It was less than half an hour later when a dark car eased up the driveway. Molly Booker exited the vehicle. Her face was far more gaunt than Deb remembered, and she had lost weight.

Booker limped towards the cabin. Deb went out to meet her.

"Deb," Booker greeted.

"Little Wolf. You look tired," Deb shook her hand firmly. Molly flashed her a mirthless smile before her eyes trailed warily over the cabin.

"Been a long time since I've been here," she murmured softly, ignoring her last comment.

"Do you know anything about the blood in the bath tub?" Deb wondered. Molly blinked once, obviously a thousand miles away.

"Yeah. It's Trench Mauser's. Didn't realize it hadn't been cleaned," Molly ran a hand through her hair, "Sorry about that. After the clusterfuck that happened, I left for a while."

Deb brushed off her apologies.

"No worries."

"Heard there's been some trouble with the CIA," Molly changed the subject. Deb glanced over her shoulder at the house. Mickey was inside, trying to settle the children down. They were surly and silent, used to the constant movement between safe houses and handlers.

"Drummer's moved up the ladder. New guy is trying to pull some shit. I don't know. These kids need ta be kept safe—"

Molly's face softened.

"We'll take care of it, Deb."

"Barney, what the fuck is going on?" Billy demanded as Barney dropped onto a barstool.

"Calm down, Kid, you'll give yourself an aneurysm," Barney drawled, folding his hands in front of him. Billy leaned on the bar, his hands gripping the ledge tightly.

"Why did my wife leave the house like a bat out of hell?" Billy asked in a low voice, "And don't say you don't know. She only ever drops everything because you ask."

Barney glanced over his shoulder at the man in the suit sitting in the corner booth, trying to go unnoticed.

"Try to keep your head, Kid. We've all got to act as normal as possible," Barney said quietly. Billy looked away, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

"Why do you keep dragging her into this, Barney?" Billy asked.

"She'll be fine. Nothing dangerous, Kid."

"Nothing dangerous? You've got somebody following you!" Billy hissed. Barney pursed his lips.

"I didn't force her to do anything, Kid."

Deb bounced her leg anxiously as Mickey unloaded groceries from Molly's car.

"You know where the IRA is going to end up putting them?" Molly asked Deb softly. The older woman folded her arms across her chest.

"No. They haven't contacted us."

"They're going to be watching the team," Molly told her gravely, "It's only a matter of time before they start looking in on me and Billy, find this old house."

"I know, Booker. Christ."

Molly was silent as Deborah stewed. They stood there for several minutes as Mickey set about making supper. Molly's phone chimed in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

"It's Billy," she said apologetically, "I need to get home. I'll check in when I can. Be safe, Deb."

"You too, Booker."

God, it's so cold. She couldn't feel her feet. Her limbs were stiff and immobile. Hot blood washed down her arms. The ropes were cut, and fire gripped her and lifted her away from her brothers.

Deb shot up from her sleeping bag. Cold sweat had soaked her, clinging to her tank top. Her shoulders shook as she sucked in a ragged breath.

Just breathe, Debbie. It wasn't blood. They didn't bleed out, remember? They froze.

It was your mother who bled out, a helpful internal voice supplied.

"Fuck," she sunk back onto the floor. Her sleeping bag was damp from sweat. A floorboard creaked and her hand snapped to her gun. Mickey's silhouette appeared in the mouth of the hallway. Even in the semi darkness, she could feel his eyes burning into her.

Deb rose on shaky knees and stumbled towards the entryway. Mickey followed her closely.

The air was bitter and cold, just not quite as cold as the dream had been.

"What time is it?" she asked as he closed the front door behind them.

"'Round five, I'd say," he allowed quietly.

Jesus, Debbie. You want to try and get more than a few hours of sleep?

"You can go back to sleep, if you want," she told him, folding her arms around herself. Keep it together.

Mickey let out a slow breath.

"Debbie, come on now. What's eatin' at ye?" he asked gently. "Nightmares still giving ye grief?"

She nodded once. He wrapped one of his arms around her, pulling her close. Like a warm blanket. There's no fire in his hands. You don't have frostbite.

"Maybe we should take a break, after we get this squared away, yeah?" he suggested

She smiled numbly.

"Could be a long break, Mick. I'm not sure the CIA will want to throw any more jobs our way after this cluster."

"True. Maybe it's time to retire," he mused. She breathed out a laugh.

"I don't know if I can stop, Mick."

He pressed a kiss to her hair.

"I know, lass, I know."

Mickey soon went back inside, leaving her sitting on the stoop to wait for the sun rise. Warm light filtered through the trees, and the woods began to stir.

The door swung open, but Deb didn't turn. Dory dropped onto the stoop next to her, wrapped in an overlarge sweater.

Debbie pinned her with a critical look. She was aged beyond thirteen years. Living life on the run had done that to her.

"You work for the CIA," Dory stated bluntly. Deb swallowed hard and looked away from the accusing hazel eyes.

"What tipped you off?" Deb wondered idly.

"You woke me up. Heard you and Mickey talking," Dory informed her coolly. "The CIA has been after my dad for years."

"Yeah, so I've heard," Deb ran a hand through her hair in aggravation.

"That night at the cottage… You killed Jamie and the others?"

Deb couldn't look at her, so she focused on a squirrel in an oak tree, several yards away. She swallowed hard.

"Yeah, Dory, we did."

"Were you going to kill us?" Dory asked, her voice trembling. Deb's head snapped around to look at her.

"No. That was never—" She broke off, steeling herself. "Mickey and I… The CIA employs us to save children that are in danger, usually cartel kidnappings, mafia wars… We were told that you and your brothers had been taken." Deborah stretched out her legs, wishing like hell she had a shot of liquor to numb the sour taste the words left in her mouth.

She did not enjoy killing, contrary to popular belief. The IRA bodyguards were hardly innocent, but they had only been protecting children—

"When we realized you hadn't been kidnapped, but we had killed your only protection… We couldn't just leave you there. Mickey used to run with the IRA, we got in front of it… We're supposed to take care of you until the IRA fixes up another safe house."

Dory watched her with wary eyes.

"And now?"

"The CIA is after us, because Mickey and I bailed on the job and took you with us," Deborah told her.

"What's going to happen?" Dory asked after a long pause.

"We'll keep you safe until the IRA comes to get you, things will go back to normal."

"What about you and Mickey?"

Deborah shrugged once.

"We'll figure it out when we get to it."

Dory was silent.

"Thank you for telling me. Not a lot of people are honest when I ask them what's going to happen to us," Dory finally said.

Deb forced herself to smile at her.

"You should go eat some breakfast, Dory."