keeping the door open. We went back upstairs in silence. The sleeping quarters were minimalistic with the familiar concrete walls and floor, a bed, toilet, sink, and small square mirror.

"I'll come wake you so you don't sleep too long," he said and turned to go, flipping off the single light in the room as he went. I knew what he meant. The short duration was so that I wouldn't have enough time to have a deep sleep, to dream. He hesitated at the door and added, "...and thanks, Harper." The door shut with a click before I could respond. The light had been too dim for me to see his face. Regardless, I was glad he had at least recognized what I'd said. Even though now, more than ever, I was convinced he was a lost cause.

*****

Kael and Harper have grown closer, but he seems determined to stick it out as a criminal. What do you think? Is Kael a lost cause? Don't forget to vote after you leave me your thoughts if you feel inclined. :)

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