Morty groaned and turned a glare to Dino. It was his first flight that day, but Dino had barely deplaned in London before joining him for the final leg of a journey…a journey that could very easily prove fruitless. "So," Morty hissed. "Eighteen months. Maybe he just fucking retired?"

"No," Dino glanced out the window at 3,000 feet. "He didn't retire, he just…left. Now we gotta get him back, no ifs, ands or buts about it."

He was trying to be pragmatic; there was something important for Terry to do, something he had to come out of his self inflicted coma to help them with. No ifs, ands or buts…but…

Had it been him, would he have done any differently? If his little daughter hadn't miraculously recovered and gotten stronger, or if his wife had simply dropped dead for no fucking reason at all…would he be doing any better than his partner was? Handled it any smarter?

Oh, Terry had made an heroic effort, that's for sure. Less than a month after Sera died, he'd jumped back into his work with both feet…the problem was that his head wasn't there, neither was his heart. If Terry hadn't run away, he'd have surely gotten himself killed somehow. Maybe it was wiser, but as much as he felt for the man, he also knew that there was no way Terry could continue like that; his still breathing life buried with Sera in that London cemetery. Nope, it was time and this was the case. They couldn't fail.

Dino closed his eyes. They were a good thirty minutes from landing at Shannon Airport in Ireland. Ireland, Christ. Could Terry have chosen a more private place to hide?

***

What time of the day was it? Did it even matter? Terry groaned to his feet. In bed again, so the fuck what. Walking outside the chill tightened his shoulders. So what. He walked across to the path and stood looking down at the wall again. Since arriving, it was almost the only thing he'd really looked at.

It was a stone wall that encircled the six acres of land he owned. Land his grandmother's grandfather had owned. Land that would someday belong to Henry. How had it come to that? A flourishing family narrowed down to two men. Terry and his son. Generations had lived and prospered there, had made and lost fortunes, brought forth new life and buried their dead.

There was a barn, a large farmhouse, the guest cottage where Terry had taken a solitary, sad residence…and the wall. Almost three hundred years old and encircling the entire property. A waist high stone barrier that stood strong and sturdy at most places, but there, near the old cottage, it was broken like Terry. Large rocks lay in disrepair. Did he want to fix it? No. Did he even care? No.

The place was once, not so long ago, a glowing promise. The future. He had planned to bring Sera there, to raise their children in the surrounding beauty of West Cork, Ireland. Last time he saw the place, he was heading for the SAS. Just a moment to remind himself that he owned it; Terry couldn't even recall the condition of the place then. The time before that, he was eleven years old. He thought the farmhouse was a mansion, the land, Camelot. Now, it was just dirt, crisp air, heavy clouds and the damaged wall.

Without thinking he walked, following the weak fortification and seeing nothing, occasionally stumbling on twig or fallen stones. The view and salty sharp air of the sea should have reached him, told him to go back for a jacket. Terry wasn't listening to anyone, most certainly not Mother Nature. She held no control that moment. After all, what was natural about his life?

He'd spent it in sacrifice, in selfish hunger for success, money, a future for Henry. He'd spent it at other people's beck and call. This was supposed to be his time, his place and his moment in the sun. Facing fifty in three short months forced him to reflect, see his accomplishments and everything it had cost him.

He wasn't depressed or distraught enough to think it wasn't a normal turn of events, a simple mid-life crisis, even. But rational thought had abandoned him that late afternoon. There were good days, days when he considered shaving, getting his hair cut and going back to life. Then there were bad days. This was a bad day.

He stopped, stared at the burned out ruins of the original house. Rumor had it that his great, great uncle was a bit of a loon; that all his life, the village people were alternately fearful and entertained by him. He was an artist, great, great Uncle Sean. He painted pictures of the things that most influenced his life. The legend tells that the interior walls of the original house were covered floor to thatched roof with colorful depictions of Sean's encounter with a wolf.

The family raised milk cows back then. It was their pride and the animals, as important as family. The story is that a grey and red wolf had taken to repeatedly attacking Sean's cows. The crazy man is said to have killed that wild animal with his bare hands. It was close to the end of the wolves in Ireland, the last one meeting its demise in 1773. The battle between mad Sean and the animal haunted Terry's dreams. As he stood, his eyes drifted closed and his mind wandered. If only the ghost of that wolf would come and take his revenge on Terry. End it all. But a shudder snapped his eyes opened. Even within his loss and pain, Terry Thorne had managed to stay just this side of that line, of that wish, except once.

