The sharp, fiery pain that erupted between his shoulder blades caught Killian by surprise and almost – almost – had him gasping in pain. Quickly, he bit back the instinctual response and sucked air in through his nose to quell the instinct to flee. Outwardly, it looked as if he barely reacted to the blow, absorbing the force and immediately sitting up straight again as if it were nothing. A muscle in his cheek twitched due to his clenched jaw, but otherwise, there was no movement. Killian may have wanted nothing more than to curl away from the pain, but that didn't matter. His body may have been telling him to get up from his chair and pace until the sharp sting of half-healed wounds faded back to a dull roar, but he fought the urge. He may have wanted nothing more than to rail at the man who had caused him to hurt in the first place, but that man was far away and rotting in prison by now. It had been a very long time since he'd been so undisciplined as to let such signs of weakness show when he was at the office.

Even to Liam.

Especially to Liam.

Killian continued to stare straight ahead and waited patiently.

"Cheers, little brother. Another one in the books." Captain Liam Jones surreptitiously left his hand where it had landed when he'd slapped his brother's back in congratulations at another successful mission. The medical report in Liam's hand informed him that there were no major issues and his little brother - the bruised and battered lieutenant commander sitting in front of him - could be cleared for full duty as early as next week. But his brother had fooled their medics before. Killian may think he was an expert at masking himself, and maybe he was, to someone who didn't know him so well – to someone who hadn't practically raised him – but the minute tremors that wracked the younger man's frame painted a clear picture. His brother was hurting, maybe even seriously injured, and was trying desperately to hide it from Liam. When Killian didn't bite out a pithy "younger brother" half under his breath while glaring, Liam paused in carefully concealed alarm. Just how badly had his brother managed to hurt himself this time?

Not for the first time Liam wondered if he had, in fact, trained his brother too well in their chosen trade. He was positive that it hadn't been all that long ago that Killian was just a scrawny, scabby-kneed youth who couldn't fall asleep without leaving the light on in their closet all night. Liam had always taken his big brother responsibilities seriously – from the day he had first cradled his infant brother against his chest with wide eyes and shaking hands – and Killian as a child had jumped willingly into the role of little brother. It had worked for both of them, then. But then Liam had blinked and that child had grown into a man who could be hiding anything from open wounds to broken bones to internal injuries. In the past, it had been a combination of all three at once that Liam had to turn a blind eye to in order to ensure the success of the mission. There was a fine line between protective older brother and demanding commanding officer, and it wasn't a line that Liam ever enjoyed toeing.

Sighing, Liam left his brother's side and paced around his desk so that he could sit and face his subordinate, the change in position subconsciously changing their roles from familial to professional. Truly open concern for whatever injuries Killian was hiding would have to wait until they were home and he could properly force rest, a shower, food, and first aid on his brother. And probably in that order if the younger man had anything to say about it.

They had both inherited the Jones' family stubbornness, but Killian, it seemed, had developed it in spades. It was an unwavering resolve that had kept him alive in the past, long after another operative would have given in and been lost. In one harrowing mission gone FUBAR, Killian's tenacity had kept him alive long after even Liam had broken down and started to make funeral arrangements. It was, unfortunately, a part of his character that Liam had never been able to teach Killian how to shut down completely.

Even now, in the safety of their headquarters, even under his older brother's watchful eye, Killian was always hyper-aware of his surroundings, waiting for the next ambush. Waiting to spring into action and defend himself and his brother if the need arose.

Liam sorely missed the days when he was the one who carried that burden for the both of them.

"The mission was a success, Captain. There were a few problems with…" Liam cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. He knew that Killian clung strictly to protocol whenever he returned from the field, that he wore it like a shield, and most days Liam would even let him. Days like this, however, he wasn't willing to torture his little brother just to keep up appearances. If Killian were feeling better, Liam knew that he would have been called out on playing favorites, but there had to be some perks to being the captain's brother. Liam would force Killian to accept them whenever and wherever he could get away with it.

