Georgie's father said he was definitely not dying, and Georgie had never in his life known his father to tell a falsehood. On the other hand, he had seen his father be wrong. And Michael looked ghastly, especially now that Georgie had a chance to really look at his father instead of simply being happy to see him at all from under a bench and was no longer crawling in a chimney with him.

Chimneys were not comfortable places to climb, and if Georgie had been alone he would never even have thought to try. It would be as inconceivable as trying to burrow through the wall for his escape. But his father, black with soot, had ushered him up into the dark with a whispered, "I'm right behind you." And he was, grunting and slow, but he followed and Georgie climbed. And knowing that his father was right there made the whole thing more an adventure, a game, not a terrifying nightmare. It was only too bad Jack and Mary Poppins had not been able to follow, and that John and Annabel weren't there to see the escape.

They went up and up, winding their way through a mysterious dark maze that, quite luckily, was not actually in use. It was sooty and windy and dark, and every breath was uncomfortable even without the smoke. And then they came to a twisty, tight place, and then, "oof". Georgie paused, listening to the way wind whistled strangely and, beneath that, wheezing gasps.

"Are you alright?" George asked, and maybe it was not a game or adventure after all if his father was not alright.

"I…I don't think I can fit," his father gasped out, his voice sounding very odd. "Georgie, you…you should go on…find…find the exit."

"But, what about you?" Georgie asked, not liking that suggestion at all.

"I'll go back down."

"But they'll shoot you!"

"Shh, shh," his father said, not wanting their voices to carry and someone to realize there were people in the chimney. Then, "I'll come out a different fireplace from the one we came in."

"Okay," said Georgie. Then he turned, and clambered backwards and said, "Let's do that." There was a longer pause, simply filled by the wind in the chimney, and his father's labored breathing.

"We'll go to the last crossing," his father said after a moment, and nothing more was said about Georgie finding his own way up the narrow path. Neither knew, of course, but this decision saved Georgie a great deal of discomfort and danger which was never going to end in an easy exit. On the other hand, if they had managed just a bit further, they would have found their way to another fireplace, one that would not, as the one they now descended, have deposited them inside a still locked room.

As it was, Michael half fell the last few feet, mostly landed with his feet on the chair, but fell the rest of the way trying to help his son down and feeling the pain in his gunshot wound at the move.

The end result was a loud crash, the chair knocked over, Michael on the floor and Georgie on top of him. Both were absolutely covered in soot. Both were winded. Only one of them had a shirt absolutely drenched in blood.

"Daddy?" said Georgie's voice, once had had untangled himself enough to take note of the state his father was in. It was a bit of a shock.

"Are you alright, Georgie, did the fall hurt you?" his father asked, trying to sit up and see for himself, only to wince and drop back again.

"Daddy, are you dying?" Georgie demanded, before breaking down in tears.

Nearby, certainly nearer than any of them knew, Anabel and John were staring at a rather less bloody or soot covered man with twin expressions of distrust. The man's own expression did not seem to know what to do. He had looked quite fierce when he attacked Jimmy. And the scuffle had been enough for the children to decide to open the door, just a crack, to decide if they could come out.

In their secret hearts of heart, they hoped they would find a familiar savior on the other side of the door. Jack, perhaps, having escaped somehow, or, even more likely, their father. It was a disappointment to find a vaguely familiar banker who was now staring at them with an odd expression. Something complicated, somewhere in between fear and anger.

"I know you," said Anabel. "You work with our father."

"Mr. Hatchet," said John when his sister turned to him expectantly; John was usually good for remembering names. He had their father's ability to remember details, except Michael primarily remembered scenes and expressions for his art while his son had Kate's more practical bent and tended to remember names and dates instead.

The man in question turned a funny color at that, looked like he might shout, then all at once sort of wilted, looking at their feet instead. "It's 'Thatcher', actually. I am…I was…I work with your father."