Once. He wanted death, prayed for it, begged for it. Less than three months after Sera died. On his knees having been captured during one of their patented kidnap sting operations. Blindfolded. Bound. His head bowed and a riffle barrel pressed against his temple. Oh how his heart begged. If only it could be that way, he could be with Sera. But it wasn't meant to be. He could actually hear her voice screaming inside his head. There was much for him to do before he died. He simply had to hold on to finish the job. And at her silent command, Terry squared his shoulders against his captures, causing them to momentarily back off…and making it possible for Dino and Morty to sweep in for the rescue.

But he'd done it once. He'd come so close to wishing death he could smell it. Feel his toes inch over the chasm. Was there anything that could truly hold him from that place again? If there was, she was now gone. Terry believed that his heart didn't beat, his blood didn't flow. On days like this, he believed that he was hollow. Dead already, only awaiting the coroner to announce the time of death and drop his worthless flesh into the ground.

His head shook and he groaned loud, over the wind, over the sound of the sea so close. Over the rumble of ponderous clouds slowly rolling toward him, his land, his damaged wall and soul.

Time slid like water, it seemed that in the blink of an eye a dark gloomy night had encompassed him. His hands were freezing, his back ached. How many hours had he stood there, motionless, being as dead as a living man can be? Did it matter?

Forcing feet to move, he plunged his tight fists into his pockets and followed the wall home. The cottage would be cold; he'd need to gather wood on his way inside…if he cared. Blankets would serve just as well. Blankets and darkness and blessed, empty sleep.

But his step faltered as he neared the shabby old place. The windows glowed with warmth and light. Was he fucking hallucinating? He stepped closer, spied the rental in the lane. Who the fuck? But even this didn't quicken his heart. Maybe he was imagining it all, or maybe this was his lucky day. A menace lurked inside his cottage waiting to…to what? Serve him hot tea and mutton stew? Terry casually pushed the door opened.

Quickly, ominously, he found himself pressed against the wall, a substantial forearm hard against his throat. He didn't choke, although he felt the need. He didn't raise a hand against his attacker. He let his eyes close, sensed the heat radiating from the old hearth and sniffed a deep whiff of Dino's aftershave.

"What the fuck do ya want, mate?"

Dino released his grip, concern in his blue eyes. Fuck, Terry didn't even defend himself! This could be worse than he thought. "Time to come back to work, Terry."

"No," Terry walked inside like an old man, bent and sore. He sat at the heavy old table, refusing to even acknowledge Mortimer's presence.

"Jesus, fucking Christ, Terry. Enough is enough, man!" Dino paced, spat his words harshly, hoping for a reaction. Even if it got him a black eye, it was better than this.

"No," Terry mumbled.

"What the fuck is it gonna take to get you out of this fucking funk. Kinda self-indulgent, if you ask me, Ter. When did you get to be such a selfish prick?"

He rose an eye to his partner, a whisper of a grin played at the corner of his lip then dropped.

"Tell me, you motherfucker! What's it gonna take to get you back to work?"

Terry didn't speak, he didn't move, didn't actually breathe.

"Maybe this will do it," Morty hissed and dropped a loaded file folder over Terry's silent, folded hands. At the tab, the name Michael Cromwell.

Images of the first time Terry heard that name; how bloody angry it made him that his fourteen-year-old son had fallen prey to the older boy, and discovered the joys of marijuana along the way. Memories of meeting twenty-year-old Michael the first time; a handsome bloke, suddenly free of his interest in the priesthood. The sound of the man's passionate voice, convincing Terry that Henry would be safe in the Peace Corps beside him. Henry. Henry.

Terry cleared his throat and fingered the file. There'd be no file to look at if Michael hadn't been taken hostage. Where were they? Still in Ecuador? Bloody hell, he never wanted either of them in South America, Peace Corps or not. Henry. Henry. Jesus fucking Christ. "Henry?" his voice cracked.

"Fine, fine Terry. Henry's fine." Dino spouted quickly. "Worried sick for his buddy…and his dad, but fine. Waiting for us in Ibarra." He sat across the table, did a visual examination of his friend and partner and decided to continue. "It's pretty clear they took Michael up the Rio Putumayo into Columbia."

"When?" Terry's voice was gaining strength.

"Two weeks."

Morty flipped through the documents in the file, handed Terry the photo. "Got the proof of life two days ago."

Not good, not good at all. Michael looked like he'd barely survived an Australian pub brawl. His face was swollen; the familiar features almost unrecognizable, but Terry could see it there in the bloke's eyes, that pleasant spark, the glow of true charisma. Unfortunately, charisma wasn't gonna help him where he was. Hell, even prayer might not help him. Terry slid the photo aside and lifted a document. Curious, very curious.