"I can read your report as well as anyone, Commander. That's not why I called you in here." The implied 'and you know it ' went unsaid as Liam carefully tried to conceal the concern that wanted to paint itself across his face. Killian would neither welcome it here, nor would he react well to being 'mollycoddled' like some wet-behind-the-ears recruit.

Their definition of the term differed somewhat.

"I'm fine, Liam." That response was expected as was the terse tone in which it was delivered, but the statement was a bald-faced lie and tugged at the brother Liam was trying valiantly to avoid being at the moment – for Killian's sake.

"Would you call an ambulance, drag me to the hospital, or take me home?" The only way to get through to Killian when he was like this, Liam had found, was to turn the situation on its head. Killian was just as overprotective of him, and far more willing to allow his captain to be human.

There was a tense moment as Killian silently catalogued his injuries and examined them clinically. It took an exorbitant amount of time and it seemed he would never answer. Liam held his breath.

"Home. Maybe a hospital tomorrow if something changes." He looked up and met Liam's eyes for the first time since he'd entered the office. The façade dropped a little as he all but pleaded. "Please, Liam. Home."

Liam smiled grimly and contemplated the man before him. He let Killian squirm just long enough to let him know he was making his own decision before nodding.

"Aye. Let's get you home."

When Killian had been young, he had learned the hard way – several times over – that winning the fight didn't always mean you came away without injuries of your own. Black eyes and bloody noses were an all too common sight on his face as he stalwartly defended his family's honor on playgrounds and rugby pitches during his primary school years. He'd broken or dislocated a number of his fingers on other boys' jaws and suffered through his fair share of bruised ribs and bruised pride until he'd learned how to win at the scraps he got himself into. It had only been after he'd gotten into a serious row with another boy over an insult to his mother that had landed them both in Accident and Emergency that Liam had finally bowed to the inevitable and started to teach him how to land more hits than he endured.

The trick, he had learned from Liam and his own hard knocks, was to make it so the other person in the fight didn't want to hit you again. The faster you could do that, the less likely you were to end up nursing your own hurts at the end of the day. You didn't necessarily win a fight when the other guy was down on the ground and bleeding, but Killian had learned early on that it certainly helped.

The lessons had stuck as he had aged and had followed his brother out of adolescence and into their chosen professions. Killian had swiftly followed Liam to the Naval College at Dartmouth before putting in his time and being accepted into the Special Boat Service. Liam, on the other hand, had happily served the early years of his career on one ship or another until being approached by MI-6 to act as somewhat of a liaison, being called on to serve wherever he was needed while still retaining his commission. Not the safest or the most glamourous of career paths, the two had risen quickly through the ranks in the Royal Navy before an incident on Killian's last deployment saw them taking off for greener pastures in the States with honorable discharges.

Unwilling to fully leave the life behind, but desperate to make their own way, the brothers created their current firm with more than a fair share of close calls and nightmare assignments. Where Liam had taken to command with a sense of relief at being out of the field, Killian had thrived on the danger and the tactical approach to their combined success. He couldn't imagine being stuck in an office every single day. The Brothers Jones were well known within the community as a near guarantee. It was said that their success was almost like magic. That success rate, however, always came with a price.

Regretfully, that price usually came out of Killian's hide.

This assignment had been no different. He hadn't been lying to Liam when he'd reported in that the mission was complete, but that wasn't to say that he had been entirely forthcoming with his injuries. He knew Liam worried constantly – it had been no different for him when his older brother had been in the field as well – but he was upright, walking under his own power, and no one had needed to come and rescue him to ensure the mission went off without a hitch. Killian counted that as a mark in the win column. Now that he was off duty, however, all he wanted to do was get home to his bed and try and cobble the broken pieces of himself back together.

Preferably with minimal Mother Henning coming from a certain brother-slash-flatmate.