"But, you are named Mr. Hatchet," John said, looking confused now. "Our father said so; he said…"

"We are looking for our father," Annabel interrupted quickly. Her brother might have a mind for small details like names and dates, but she was quicker at understanding what those details meant, and what she could see them adding up to in that moment was trouble for their father if John persisted. Because Michael had most definitely called the man 'Mr. Hatchet' and not at all in a flattering way.

Clever as she could be, she did not at all understand why her words made Mr. Thatcher, or Hatchet, or whatever his name might be, go pure white and look like he had been hit on the back of the head.

"Oh," he said. And then, "I think we should move someplace…safer. The people with guns might come back."

"Let's go to Father's office," suggested John. Up to that point, neither of the twins had actually discussed any plan to 'look for father', or even 'let's hide in the toilets until we manage to escape'. There had been no plan at all; things had just happened. But now that they had happened and they were free of Jimmy and begrudgingly could admit that Mr. Thatcher was not one of the bank robbers and therefore an ally of sorts, finding their father was the most logical next step.

"No, not there!" answered Mr. Thatcher.

Some adults, upon interacting with children, command instant respect and authority. Bert, for instance, rarely had trouble getting a child to behave when the need arose. Jack did not have a great authoritative presence, but he did exude a sort of friendliness that acted almost in the same manner; children were inclined to listen to him if not obey. Mary Poppins could command obedience with simply a look, never mind a word.

Mr. Thatcher liked to think himself an authoritative, respectable figure. He did not, however, have Bert's solid presence, Jack's kind friendliness, or Mary's stern expectations. He also did not have the respect of the Banks children.

"No, really," he tried, when the children completely ignored him and walked swiftly around the corner, only pausing to glance around for bank robbers. Mr. Thatcher followed.

"Hey," he hissed, which was fortunate, because it was a quiet hiss. Almost as soon as all three had rounded the corner, there was a noise behind them.

"Don't let them ravage me, Mr. Dawes!" wailed a feminine, distraught voice.

"As if we'd want to," growled an offended voice.

"There, there, young lady" said a vaguely familiar, elderly voice.

"Shut it, all of you, or ravagings'll be the least of your worries," growled another.

There was a noise in the hall behind them of many feet.

Out in the open in the hallway, too far from any doors to try and hide, all three reacted by flattening themselves against the wall and freezing.

The voices moved away, not towards them. They were heading towards the stairs, their hostage still bewailing her wretched fate all the way.

It took a while for her voice to fade completely, during which all three barely even breathed. The three moved again.

"Now," said Thatcher, "We really should find a place to hide."

"No," answered Annabel, "We really should find our father and work out how to rescue everyone."

And ignoring Thatcher's attempts to draw them away, they went directly to their father's office.

The door was locked.

"Now what?" John asked Annabel.

"Now we go to a different office, that isn't locked," said Thatcher. "And then…and then…I have something I need to tell you."

His voice sounded very strange, and neither of the children could say why, but they both felt a strong sensation of intense dread.

Which is the point when the door handle jiggled all on its own, as someone tried to open it from the other side.

Below them, the noise that had faded away for the children due to distance remained a constant for those doing the escorting.

"Madame," said Robin, when faced with her hysterics, "I assure you that you will be perfectly safe…so long as this gentleman allows us entry to his vault.

"You!" cried the woman, not to Robin, but towards Jack. "I knew you were a part of this! Pretending to be a victim when you were with them all along!" Just as though she hadn't seen them leading him from the lobby at gunpoint.

Jack probably did not help her opinion of him any when he responded with laughter, albeit laughter with a slightly hysterical edge.

"Really, Jack," said Mary Poppins, her tone full of disapproval though there was worry in her expression; "Must you?" She ignored the woman entirely.

"I am sorry about this, sir and madams," Mr. Dawes Jr said, directing the statement towards Jack and Mary though including the hysterical hostage as well. "On behalf of the Fidelity Fiduciary Bank, I wish to assure you that your accounts are safe with us, no matter what these miscreants manage to make away with."

"As if he banks here," the woman sniffed.

"I do, actually," Jack answered, though he turned to look at Robin rather than towards her. "All the leeries bank here. And I would thank Robin Hood to not rob from the poor in his bid to give to the poor."

