Sam blinked. He tried to open his eyes, but he was immediately blinded by the daylight. He pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed his face vigorously with his hands. As his eyes adjusted, he got a good look at the scene and realized the brightness came from a hole in the side of his house where the couch and living room windows used to be.

The wrist he had broken was hurting and gingerly he rotated his arm and wiggled his fingers, but it didn't seem rebroken, just sore. Actually, all of him was sore and he became aware that he had a headache. He was essentially sitting up against his kitchen island, and just to his right, on the floor between the island and the wall, lay Nathan.

Sam scrambled to his brother and shook him gently.

"Nathan? Hey, Nathan? Hey, c'mon, wake up, little brother," Sam said through gritted teeth. "Fuck, c'mon, don't do this to me, Nathan. Not now." He bent forward and pressed his ear against Nathan's chest, and when he heard a heartbeat he relaxed slightly. Nathan was alive and his heartbeat was strong, but he was out cold.

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. He hadn't been unconscious for more than about fifteen minutes. There weren't even any new notifications on his phone. Not that he got many to begin with, he didn't have social media- or very many friends.

He briefly considered calling Elena, but decided he'd better wait until he knew Nathan's status, so that he didn't scare her for no reason. Sam leaned back against the counter and resigned himself to waiting.

He started to doze off but jerked awake at the sound of someone moving. Nathan still lay on the floor, but he was obviously awake and rubbing his forehead with one hand.

"Nathan!" he exclaimed, scrambling to his side.

"Yeah, dammit, what happened? I have one hell of a headache," Nathan groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing.

"That fucker pulled a grenade on us. Now I'll never be able to sell this house," Sam said. "How do you feel? You should probably stay laying down for a little while."

"I mean, everything hurts. I want to sit up."

"Probably a bad idea," Sam said, but Nathan held out his hand and Sam grabbed it and pulled him up so that he was sitting.

"Oh, crap, I'm dizzy, Sam," Nathan mumbled, hunching forward.

"I told you not to get up yet," Sam said. "You were out for..." -he checked his phone again- "like forty-five minutes. Probably have a hell of a concussion."

"Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec," Nathan said breathlessly. "Okay. I think I'm good. We need to get out of here, Sam. They, someone, I don't know, knows where we are."

"I realize that. Just make sure you're okay." He laid a hand on Nathan's shoulder, but he brushed it away.

"I can rest somewhere when we're safe, let's just leave here. Sam, we don't have a car." There was an edge of panic in his voice.

"The van is still here," Sam pointed out.

"Okay. We'll take that. And then we ditch it as soon as we can get a rental or something," Nathan said.

"Sounds like a plan. Listen, stay here, little brother." Sam patted Nathan's shoulder. "I'll take our bags out and I'll check the car and the bodies for keys and come back for you when I get them. Don't get up. Do you want some water?"

"Yeah, that'd be great actually," Nathan said. Sam stood for the first time and took a moment to orient himself, but the lightheadedness passed quickly. He grabbed a glass from a cabinet and poured Nathan a glass of water, before heading outside with their things.

The street was quiet; probably for the best since Sam didn't want to get caught in his own house with four bodies scattered around the property.

He discovered just how careless the mercenaries were when he got to the van and found the front window rolled down and the keys in the ignition. All the better for me and Nathan, he thought, thanking the dead men for their idiocy.

Sam dumped their bags in the back seat and hurried back inside. He was limping slightly more than before on his already-injured leg, but he ignored it. Astoundingly, he was probably in better shape than Nathan was at the moment.

That fact was confirmed when he got back inside. He helped Nathan slowly off the floor. Once he was standing, Nathan swayed slightly, said, "Oh, crap," and beelined for the kitchen sink. He retched several times and then stood for a moment, gripping the counter with white knuckles.

"What were you saying about a concussion?" he said, breathing heavier than normal.

"Yeah, okay, I think you need a hospital," Sam said, grabbing Nathan's shoulders. "To the car we go."

"To the car, sure, but not the hospital," Nathan argued. "What are they going to do, tell me I have a concussion? We know that already. Let's just...head to a motel or something. Lay low until we can fly home." Sam sighed.

"Fine, okay. Ready? Walk slow." Nathan nodded several times.

"Slowly. Got it. Won't be hard." He threw an arm over Sam's shoulder and they made their way out to the van, with Sam supporting him significantly. Nathan insisted that he wasn't hurt otherwise, he was just very unsteady, and Sam believed him.

In the car, Sam looked up places to stay on his phone and found a motel across town that looked sketchy, but not too sketchy for two jetlagged and injured middle-aged men.

The drive took slightly longer than Sam expected, even after he took into account the fact that he couldn't go over forty for fear of the van falling apart. Almost as soon as he started driving, the motion nearly made Nathan sick again. In the end, Nathan tilted his seat all the way back, closed his eyes, and clenched his mouth shut while Sam drove as carefully as possible.