Some ice, painkillers, and enough pillows and blankets to sufficiently cocoon him from the outside world for a few hours, a day if he was lucky to sleep that long straight through, and he'd be able to push on to the next potential world crisis in waiting.

It took longer than he liked to get from Liam's office to the SUV, but he made it with enough energy left over to climb in and buckle his own seatbelt, thank you very much . If the entire ride home passed in between closing his eyes and blinking them open what seemed like seconds later, Killian wasn't going to mention it. He was simply impressed that Liam hadn't taken the opportunity his nap provided to steer them with utmost haste to the closest hospital instead of their brownstone.

The trouble started when he wanted his body to move out of the SUV. It seemed as though his muscles and his nervous system were giving each other the silent treatment and Killian wondered idly if the headache he was resolutely ignoring was of the concussion variety, if that was the way his thoughts were spiraling.

He wasn't quite sure how Liam had managed to get around the front of the SUV quite as quickly as he'd done so, and turned his head to look at the empty driver's seat incredulously before turning back to meet his brother's disapproving gaze. The smile he gave was meant to be reassuring. If the glare Liam graced him with was to believed, Killian didn't quite succeed in the attempt.

He had to bat Liam's hands away from trying to release his seatbelt for him, but once he managed to depress the button, Killian wasn't entirely sure that making his way up the steps and to his room was worth the effort. He'd been stationary for too long and his body had taken that as an unfortunate cue to shut itself down for the foreseeable future. The front bucket seat was comfortable enough for a few hours' sleep.

Or not.

Liam's resigned sigh was just barely enough incentive to get Killian moving again before he was manhandled out of the SUV. He managed to get his feet under him and lock his knees to gain his equilibrium before grudgingly accepting the subtle aid of Liam's steady hand under his elbow. Both brothers were fully aware that Killian wouldn't accept more help than that until they were safely behind the front door and away from potentially prying eyes. Even perceived weakness was a luxury he couldn't afford with all the enemies they had both made over the years.

In the end, Killian made it to the front door mostly unaided, and waited somewhat impatiently, somewhat distractedly, while Liam got the locks on the door open to allow them entrance. He could already imagine collapsing on his bed and letting the world just keep on revolving on its own for as long as patriotic duty to his new country would let him.

Liam missed the days when Killian would come running to him with a scraped elbow or a bruise that needed his older brother's touch to make it better. He would even – grudgingly – admit to missing the days when he'd been called down to the headmaster's office because no one was at home to come down and claim his little brother after he'd gotten into another fight. Hauling him home in those days meant Killian was cowed enough by Liam's glares that he obediently sat at the kitchen table or on the lip of the bathtub until he was sufficiently cleaned up. Killian would listen to his brother rant and rave with sullen acceptance, but he would at least accept the comfort that Liam was trying as best he knew how to provide.

Most times, the worst Killian had managed was bruises and cuts. Injuries that were too severe for their first aid kit to handle – anything more than broken fingers, really – were few and far between. The day that he'd had to walk home alone because they'd sent Killian to hospital was one of the worst days Liam could remember. They'd hadn't told him anything more than that, and it was all he could do not to imagine that the worst had happened.

It was after that day when Liam had decided that since his brother wasn't going to change on his own – the fighting likely wouldn't stop until Killian learned how to better direct his latent anger at their father abandoning the family – then the least he could do as a big brother was make sure that there were fewer trips to a doctor. The going was painfully slow at first as both of them figured out their roles, but Killian took to the informal training after school like a fish to water.

Sparring in the garden or in out of the way corners of the house had been good for both boys. Liam had learned how to teach and while there were days when the two butted heads, he had eventually fallen into a natural role as a leader. Killian had gradually figured out how to protect himself at least as much as he did damage, and the safer outlet for his frustrations eventually led to fewer fights during school.

There were a few things that hadn't changed in the years since primary school. Even if Killian no longer dogged Liam's footsteps quite so closely – he had made a name for himself after all – there had never been a time when they weren't working together in some capacity. There had never been a time when they lived separately – deployments notwithstanding – even if Killian insisted that the brownstone they currently called home was Liam's alone. There had never been a time when Killian didn't come to Liam first when he was injured – even if those injuries were now far more likely to require more help than he could give.