"You heard him," answered Robin, gesturing towards Mr. Dawes Jr; "It's the bank that will suffer the loss, not the people."

"And when the banks fail because robbers broke in, what will happen to the people?"

"The banks are already broken," Robin answered, his expression earnest as he fervently pleaded for both Jack and Mary to understand. But Jack only shook his head.

"When something is broken, you don't reach for a hammer; you reach for the glue."

Robin did not seem to know what to say to that for a moment. When he spoke again, it was to Mary this time, braving through her clear disapproval.

"Mary…alright, Miss Poppins…you must understand. Things are broken. We are the glue; we are fixing inequities. Isn't that what you always taught me? When things are not fair, don't just sit and take it, do something to fix it!"

Mary Poppins did not soften in the slightest. If anything, she looked even more displeased.

"Mr. M…" she began to say, only for one of the pretend security men to immediately interrupt with a loud, "Don't!"

In a calmer voice, he continued, "Don't. Not unless you want us to do away with the toffs after. I've half a mind to silence the leerie as it is. No names. He's Robin, or nothing."

There was an even longer pause while Mary first gave the speaker a look, then looked expectedly towards Robin, perhaps waiting for him to gainsay his cohort. Robin looked decidedly uncomfortable, but no gainsaying was uttered.

"Fine," Mary said, once that moment had passed. "Mr. Hood, I have no memory of teaching you to commit crimes in the name of fairness."

To that, Robin did not look chastened so much as frustrated. And that was an expression Jack found somewhat terrifying. Because ideals were good and all, but this man was refusing to listen, and where was the line? If robbing was okay for the greater good, what about murder? Jack had not missed the death threat aimed towards himself, and while he did not think anyone who truly knew Mary Poppins would allow her to be 'silenced'…where was the line? Would Robin shed tears as he stepped back and let his friends get on with silencing everyone for the greater good?

"Hey," said one of Robin's friends. "Are we opening the vault, or what?"

A few floors above them, two sets of people were contemplating their rather less armored locked door.

Inside the office, Michael's second effort to sit up had been more successful, in part because he was ready for the pain, and in part because his crying son was ample motivation.

The soot somewhat hindered everything at that point, because there was no way to wipe away tears without inadvertently causing eyes to sting and redden worse than before. Michael's handkerchief, having been in his pocket with Annabel's toast, was not useful to the endeavor.

Luckily, Michael knew the office well enough to find his coworker's spare handkerchiefs and the fact that he was able to move around to do so was enough to convince Georgie his father really was not about to die right there.

"But you're bleeding, too," Michael noted, once they had their eyes cleaned enough to look over each other properly. Georgie had managed to rough up the skin on his hands, and his knees were not much better even protected by his trousers. It had been a rough climb.

"What are we going to do now?" Georgie asked, allowing his father to pour weak tea over his hands to clean away the soot before wrapping them with the cleanest of the handkerchiefs. And, "Should we clean your side and wrap it?"

"I suppose we should try to get out of here," Michael answered, feeling suddenly quite overwhelmed. He had one child with him but his other two were still trapped somewhere with the very robber who had shot him. Jack and Mary Poppins were still in their clutches as well. Michael wanted to do something about that, but he could not begin to think what he could do. If he could at least get Georgie to safety, that would be something, and he could come back for the others. That he needed his own wound seen to, Michael chose not to think about.

"Okay, and then we can find Annabel and John," Georgie agreed, taking the 'get out of here' quite literally and he naturally went to try the door.

It was locked. Georgie kept trying anyway, jiggling it hard. Michael, who already knew the door was no use, was sitting in a chair and breathing heavily. He was on the verge of calling his son back to say 'it's no use', when there was a noise.

The real trouble with a closed door, is that it is impossible to know what might be on the other side. There could be gun wielding thugs on the other side. Both sets of people on either side of the door were very aware of this.

