Ron came back and found Brock collecting the dirty cotton to throw it into the fire. He saw Gillian was sleeping peacefully and chuckled to himself again, while Brock took off his rain jacket, folding it to slide it behind her head like a pillow. Ron made a mental note to tell the others how the scowling fed had been able not only to tend to her, but also to keep her quiet and even get her to sleep, which ranked him near the miracle-worker category.

Brock turned around when the orderlies brought in two stretchers. Ron explained they'd finally released the girls from their thousand shackles. Brock nodded, noticing the man's eyes were down on Gillian with an affectionate smile. He decided to ask the million dollar question.

"Why did you let her do something so dangerous, Bellison?"

Ron frowned as if Brock had just spoken in tongues.

"Let?" he repeated, and decided it was time somebody explained to the fed how things really were, since he didn't seem to realize by himself. "Agent Brockner, nobody lets Reg do anything. She's not our team leader because of her last name, like many assholes say. And don't let'er being a woman mislead you. In case you didn't know, we're the best of the Boston Police Department, and she's the best of us. That's why she's our team leader. Never forget that."

Ron smirked at Brock's effort to digest such a blunt insight and strolled out of the cabin.

The first pair of orderlies were back, bringing one of the girls beaten and weak, barely conscious. Hank walked by the stretcher, holding her hand, and told the orderlies to pause. He motioned for Brock to approach them, then leaned to whisper something to the girl.

The poor thing was able to look up at Brock and her lips moved. Brock frowned and leaned closer to her face. The girl mumbled the same words Gillian had just said to him: "Thank you."

He pressed her hand, trying a quick smile. Hank nodded at the orderlies to keep going, while Brock took a moment to wonder how long it'd been since anybody other than Andrea had thanked him for anything.

The second girl was at the brink of a heart failure, and they took her out in a rush, straight to the ambulance that skidded out of the trail and away at full speed, sirens on.

Fred came up from the basement with the last troopers, whose faces reflected their shocked revulsion at what they've found downstairs. He let the troopers go out and approached the fire. Brock stood by it, a few steps away from the armchair where Gillian was still asleep.

Brock studied that strange man, all placid hippie smiles at the office, cold steel in the field.

"Good work tonight, Agent Brockner. Perfect timing," Fred said, an edge of steel still echoing in his calm voice. "Both arresting the brother and storming in here when you did. You bought me some precious seconds."

Brock nodded, impressed by the way Fred's military background was actually still there, just a scratch away beneath his carefree looks. Gillian was right: he would've never missed the kill shot. Not even with her in the way, a cloud of poisonous flies buzzing around his head and an alligator chewing his leg.

A paramedic came in and went straight to check on Gillian. "She and the other agent need to spend the night in the hospital," he said.

To Brock's surprise, Fred shook his head. "What do they need to be okay?"

"First of all, a blood test to know for sure what they were injected. And supervision while they sleep, in case they have trouble breathing. If they don't wake up by themselves within twelve hours, there could be complications."

"We got it covered. Thanks, and good night."

Fred went to Gillian's side while the EMT spun around and left, offended.

"Why don't you want them to go to the hospital?" asked Brock, puzzled.

Fred gifted him with a quick smile and didn't answer. Even though he looked rather slim, he slid his arms under Gillian's shoulders and legs and lifted her without effort. "Shall we, Agent Brockner?" he said, heading to the front door with Gillian cuddled in his arms, as if he carried a sleeping child.

Brock retrieved his rain jacket from the armchair and followed him out. As soon as Fred saw him by his side, he said, "We're leaving Al's car here till tomorrow. She and Russell already left with Ron and Hank, so we're gonna need you to give us the ride back to the hotel."

"Of course," Brock replied.

A trooper had already brought the SUV to the end of the trail, and handed the keys to Brock with a respectful nod.

Fred placed Gillian in the passenger seat carefully, fastened the seatbelt and tucked her in with her coat again.

"No hospitals," she muttered, eyes still closed, as Brock sat behind the wheel by her side.

And Brock swallowed his surprise again at Fred's warm tone. "No hospitals," he said and caressed her hair, before closing her door and climbing in the backseat.

As soon as they were on their way to Auburn, Fred explained, "Reg's mother died of cancer when she was twelve, after spending most of her last years in the hospital. Reg hates hospitals so much that she delivered Connor at home, refusing to be committed even for a single day."

Brock pinned that piece of information to his mental board. "And what about the blood tests?" he asked.

"Hank can take the samples and run them himself at the hospital lab. Ron and I can watch over them through the night."

Brock didn't ask further. The message was crystal clear: we don't need outsiders to take care of our own.