"Oh…uh…that," Morty cleared his throat and Terry glared. "Turns out someone wants to make sure we have enough ransom money."

"Who?" Terry growled. He'd bought policies on both Henry and Michael worth over a million each. The anonymous donor was doubling the policy with hard, cold cash. Not only curious, a bit suspicious as well.

"It's not as anonymous as it looks, Ter. The additional funds came from the Vatican. Didn't this kid once try to be a priest?"

Terry skimmed other documents and nodded. "Yeah, had plans to re-enlist in God's fucking army. But is another bloody priest worth a million dollars?"

"Does it matter, Thorne?" Morty spat. "You coming out of your bloody fucking Irish hideaway to help us out or not?"

Blood roared in his ears and Terry shot to his feet, leaned his nose close to Morty's then turned and walked into his bedroom. Mortimer released a sigh of relief and turned a grin to Dino.

"Nice way to get yourself dead, Morty," snarked the redhead.

"Did you see the light in his eyes?"

"That wasn't a light, buddy; that was fucking fire. Go start the car, I'll put out the fire, honey."

***

Jumped the gun. They'd fucking jumped the gun and Dino was loving it. He had his partner back; body, mind and soul. Nothing like the adrenalin Thorne could generate. The negotiations were solid, could have gone on for several months to come and they had the money to play, but Terry wasn't having any part of that shit. They were stepping over the chalk line and making something happen. And they were the three to do it right…stuff of legends, baby. Stuff of legends.

It was pure happenstance that brought Michael's exact whereabouts to them; a tiny shard of information that could have easily slipped through the cracks. For as long as Henry had known him, Michael carried a rosary he'd gotten from his hippy mother, a rather unique piece of religious paraphernalia. The flower child mom had created the thing with stones, pieces of colored glass and a cross carved from polished, chipped coal, all bound together with copper wire chain. It was strange, it was personal…and it was a sign.

Terry grinned when Henry handed the rosary to him. That training Michael was so resistant about had just paid off big time. The bloke knew, just knew, to make the odd beads highly visible.

One of the Ecuadorian captors had taken it before delivering the hostage at a camp along the Rio Putumayo. Upon returning to Ecuador, the idiot was selfish enough to sell the thing, boasting to high heaven the whole time. While awaiting Terry and Dino's arrival in Ibarra, Henry stumbled across the rosary in a shop window and asked the perfect questions. He purchased Michael's family heirloom and gave it to his dad.

Happenstance? Serendipitous? Just luck? No matter. The circle was almost complete.

One more step to close the loop. And no one was worried…except Terry. His mind seemed spot on, but his body, having never been fully rehabilitated after the injuries received two years earlier, felt sluggish and uncooperative. His step was less silent, his thighs less responsive, his knees…hell, he didn't even want to think about his knees. He seriously considered setting up the rescue and stationing himself as backup, but it was Michael.

Henry had stayed in Ecuador, taking one concern off his mind. Now all Terry had to do was get his team in and get them all out with a living Michael in tow…and do it as quickly as possible. Silence was imperative. If they went loud, he knew not one of them would get through it alive.

Pitch dark. One guard snoring near a wide awake and grinning Michael. Deep in shadow and far enough from the fire to go unnoticed.

Morty moved like a fox, clean, silent. The press of a perfect sharp blade and the guard gushed blood from the jugular, not even the gurgle of struggle. Terry blinked. The sudden finality of death. He just watched it. Painless. Silent. Unimportant.

He turned a swift hand to Michael's bondage. Another sure slice and the man was free. They moved like the wind, sure, a whisper of air and nothing else. They were all able, strong and mobile, not a word exchanged. Then he felt it, a strong hand grasping his upper arm and supporting. Jesus, was Michael actually helping Terry move through the dead quiet jungle? It was the sound of the rescue helicopter that alerted the kidnappers, already two miles behind, that anything had happened at all.

"Why are ya worth a bloody two million, mate?" Terry chuckled and gasped after embracing the happy, freshly freed young man. The chopper rose, safe from attack and Dino looked like he'd pop the fucking bubbly before they even cleared Columbia.

"Two million what?" Michael sniffled, tears smeared streaks down the filth on his face.

"Dollars. One mil in a policy you already had….and a second million from the big boys in Rome. What's up that you're not telling me?"

It could have been missed by another set of eyes. Could have been mistaken as a minor twitch. It wasn't. Terry saw it as clear as if a spot light were glowing on Michael's face. There certainly was something up. But it was something Michael was not going to divulge to Terry, had probably never told anyone.