It had always been the Jones boys against the world. While the teenaged version of him hadn't thought it would end up quite so literal of a job description, Liam wouldn't have it any other way.

He reminded himself of that now as he watched Killian practically fall through the front door before righting himself against the wall inside their home to toe off his shoes one by one.

There was still a large part of Liam that wanted to wrap his brother in bubble wrap, ply him with food and painkillers, or – ideally – drag him to a hospital to have someone more qualified than himself or Killian decree that he was all right. Mostly, however, he had learned to quell the urge to baby his brother and they had reached a compromise for situations just like this. Liam knew Killian would be more or less honest with him when asked directly, and Killian knew Liam wouldn't force him to accept outside medical care unless it was absolutely necessary.

Liam fervently hoped today wouldn't be one of those days when he had to force the issue.

He watched with bated breath as his brother locked his knees and forced himself away from the wall. Killian took a deep breath of his own, grimaced as he inhaled too deeply and his ribs protested, and grinned cheekily at Liam.

"Don't, Killian," Liam warned, before Killian could offer him false reassurances. "Don't tell me that you're fine."

He glared for good measure before hitching Killian's arm over his shoulder and manhandling him down the hall. Liam ignored the not-so-subtle gasp as he concentrated on leading Killian up the stairs and to his bedroom. When his little brother - who was, admittedly, not so little anymore - was leaning securely against the wall outside his room, Liam took a good look at him before nodding and turning the doorknob. It looked like Killian would survive another day.

"Can I interest you in something to eat?" He knew the question was moot, Killian was already half-asleep on his feet, but it would be a cold day in Hell before Liam didn't ask what else he could do to help. Somehow, leaving his brother to his own devices still didn't seem to be quite the right thing to do. Even if it was what said brother inevitably always wanted nowadays.

"Not at the moment, no. I wouldn't say no to some rum, though. For medicinal purposes, of course," Killian responded with light sarcasm.

Liam allowed his face to morph into a matching, albeit forced, grin before he shook his head and planned to leave his brother alone.

Killian couldn't be too near death's door if he was cracking jokes.

It simply wasn't allowed.

"All right, but I'm waking you up in two hours." Liam pushed lightly on Killian's chest to stop his protests. "No arguments."

Killian, naturally, ignored that order and opened his mouth to protest.

Liam cut off whatever response he came up with. "You haven't proven to me that you don't have a concussion, little brother. I'm waking you up."

Said little brother rolled his eyes and muttered as he slunk into his room. "Never passed out. So Whale says that's rubbish."

Nodding his head in agreement, Liam moved to turn back to the stairs. "He has. Repeatedly. I'm still going to check on you in a little while."

Killian answered by shutting the door with a bang.

Safe behind his closed door, Killian finally allowed the exhaustion full reign over his body and he almost didn't make it to the bed. He appreciated what his brother was trying to do, God knew the man was fighting a losing battle most days trying to keep Killian's head attached to his shoulders. He knew that Liam was biting back a lot of his natural predilection towards taking charge of everything in order to allow Killian to flourish as his own person.

It didn't make it any easier when he was hurting and already at the end of his tether.

He grimaced at the distance between where he had all but collapsed against the door and where his bed was loudly calling to him. Taking a moment, Killian contemplated whether he should strip off his outer layers and risk toppling over while he stood somewhat propped up, or wait until he was sitting and more or less stable where wrestling his shirt and jeans off would be more of an effort.

Safety won over possibly sending his brother running back up the stairs to check on him, and Killian heaved himself heavily across the room with more effort than he anticipated. Gingerly, he dragged his shirt over his head and let it drop to the ground before deciding that his jeans would require more energy than he had left.

