Perpetually shrouded in shades of fading twilight, the I.C.U. was a place haunted by nurses who came and went about their duties on almost perfectly silent feet. In the dead of night without even grieving, frightened families about Sable found it a little unnerving as she stood waiting for a nurse to take her to see Blake. She’d never liked hospitals. They were cold, alien places that always smelled strongly of disinfectant and faintly of death. That thought still running through her head, she wrapped her arms a little more tightly around herself, rubbing her upper arms as a shiver of cold ran over her skin.

"Mrs. Colby?"

Sable jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder, then swung around to find a nurse clad in surgical scrubs staring worriedly at her.

"Mrs. Colby?" the nurse repeated.

"I’m sorry," Sable whispered, one hand resting lightly on her chest where she could feel the overfast thrum of her heart. "You startled me."

"My apologies," the nurse said quickly, then continued, "I can take you to see Mr. Carrington now."

"Thank you," Sable exhaled as she followed the nurse through the honeycomb of glass walled Intensive Care cubicals, the muted lighting and soft sounds of medical equipment surrounding her on all sides. Finally, the nurse led her into the last cubicle on the left and waved her in. Stepping past the threshold, the soft beep and whine of various monitors reached Sable’s ears as she squinted against the dim, greenish hued illumination cast by a combination of low lights and monitor screens.

And at the center of it all lay Blake Carrington, perfectly still, wires and tubes seemingly attached to every available patch of flesh, his chest swathed in stark white bandages. But he was alive, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that was comforting in its steadiness.

Sable flashed a quick look back at the nurse who offered a reassuring smile. "Just a few minutes," the woman reminded her, then stepped back, letting the glass door slide closed, giving them a tiny modicum of privacy.

"Oh, Blake," Sable exhaled, shaken once again to see him like this. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this." Brushing her knuckles lightly along the line of his brow, she was relieved to feel his skin was warm, the faint beat of his pulse at the temple a comforting reminder of life. "But you’re going to be all right." Trailing her fingertips from his jaw along the line of his throat and shoulder and down his arm, she whispered, "You have to be...we all have to be." She ran her thumb along the corded length of his hand, then nearly screamed as his hand twisted under hers and clamped down with punishing strength. "Blake?" she gasped in shock as dark eyes snapped open.

"Krystle?" he croaked, then shook his head as he struggled to throw off the haze of drugs. "No...Sable."

Ignoring the pain of his grip on her fingers, Sable leaned close. "You’re going to be all right, Blake." She brushed the fingers of her other hand along his brow, smoothing silver hair back from his forehead. "But you need to—"

"Krystina..." he ground out as he stared up at Sable through eyes glazed by painkillers, his jaw gritted with the effort required to remain conscious. "...Fallon?" he demanded, his voice little more than a low groan.

Amazed to find him conscious when the doctors had predicted it would be hours before he stirred and faced with an impossible question, Sable momentarily froze. She patted his hand to gain time. "Don't worry. Everything’s going to be fine."

Even drugged nearly insensate, Blake didn't miss the brief pause in her response or the exhausted worry in her eyes. "Have they found them?" he rasped, desperation making his voice stronger than it should have been. "Handler said they were in the tunnels under the house."

Not knowing how to answer without lying, Sable simply ignored the question in favor of fussing over him. "Blake, you were seriously wounded. You need to rest."

He tightened his grip until she flinched. "My children." This time it wasn’t a question, it was a command.

She froze, the pain radiating outward from his harsh grip the last thing on her mind as she tried to come up with an answer that would satisfy him, not be an outright lie, and still follow the doctor’s instructions. Nothing came to mind and her next instinct was to simply lie, but the words wouldn't come as she faced the knowing look directed her way.

"The truth," Blake rasped, correctly reading her hesitation as an indication that something was very wrong.