He waited in the car while Sam checked them into the motel and got the room keys. When he came back to the car, they hobbled to the room together and Nathan collapsed on one of the beds.

"Better not have bed bugs," he said, stretching out on his back with his eyes shut.

"Too late for that," Sam grinned. "Hey, I'm going across the road to a convenience store. I'll get us a bunch of food and stuff. Any requests?"

"Sprite."

"I'll see what I can do. Don't die while I'm gone," he said pointedly.

"Ha, ha. I won't. Made it this far, Drake," Nathan said, resting one hand over his eyes.

"Barely, little brother."

"Either way. Be safe, don't get drunk, and be home before midnight or you're grounded." Sam rolled his eyes but he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Very funny, Nathan. How do you come up with that even when your brain is literally jell-o? I'll be back in ten."

When Sam got back, Nathan was fast asleep. Sam ate a bag of chips, laid down on the other bed, and fell asleep in seconds.

Neither of them stirred until around dinner time. When they did eventually wake up, Nathan was starving but not feeling much better. After a brief discussion, they attributed that to how long they had gone without eating. He snacked a bit and drank a bottle of a fizzy soda, which unfortunately was not actually Sprite, and he started to perk up.

"So, do we actually know who the hell those guys were?" Nathan asked.

"Not really but kind of?" Sam said. "The one who blew us up gave us a name and said they were after me, specifically. And you knew the name."

"What was it?" Nathan asked, his eyes brightening. "I can't remember. I honestly don't remember anything after when we got into the house with him."

"I'm not surprised. Yeah, he literally just said they were after me, but I don't know why. And whoever is behind it was just paying them. He said it's someone named Charles Marlowe."

"Wait, I do know it," Nathan said. "I knew a Marlowe, but I don't know a Charles Marlowe."

"Who do you know?" Sam leaned forward; his curiosity piqued.

"Well, I don't anymore," Nathan said. "Does the name Katherine Marlowe ring any bells? I've mentioned her but it's been years."

"I don't know it off the top of my head. Old flame of yours?" Sam said, smirking.

"Hardly. Although, when I met her, she was an old flame of Sully's," Nathan grinned.

"Holy shit, really?"

"Yep." Nathan nodded once. "Anyways, I met her in Cartagena as a kid. She and I were both after the ring. I got it. Sully betrayed her to help me. Fast forward twenty years, and she and her secret organization tried to buy the ring from me, it turned into this whole thing and that's how she and I both found Iram of the Pillars, right? And Katherine Marlowe died when the city went down the sinkhole."

"So, who's this guy? You think he's related?" Sam asked.

"I have no idea, but I bet he is." Nathan relaxed back onto the bed, leaning on one elbow.

"Yeah...you said something about a secret organization?"

"She was the head of this thing called the Order," Nathan explained. "Huge spy network and treasure hunting operation based out London. I thought we took it down when Marlowe and her right-hand man Talbot both died in Yemen."

"All right then. I say we get back to your place and start to unravel this thing."

"Good idea. Oh my God, Elena." Nathan shot straight up. "They don't know, do they?"

"I haven't called," Sam said.

"Crap. Okay. I'll give her a call and she can get us tickets back to the States." He fumbled for a moment trying to pull his phone out of his jacket pocket, called Elena, and put her on speaker.

"Hey, honey," he said, trying to sound more upbeat.

"Hey, how's your trip so far?" Elena asked.

"About that." Nathan's face scrunched as he searched for the right words. "We ran into some trouble. Can you get online and get us two tickets back to Florida? Preferably flights leaving in the morning."

"Yeah, I can...why, is everything all right?"

"I mean, yes, we're both still breathing, and everything will be okay."

"Nate, dear God, stop being cryptic." Elena said. They could hear a keyboard clicking.

"Sorry, sorry. We, uh, well. Someone showed up to Sam's house while we were there. We took down like four guys, got his kitchen blown up, and now we're sitting in an absolute dump of a motel until we can get on a plane." Nathan laughed as he finished, as if he could convince her that it was nothing; all just a humorous misunderstanding. It didn't work.

"Oh my God, Nate, are you okay?" she asked. He could hear the alarm in her voice.

"Technically speaking, yes. Sam's fine, I think. You good?" he asked, looking up at Sam now.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit sore," Sam said loudly. "Hi, Elena."

"Hey, Sam. Nate? What about you?"

"Nothing broken or anything," Nate said. "But I got a hell of a concussion. And yeah, just generally beat up. I need a new shirt." He glanced down; the one he was wearing was torn and dirty, and bloody from several scrapes he'd acquired in the explosion.

"You really can't keep yourself out of trouble," Elena said. "Okay boys, you have two seats on a flight tomorrow. I'll text Nate the tickets."

"Thank you so much, hon. I'll see you tomorrow," Nathan said.

"Stay safe, Nate. Come home to me." He smiled as though she could see him.

"I always do."

**********