Terry leaned back and watched the dawn paint elegant swirls of color across the South American sky. And he wondered. Why the Vatican investment? What didn't Terry or even Henry know? Was Michael already a priest? Following a different leader than everyone thought? Wouldn't that be interesting…and undercover priest? What the bloody hell would be the reason for such a thing?

Was he losing his mind? Foolishness, just foolishness. Terry felt his brain slowly relax into the success, no need to over think it. Everyone has secrets, even Michael. There were other things on Terry's mind. He thought about getting back to civilization, about spending time with his son, about getting back in shape and really going back to work.

Undercover priest? Terry snorted quietly, rubbed his temples and thought about resting in a comfy hotel room. He was getting old.

***

As Sera watched the helicopter begin its drop toward land and the safety of Ecuador, a cheer roared behind her. The entire room had focused on what she and Paul were doing. There was a count of twenty three severe probabilities that could have not only ended the mission, but sharply ended Thorne's life.

Frank lifted Sera from her seat and hugged her madly. "You did it, kid! You fucking did it! That looked so damn smooth, I bet for the rest of his life, Thorne thinks it was the easiest rescue he ever pulled!"

She blinked tears. The stress of the event was taking its toll. Had she not managed to have Terry become lost in heartbreaking thoughts; Dino and Morty would have taken him from Ireland too early. If she hadn't managed to remind Michael to plant sign as he was being kidnapped, there would have been no lead as to his whereabouts. Crap, had she not maneuvered the jewelry shop keeper into thinking that the rosary had value….well, needless to say, things could have gone much differently.

Terry was not to have chosen to move in so quickly. At the time of his decision, there were no less than forty eight men at the hostage camp. She'd managed to delay him, slow him down by unfortunately aggravating his physical miseries. It was only a matter of a few moments and the perfect safe window had opened.

The reason for Terry Thorne's lifelong heavenly protection had paid off. He'd done what he was meant to do. Earthbound Saint and Code blue 7 Charge, Terrence Thorne had been successful…and it was over for him. Terry, her love, her heart and soul could finally rest. She hoped he'd choose not to return to work, and in her mind, she had secret intentions to daily watch over him in any minor way she could. Life in the heavens continues; the work of an Elite Guardian is never ending. But her love for Terry was also eternal.

Paul shook Sera's hand, turned a stern glare around the room and all was returned to normal. Guardians watched over their Charges and the hum of heaven resumed. "Very well done, Sera."

"Thank you, sir." She returned to her seat and clacked keys. "Oh!" She fought the shudder of shock that slammed into her. "Oh!"

Her screen was blank. The return key showed a full collection of seventeen Charges, sixteen of which were newly assigned to her… and not one of them, Terry. "Oh," she gasped again, turning tear filled eyes up at Paul.

"Walk with me, Sera."

She followed him down the marble hall, into the gardens and all the way to the fountain in her favorite cove. They sat, silent, the musical sound of tinkling water at their backs.

"You know, it doesn't sound like that. Not really." Sera sniffled and Paul nodded. "It doesn't feel like that either. Water feels…different than anything we think it does. And a heartbeat," finally she turned her mourning eyes on Paul. "You can never, ever imagine the sensation of a heartbeat, the warmth of a human body, the sound of a sigh. Never Paul."

"I am sorry to have permitted you to learn those things, as your loss will be great…as great as his. But Seraphima. What you have accomplished this day is monumental. Michael Cromwell is the key. Without Terry, he would not have survived and we would have all been in trouble."

Sera nodded. "I won't even ask why. How does that matter. I'm here, I will perform my duties and do so at the best of my ability. My human heart is not yours to permit or pity. It's mine. And I am grateful to have had it. But why now? Why take him from me this moment?"

"There are reasons, Sera. You may not understand this now, but I will always protect your unique and fragile human heart. You need not see what is to come…you need only remain prepared for the miracle of what will be." The Master Guardian stood and walked away.

"Can you be any more cryptic, Paul?" Sera groaned.

***

Yeah, he was getting old, but he never felt so alive. He had loved, and he'd lost her to an inexplicable sudden heart failure. But he had her…the reality of Sera Phillips will sustain him forever. Until forever came to an end…Terry Thorne had work to do, and the next case was waiting for them before they even landed in Ecuador.

"What have we got?" Terry called as Morty reached for the communiqué and a representative of the FBI reached out a hand.

"American embassy employees to three South American countries, two families and a college kid doing his political internship…all taken at once and all insured by your company, Mr. Thorne."

"Great. Just great."