The dark bruises that wrapped around his ribs on the right side were a bit more progressed than he imagined, but there was no give to the bones when he prodded. The boot marks and the welts that must litter his back were superficial and more painful than worrying. He was reasonably sure – now that he had time to truly assess his headache and lack of other symptoms – that the earlier lapse in time was more due to exhaustion than a possible concussion, but he wouldn't rule it out completely.

Not that Liam would allow him too, regardless.

Killian dug through the night stand's drawer until he found a bottle of painkillers, crunched several between his teeth and washed the horrible taste down with lukewarm water of questionable age before he allowed himself to slump down on his pillows.

Stretching out on his stomach, Killian shoved his arms under his pillows and tensed every muscle in his body before relaxing into a boneless heap.

He was asleep before he realized that he hadn't burrowed under the blankets.

Liam indulged his brother's fierce independent streak for as long as he could stomach, letting the younger man sleep uninterrupted while he attempted to review the after-action reports from the other members of Killian's support team. He had read his brother's immediately, of course, but the auxiliary reports were slightly less imperative and often went on ad nauseam with more redundancy than Liam could stand. Unfortunately for his brotherly protective instincts, the captain could find no fault in any part of the mission, nor with any of its perpetrators.

The injuries that Liam wanted to prevent from ever happening again were simply par for the course, an unfortunate side-product of Killian's brand of field work.

Liam managed to work his way through the majority of the reports before his frustration got the better of him. He moved to throw something together for dinner, trying to come up with a meal that would go easy on Killian's stomach while still being palatable enough for himself. It had been a long few weeks since he had thrown his brother across the world on this mission in the first place, and the difference between defrosting leftovers from the last time Killian had been home and trying to put together what was likely the first real meal his brother had seen in weeks took enough of his concentration that he let more time go by than he'd originally intended.

Time to wake the bear, he supposed.

It was a testament to how deeply his brother was sleeping that Liam was able to push open the door without waking the man. Liam hoped that Killian slept this deeply at home because he knew he was safe here, but he was realistic enough to understand that the adrenaline drop probably contributed as well.

Killian let him sit on the side of his bed without waking, and Liam took the opportunity to inspect the various injuries he could see without a challenging glare being directed back at him. While everything looked painful, Killian had been correct at the office that nothing needed to be taken care of by an overnight stay at hospital.

It didn't stop Liam from wishing his brother wanted his injuries to be seen by Whale or someone else in the emergency room at Mass General with proper security clearance.

He had to count it as a win that Killian fell asleep without struggling into a clean shirt, knowing that his older brother would be barging his way into the bedroom at any time.

It was the little things.

Liam rested his hand between Killian's shoulder blades, noting absently that his brother's breaths were even and deep. He was about to gently shake Killian awake when he was surprised by slightly slurred words and one bleary eye meeting his own gaze.

"'M fine, Liam. Killian Jones. Lieutenant Commander at JR Solutions. Home. No bloody clue what day it is. I wouldn't anyway. Lea' me 'lone. Sleep now." Killian didn't make another sound as he allowed his eye to slip shut once more.

Satisfied that his brother hadn't suffered a serious concussion or worse, Liam reached for the ice pack he'd brought upstairs and laid it without warning on the worst of his brother's bruises. The shout that action garnered had the older brother ducking a haphazardly flailed fist and smirking. He kept a hand on the pack to make sure that it would stay and waited for Killian to settle again before releasing it.

"Vengeance, brother. Go 'way." It seemed full sentences were too overrated now that Killian was halfway back to sleep.

Liam smiled and reached across Killian to pull a discarded throw blanket from the foot of the bed and cover him to the shoulders. Grinning cheekily, he made a big show of tucking the fabric in tightly around his brother until an affronted growl erupted and sent him laughing and standing from the bed. It seemed that Killian really would be just fine.

"Dinner's almost ready, little brother. It'll keep for a while, though."

This time, Liam got the response he'd been impatiently waiting for since the man had stumbled back into his office.

"That's younger brother, you prat ."