"They’ll be fine," she whispered after a long beat, agonizingly aware that she was admitting they were still missing as the words left her mouth. But if it were her children, she'd want the truth, not a kind platitude, and it felt all wrong to even consider doing less for Blake. "You have to believe that." She couldn’t contain a flinch as he paled and his eyes slid closed. God, she should have just kept her mouth shut. He wasn't ready for this. She felt a tremor move through the hand clinging so tightly to hers, and somehow turned her palm in his harsh grip, holding on just as tightly. "They'll find them," she said even more firmly.

"I have to---" he rasped and started to push up on his elbows, his desperation to aid his children pushing him to superhuman lengths.

"No," Sable said sharply as she rested her other hand on Blake's chest with just enough force to keep him right where he was. "You have to stay here." She leaned closer, her tone serious. "Blake, you were badly wounded...and getting yourself killed won't do Fallon or Krystina any good."

"I-I have to find them," he croaked, the words coming with uneven pauses between them. Dark eyes momentarily fluttered closed before jerking open again as he fought the encroaching threat of unconsciousness. "I promised Krystle I'd take care of Krystina---"

"And you will," Sable assured him without removing the light pressure on his chest. "But right now, the best thing you can do for her is stay right where you are...and heal."

"But---"

"Blake, you can barely move," she laid out in a flat tone. "Even if you could get to the house, you'd only be in the way."

His strength already flagging, Blake sank back into the mattress in spite of his determination to get to his children. She was right, he knew, but it felt like he was failing Krystle as well as his children.

Her heart breaking at the sight of his pain, Sable just wanted to offer some kind of comfort, but there was nothing she could say that would erase his fears. "They'll be all right," she breathed intently. He squeezed her hand so tightly it sent runners of pain up her arm, but she ignored any discomfort. It was nothing next to what he was going through. Lifting her hand from his chest, she stroked his temple very lightly. "They have to be."

His eyelids fluttered as the drugs in his system started to take command once again, but Blake Carrington had never been a man to surrender to fate that easily. "I want you to go there...make sure..." he coughed, briefly fighting for breath before he tried again, "make sure they're okay."

Sable shook her head. "Jeff and the others are there...and I promised I'd stay with you."

Fighting the encroaching darkness with fierce determination, he shook his head. "Want you there," he groaned, "...for Krystina." His eyes slid closed, but he held onto her hand with desperate strength. "She'll be so scared...without Krystle or I...and she trusts you...."

"Blake---"

"Promise me," he demanded, struggling to exert his will even though he'd been at the edge of death scant hours before. When she didn't immediately answer, the muscles across his chest and shoulders pulled taut as he made as if to sit up.

"All right," Sable said instantly and dropped her hand back to his chest, careful to keep it well above the edge of the bandages. "I'll go," she assured him, then reached up to pet his cheek lightly as he sank back down into the mattress. "But you have to make me a promise in return...that you'll stay in bed, do what the doctors tell you...and get better."

Blake managed an unsteady nod and squeezed her hand again. "Take care of my daughters," he pleaded between gasps, his body rapidly failing him.

"Like they were my own," Sable promised even as he slid back into unconsciousness.

His hand went limp where it was wrapped around hers and dropped the short distance back to the mattress.

Dashing a few tears from her eyes, Sable stroked his cheek tenderly. "Like they were my very own," she promised again even though she knew he couldn't hear her now. She was just straightening when she heard the sound of the door opening and looked up to the see the surgeon who'd headed the team in the operating room.

His eyes were shadowed and he flashed a quick look at his patient. "I’m afraid you’ll need to leave now," he murmured.

Ducking her head, Sable nodded her understanding, vaguely ashamed that she hadn’t followed orders, but in no hurry to admit the sin lest she be banished from any future visits. She waved a hand to indicate Blake. "He was awake for a moment," she whispered, afraid that the doctor might need to know for some reason.

"That’s not too unusual," the surgeon said as he stepped closer to the bed and began checking his patient’s vitals. "He’ll probably be in and out of it for awhile." He glanced at Sable, turning on an encouraging smile when he saw how pale she was. "Take it easy on yourself," he advised. "He came through the surgery like a trooper, but getting him back on his feet is going to take time. You won’t do him any good by beating yourself into the ground."