Michael tried to get his son to come to him. If someone were going to burst into the room with a gun, he wanted his son safely out of sight. Only, he suddenly realized, even up the chimney might not be safe at that point. Because they were covered in soot, and they had wandered around the room, and there were very clear sets black footprints coming away from the chimney, one large, one small. Anywhere they went to hide might well have their footprints leading straight to it.

On the other side of the door, the children were silently debating what was to be done. Someone was inside the office. And considering they had come to the office to find their father, it was not unreasonable to think it could be him. Only…what if it wasn't?

What Thatcher thought in that moment was 'he's dead, he's dead, he's dead' and he desperately wanted to run away. Only, he had already failed the children in the worst way and if he ran and left them he did not think he could ever think himself a good, strong, authoritative man again. And the fear that he wasn't that man was stronger than his fear of whatever was going on on the other side of that door. He stayed. The children stayed. Georgie failed to notice his father trying to call him away to hide.

No one called to the other, and the impasse might well have lasted until someone else came, friend or foe, only Annabel made up her mind that even if it were a robber, at worst they would only be captured again, but if it was their father…it was worth the risk. So she whispered at the door, "Hello?"

There was a quiet pause. Then, "Annabel, is that you?"

That was Michael's voice. He had pulled himself out of the chair to forcibly make Georgie hide, never mind the way his side hurt and his legs were tired and trembling, and he heard that quiet 'hello' and he knew his own child's voice, even at a whisper.

On the other side of the door, there was a thump.

"You are there!" Annabel said, her voice quiet but excited, and then, "It's me and John and Mr. Hatchet. Only…he just fainted."

Michael leaned his head against the door, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

"Georgie is with Jack and Mary Poppins," said John's voice. "There are bank robbers with guns in the lobby. We escaped."

"I'm here!" Georgie piped up. "We escaped through the chimney! Only…Only Daddy's hurt."

"I'm fine," Michael was quick to say. There was silence on the other side, then the door handle jiggled again.

"Can you let us in?" asked Annabel's voice.

"I don't have the key," Michael explained, and it almost hurt, being so close to his children and not being able to do something as simple as open a door to see them. Then, something of what they had said earlier broke through and he said, "You're with Mr. Hatchet…and he fainted?"

"He went all white and funny and fell over when you answered," John's voice confirmed.

"…Did you call him Mr. Hatchet?" Michael asked, then shook his head and said, "Never mind that now…he will have a key. Check his pockets."

There was a longer pause, soft murmurs of voices too quiet to properly hear, and then one of the most beautiful sounds imaginable; the sound of a key fitting into a lock. There was another pause.

"Wrong one," said Annabel's voice. Another key was tried. Then another. It was the fourth try that lead to an even more beautiful sound; the click of the lock.

The door opened.

"What happened?!" were the first words Annabel cried at their happy reunion, her expression aghast as she took in her father and younger brother.

"I'm fine, we're fine, let's get everyone inside and lock the door," Michael said.

John and Annabel dragged Mr. Thatcher into the room; Michael normally would have quickly done this himself but he did not feel up to it just then.

"Daddy's not dying, he promised," Georgie informed his siblings.

They shut the door, not a moment too soon. There were footsteps, creeping footsteps, in the hall behind them. Everyone held their breath, eyes wide.

The door to the office jiggled roughly.

"Locked," said an unfamiliar male voice. The footsteps moved on.

Inside the office, the occupants let out a breath of relief.

Outside the office, Sean and Other Sean continued their search for Jane's family.

Author's Note: I actually don't remember what term the children normally call Michael. Instinct suggests that back in the olden days surely everyone was super formal and they would call him 'father'. I can't remember at all what was done in the movie, but if memory of the book serves me, the children all called George Banks 'dad'. So I've actually been going out of my way to not have them call him anything. My current thought process for this chapter went -even if the children are accustomed to calling Michael 'father', the current situation is quite ghastly enough to have Georgie revert 'daddy', and that even if the children are accustomed to calling him 'dad', the older children, when speaking to other adults, adapted a more formalized language and call him 'my father'. However, should anyone remember what term the movie children used to speak to Michael, I would very much like to know for future use.