Sable didn’t directly answer, simply whispered, "Take care of him."

"Like he was a member of my own family," the doctor assured her, unknowingly echoing Sable’s words to Blake.

Reminded of her promise, she offered a wan smile of gratitude. "Do you have any idea when he might have visitors again?" she asked.

His attention returning to his patient, the doctor shrugged. "It'll be hours yet...maybe in the morning," he answered, clearly reticent to say anything more definitive than that. "And even then, only for a few minutes every other hour."

Absorbing the news, Sable nodded, her gaze floating back to the man in the bed. "I guess it would be okay if I left for a little while then," she whispered, hesitant to leave, yet feeling like she’d taken a solemn vow.

The doctor looked up, suddenly understanding. It was often hard for families to leave for even a moment when a loved one was in bad shape, no matter how logical it was that they take care of themselves. "Go on," he encouraged. "Get some rest, a hot meal, a shower...take care of yourself. We’ll look after him."

"I guess that would be all right then," Sable exhaled.

"And try not worry," the doctor advised as he peered down at the older man, noting his pallor, then glanced at the various monitors showing his vital signs. "He got hit hard...but he’s holding on and from everything I've heard, Blake Carrington is one tough bastard." The last was said with a distinct note of admiration.

"He is that," Sable agreed, her voice rising faintly at the end, the question implicit this time. "Doctor?" she whispered when he still hadn't spoken a moment later.

"Now we just do this hour by hour," the doctor said. Seeing the way she paled, he reached out, offering some small measure of comfort. "His vitals are better than I'd hoped, and he's got a hell of a lot to live for." Then he nodded, wordlessly shooing her out.

Flashing a last look over her shoulder at Blake, Sable just barely whispered, "We'll find them, I promise." And the she slipped out, silently closing the door in her wake.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For awhile after she gave up crying and trying to get Fallon to respond, Krystina simply lay silent, hoping the bad man wouldn’t find her. She’d never liked the dark, but in the past her mommy or daddy had always been there to chase away the monsters and reassure her that the world was a safe place. They’d made certain she knew that they’d never let the bad things get her.

Only now her mommy was a long ways away and maybe she’d never see her again, and her daddy wasn’t there to save her. Fallon would have if she could have, but Krystina wasn’t even sure she was still alive even though she was a little hazy about exactly what death meant. On TV, it usually just meant that somebody moved to some other show, but she didn’t think real life was like that. Besides, if Fallon was alive, she was hurt really bad and that meant that Krystina was on her own, that she had to be strong to save herself and Fallon too.

She had to be strong. She whispered that mantra over and over again in her head, then finally aloud, though she kept her voice very small just in case the bad man was somewhere near and listening for her to make a mistake. Her mommy had always told her she was strong, so she could do this.

Rolling onto her back, she carefully began tracing the rough edges of the rock walls around her, finding the scooped out hollow of granite above her head, then following it until she reached a narrow crack just barely wide enough for her hand to slide through. She remembered Fallon shoving her under the protection of an outcropping of rock, and realized that another stone had fallen, hitting her sister and sealing them both in.

It was hopeless, Krystina realized with a silent sob. She couldn’t save them. They were trapped.

No!

Krystina could almost hear her mother’s voice encouraging her to fight.

Her mommy and daddy both would be disappointed if she just gave up and sat crying like a little baby, she told herself. And besides, Fallon needed her. Teeth gritted, she pushed the terror down and curled delicate fingers into the rough edged rocks at the lip of the ceiling over her head. Her fingers were quickly cut, her nails torn to the quick and bleeding, but as she clawed at uneven stone, she managed to break away bits dirt and gravel, slowly widening the slender gap in the rocks that was her only hope of escape.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As he watched a worker move another wheelbarrow of rocks and earth aside, Jeff had to fight the urge to scream. Even with every possible person they could come up with digging in search of Fallon and Krystina, it was going too slow since every ounce of rock and dirt had to be moved with human muscle because anything more powerful was likely to bring the rest of the underground ceiling down and kill his ex wife and her sister.

Assuming they were even still alive.

Something that was growing less and less likely with every second that ticked by. Maybe they were bleeding to death, or maybe so badly injured that organs were giving out, or perhaps there simply wasn’t enough oxygen. The nightmare scenarios refused to stay out of his head, each successive one more horrifying than the last, and each and every one tormenting him with what was, what might have been, and what he suddenly feared would never be again.

He’d always assumed, he suddenly realized, that he and Fallon had a future together. In spite of divorces, other romances, and poor timing, they had a child, a history, and they’d been so damned in love once upon a time. It didn’t seem possible that something like that could just end forever.

Not as long as they were both alive.

"She’s gonna be all right," Zorelli muttered, his voice low and scared. He was trying to convince himself as much as Jeff. "She has to be," he added with heartfelt intensity.

Jeff turned an angry glare on the detective, suddenly resenting him with unexpected ferocity. "No thanks to you if she is." If only he’d left well enough alone, none of them would be in the current predicament. Zorelli’s need to press for answers to long dead questions had started all of this.

Zorelli turned a surprised look toward the other man. "Look, this isn’t my fault—"

"Isn’t it?" Jeff snapped, his already frayed temper ready to snap. He needed a target for some of the free-floating rage and frustration, and the detective had a convenient bullseye painted on his chest because of the way he’d pursued the criminal case against Blake while sleeping with Fallon. "She’s down there because you just had to try to get Blake Carrington so you could add another notch to your gun—"

"Bullshit," Zorelli shot back furiously. "Fallon was the one who—"

"You pushed her, wanted her to betray her own father...and now they may be both dead."

Nearly as exhausted and battered as Jeff and with his own list of guilts to deal with, Zorelli was in no more control of his temper. In fact he would have liked nothing better than to knock the self righteous wind out of his lover’s ex husband. "I did everything in my power to protect her," he snarled.

"Not enough." Suddenly they were toe to toe and glaring at each other. "Christ, if she’d just stayed the hell away from you, none of this would have happened."

"Like hell. If Blake had just told her the truth—"

"You son of a bitch," Jeff ground out, enraged that the detective was trying to blame his former father-in-law when the older man had already taken a bullet trying to protect his daughters. He shoved the smaller man back. "Blake was trying to protect Fallon. Only that wasn’t good enough for you."

"She had a right to know the truth," Zorelli shot back as he did some shoving of his own, "and besides, it wasn’t Fallon he was protecting, it was that stolen collection."

"Bastard," Jeff snarled, and then they were both shoving and shouting insults, careless of the men watching open mouthed and too shocked to stop what was on the verge of turning into a real fistfight.

"Lovely." Sharp, ice cold with disapproval, each syllable pronounced with razor edged precision, the single, sarcastically said word froze both men in place, giving the speaker just enough time to add, "Fallon and Krystina missing and the two you are fighting like a couple of grade school bullies. Pity there’s no woodshed on the property, but then Blake’s hardly in any shape to drag the two of you behind it the way you deserve."

Jeff’s head tipped up, a guilty flush sliding over his skin as he faced his aunt’s disapproving glare. Becoming aware of their shocked audience, he carefully disengaged his hands from Zorelli’s shirtfront and dropped them to his sides. "I-I just..." he stammered self consciously, uncertain where everything had gone wrong.

One neatly sculpted eyebrow climbed higher on Sable’s forehead, but she didn’t say a word, leaving the two men to flounder.

"It was just a stupid argument that got out of hand," Zorelli managed at last, his head down, his tone deferential. He had no idea who the newcomer was, but it was obvious simply by her attitude and Jeff’s response that she had clout. Besides, she used the "mom-voice" and he’d never been immune to that particular weapon.

The rage knocked out of him, Jeff wavered on his feet, nearly overcome by a wave of guilt. "It was just stupid."

"Clearly," Sable agreed icily.

Zorelli glanced back and forth between the two of them a time or two before deciding it was time for a quick retreat. Pivoting, he nodded to the watching workmen. "This is no time to slow down just because somebody acts like a jackass," he said mockingly as he went to get things moving again.

Jeff cast a longing glance over his shoulder, wishing he could join the other man and avoid the disapproving glare directed his way. Then an ugly thought struck him. "Blake?" he muttered by way of question as he lunged up several of the rock stairs still separating them.

Despite any temptation to let him suffer, Sable held up a hand. "He’s fine," she said sharply, only to shake her head as it struck her just how absurd that description was considering his condition. "Or at least he’s as well as can be expected," she sighed, her shoulders deflating as she remembered the sight of the older man in the ICU, so weak he couldn’t even sit up. "He’s out of surgery...came through it very well according to the doctor."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Jeff ignored the tremors moving through his legs as he climbed another couple of stairs, until his head was at roughly the same height as his aunt’s. "I don’t understand," he admitted, "then why are you here?"

Sable watched the workmen excavating the fallen in portion of the cavern, unable to take her eyes from what seemed like a painstakingly slow process. "He was awake for a moment," she whispered. "He made me promise I’d be here...for Krystina if---when..." she corrected herself sharply only to trail off as her voice caught painfully. "He was afraid she’d be frightened since he can’t...be here..." she added a moment later when she’d gotten herself under some semblance of control, though her voice cracked and dark eyes glittered with the threat of tears.

"You told him?" he demanded, ready to go nuclear if she’d done something so unthinking.

Piercing black eyes turned Jeff’s way. "He already knew," Sable whispered. It wasn’t precisely the whole truth, but it was close enough. "I promised him," she added after a beat, her voice threatening to crack. "He was so...so desperate...and there was nothing more I could do at the hospital. He’s in the best of hands...and can’t have any more visitors till morning at the soonest..." she trailed off, then finally whispered, "I just felt so helpless...and I thought...thought maybe I could help somehow."

"I wish you could," Jeff exhaled. For once he had no urge to hurl any insults or cast aspersions. Whatever her sins, he didn’t doubt her sincerity this time.

"Please tell me you’ve found something," she begged after a moment of shared silence.

Jeff shook his head. "Nothing," he admitted. He glanced over his shoulder at the work crew. "They’ve got everything they use to listen for buried miners, but...they haven’t heard anything." He heard his aunt’s soft gasp. Another time he might have accused her of some kind of theatricality, but not now. "Look," he said after a beat, "I should probably get back down there."

"Of course," Sable agreed, then reached out, laying a light hand on his shoulder, offering what little comfort she could. "I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye," she said so softly he had to strain to hear her, "but I hope you know my prayers are with Fallon and Krystina...and that I’ll do anything I can to help."

He nodded. "I know," he admitted, his own voice painfully tight.

"And on that note," she said, purposely shifting focus, "has anyone arranged for food for the workmen?" She flashed a glance at the men on the floor below. "Working like this, they’ll need something to keep them going...and somewhere to rest between shifts."

"Monica’s upstairs taking care of that."

"What about calling in extra security? The press is already starting to gather outside the gates. I had a hell of a time getting past them. If this goes very long, they’ll be climbing the walls to get the story."

"Damn, I didn’t think to—"

"I’ll take care of it," Sable assured him as she patted his arm. Noting his pallor with a worried look, she carefully suggested, "Perhaps you should take a few minutes and get something to eat."

Shrugging away from her touch, he shook his head vehemently. "I need to be here."

Understanding too well, Sable didn’t argue as he turned away and headed back downstairs, just stood and watched for a long moment before she turned and trudged back up the way she’d come. It was going to be a long night, and while there was nothing she could do to help in the search, she could at least help make certain the workers were taken care of and the press kept as far back as possible.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Outside the gates of the Carrington mansion, the herd of reporters and news vans was steadily growing while perfectly groomed men and women offered serious looks and grim overviews of a situation about which they knew remarkably little under the glare of a dozen artificial suns. Just another day in Denver more than a few were wont to point out. Denver Carrington and the Carrington clan had provided plenty of news fodder, and no one wanted to miss the potential for some first class sleaze and great ratings.

Involved in their own quests for Emmy immortality, none of the production crews noted the lone man who moved among them. Neater than the roughnecks who’d come to dig, but still far harder edged than the primped and preened reporters, he walked on light feet, edging closer to the high walls that bounded the property near the road, silently tracking everything that moved—including the contingent of security guards that arrived to bolster the original men on duty. He watched as they fanned out, spreading to cover the area quickly and efficiently, two with dogs—big German shepherds that looked like they could take a chunk out of a man for fun. Keeping track of both men and dogs, he eased back into the crowd and away from the walls, slipping into an unnoticed patch of darkness well away from the lights to dig a cell phone out of a jacket pocket. He dialed the number from memory.

"Yes?" His employer picked up almost immediately, her voice smooth and cultured, her English almost perfect with only the faintest trace of an accent that he had never quite managed to pin down. It was definitely European, or at least he thought it was, but he’d never really been totally certain which country or language might be her native one. Then again, it hardly mattered. Her checks never bounced and that was what he really cared about. Anything else was just idle curiosity.

He looked back toward the ever-increasing pool of lights. The place was becoming a regular Grand Central Station. "Are you aware of the situation at the Carrington mansion?" he questioned. She didn’t like to have her time wasted. He’d only piss her if he spent time repeating what she already knew.

"Unfortunately," she confirmed, muttering something that might have been a curse under her breath before she added, "Mr. Handler has actually proven to be even more incompetent than I feared. Pity he didn’t survive his mistake in judgment."

"What do you want me to do?" He didn’t acknowledge the last comment by his employer, smart enough to know it wasn’t an expression of sympathy, but merely disappointment at not getting to personally punish the detective for his failure.

"As there are several tons of rubble in the way and my man on the inside isn’t going to be doing me anymore good...for the moment...nothing," she murmured thoughtfully, then fell silent for a long moment before adding, "But keep watch.... Opportunities have a way of presenting themselves to those who are alert to the possibilities."

Not being a total idiot, but also not an especially original thinker, he wasn’t entirely certain what she might be referring to. "You have anything specific in mind?"

She laughed softly. "Perhaps," she admitted surprisingly cheerfully, then abruptly shifted gears, "but that’s for me to worry about. You just keep your eyes on the Carringtons...not to mention the comings and goings at that lovely mansion of theirs. I want regular reports."

"All right," he agreed, ignoring a shiver of unease that made its way down his spine at her cheerful spite. He’d never really committed any serious crimes in her employ, but sometimes he wondered how many he’d unknowingly contributed to in the quest for the easy money she offered. Still ignoring the warning klaxons, he purposely changed the subject. "Anything else? You want me to ask around...see if I can find a little dirt that maybe could be used for some blackmail?" He was good at that sort of thing and comfortable with the idea. "Might be able to make ‘em give it up gladly." In a different life, he’d spied on cheating spouses for cheated spouses. The pay hadn’t been nearly as good, but he still missed the work. It was straightforward, easy, and had a certain righteous quality to it. Besides, most of the Carrington women weren’t half bad looking. A few illicit pictures of them doing the nasty could keep his fantasy life busy for months and do all sorts of good helping him forget what he might just be a part of.

"I think we can find somewhat less crude means," she assured him through a soft chuckle, managing to sound both disapproving and faintly titillated at the same time. In some women the hint of shame and hidden sensuality would have been a turn on. In her it was just intimidating as hell. "But you leave that to me. I’m just paying you to watch and report back."

He didn’t repeat the suggestion, just muttered, "Okay then...you want ‘em emailed the way I’ve been doing?"

"Exactly like you’ve been doing," she drawled, "but I think every other day now rather than twice a week. She hung up without giving him a chance to say a word.

Remembering his unease, he glared at the phone for a moment, then shoved it back into the inner breast pocket of his jack and moved back toward the bright lights, intent on milling and learning anything he could.