It was one of those universal truths. The sky is blue, Brooklyn is crowded, and Big Tony loves to gamble.

A little less well known was the fact that Big Tony is a cheat. Never bet money with him when he shuffles. Never play when he brings the cards. Never go against him unless you've got some sort of leverage.

That's the beauty of gambling. Yes, it requires skill, and yes, it relies heavily on luck. But, when you hold all the cards, luck begins to change. The scales are tipped.

The gun to the back of his son's head seems to be adequate enough.

"Come on, Tony. I thought you liked gambling!" The man took a slow sip of his whiskey. Tony glared at him. "Aw, don't be like that. Just because you're playing with your son's life doesn't change anything!" Goons lined the sides of the room. Exposed wiring lit by a few bare bulbs. Spiderwebs in the corners. Classic intimidation tactics. Everything Simon did was classic. Tailored suit, expensive watch, smoked whiskey. "Shouldn't be any different than when you conned me out of a couple dozen grand."

He folded his arms across his chest. "Let me tell you something, Simon." Tony smiled pleasantly. "You touch my son and I'll force feed you your fingers one by one."

The goons shifted closer. Simon tsked. "No need to get so crass, Tony. It's just a gentleman's game." He swirled the ice in his drink.

"Isn't kidnapping my son a little, oh I don't know, extreme for just a friendly game?"

"Whatever made you think this was friendly?" Dread crashed over him. Simon was one of the deadliest adversaries the police had. There was a reason the cops never caught him. Everything involving Simon was buried in plots and subplots. His plans had contingencies, his contingencies backups, his backups plans. His network was expansive, spanning from local thugs to corrupt politicians. He was one slippery snake, and needed to be dealt with very carefully. Tony was never one of his agents (he had some honor after all), but their paths crossed and Tony was a fool to have ever gambled with him.

"You see, Tony, you lose, I shoot you and let your boy go. You win fairly, and I'll let you and your son go. You cheat, and you get to watch little Tony Junior here lose his brains. Simple, right?"

As if. "How do I know you're not lying? Why would you let me go after winning all that money?"

The man looked almost offended. Like Tony hurt his non-existent feelings. "I am a man of my word." He laid a hand on his heart. "You have a reputation, Tony. Most corrupt cop the city's ever seen? It makes a man wonder. I just want to be sure you won my money honestly. You understand. I'm an honorable man. I'm sure your son knows what that means. Although where he picked it up I have no idea."

Tony glanced at TJ. The kid had been quiet through the entire meeting, and while his paternal side held hope that he had finally learned some common sense, the cop in him saw the way his eyes didn't focus, the blood in his hair, the way he depended on the man holding a gun to his head to keep him upright, and he knew that he was alone in this mess. And it was all his damn fault.

"Why can't we just settle this man to man? Classic fist fight? Just you and me. No need to get the kid involved. If you want your money back, I'll get it back. I'm good for it."

Simon stared at him, smiling slightly, eyes dead. "If you're good for it, then your son doesn't have to worry, hm?"

If TJ wasn't there, then it would be alright. He could charm his way out of any situation, and if he couldn't, that's what his trusty glock was for. He could battle through the goons and make it out of the warehouse easy. Tony was a great many things, and survivor topped the list. He just wasn't quite sure where savior landed.

So even though it grated against his pride like a peeler to his skin, he bared his teeth and asked, "What're you waiting for? Deal the cards already."

A nondescript woman walked in the room, carrying poker chips and cards. She broke the seal on the cards and began to shuffle efficiently. Tony looked at TJ again. Neither of them were restrained, but there was no way Tony could incapacitate Simon before his son was killed. They took his gun away when they brought him to the warehouse. Honestly, how many large, abandoned, creepy warehouses can Brooklyn have?

The woman passed the chips out and gave them their cards.

Simon smirked and took another sip of whiskey.

Tony kept his face carefully neutral and gestured. "You start." Anything to gain an edge.

"Oh no, I insist. You first."

He tossed a couple chips on the table. "Two hundred."

The game went on, each man raising the bid. There were two games being played, however. Attacks with words, deflecting and They verbally sparred, Tony hyper-aware that anything he let slip could potentially become fatal.

"How was the stint in prison? I imagine it wasn't too difficult for you."

"I practically ran the place. Can't have too many contacts."

"Oh? I must say, I'd rather leave that networking for you."

"Don't think you get to decide that."

"Don't I? Tell me, Tony, would you have even gone to prison if you didn't allow it? For a man with your standing and your, well, let's call them qualifications, no evidence would have lasted long. So why did you go to prison?"

Tony tensed subtly, then forced a laugh. The man was a shark, and had an uncanny nose for weakness. "What can I say? A change of scenery is always nice."

Simon hummed thoughtfully. "Raise. I think we both know that's not true." The woman shuffled the cards again. "Could it possibly have anything to do with Junior? I've heard that the two of you have been working together recently on some cases."

"Heard that, did ya? Well, a man's gotta look out for his family."

"Maybe that's why. Because you failed."

Tony flinched. Four years after Connie passed and it still felt as sharp as the day it happened.

"If you couldn't protect your wife from a frankly horrible fate, what makes you think you can with your son? That is why you've been working with him of course. It's a dangerous world. Wouldn't want your only child to be murdered like his mother. Can't even trust him to do his job right."

"That's not true." Fire burned in his chest, but ice creeped through his veins. "TJ is the best detective in the city. A credit to his field. Ask anyone."

"I suppose so." Simon rubbed the corner of his cards. It was irritatingly easy to read the man. That was why he was so dangerous. Simon manipulated everything about himself so you only saw what he wanted you to see.

He was well and truly screwed.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. A person, ducking underneath the window. Backup? But for Tony or for Simon? Forcing a casual air, he asked, "So, just how many goons you got stationed around here? Just the ones in this room?"

"If you think you can beat me, Tony, you're quite mistaken." Simon narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

He shrugged. "TJ's respected in his field. Someone will notice him missing."

"It's a Friday night. Junior boy can count his friends on one hand, and that's being generous. Do you really think that the Brooklyn police force will rescue you? You've barely been gone three hours. You're not that important anymore, Tony." He looked at his cards again, staring pensively. "All in." He pushed his chips into the middle of the table. "Come on Tony. Let's see if you're as good as you think you are." He spread out his cards. "Flush."

"No, that's good. That's real good. But," he fanned out his cards reverently, "not good enough." Royal flush.

All at once, Simon's face went completely neutral. "I see."

The person peeked through the window. Tony slid his feet slowly under his chair. The goons watched impassively, trained to wait for an order from the boss before they moved.

Simon stood up and began to collect the poker chips. "I see that you have once again proved yourself, Tony. Congratulations on your skill. It's a shame that you'll never use it again."

Tony's heart stuttered. "What?" He started to rise but the guard on TJ raised his gun threateningly, aimed at TJ's skull. Throwing his hands up in surrender, he lowered himself back to the chair. "What do you mean? I won, fair and square!"

"Of course you did. No one's disputing that." He opened a briefcase and briskly packed away the cards. "But I can't forgive the money you took from me." He motioned to the guards. "It's nothing personal. Just think of it as a… how do you say… an example." He smiled at Tony.

The door exploded with a bang and bullets thundered. Simon dropped to the ground, yelling for his guards to get him out of there and kill the intruders. The one responsible for TJ hesitated and Tony tackled him. They went sprawling, TJ slumping lifelessly to the side. No time to be concerned.

The man twisted and pinned Tony down, punching him once, twice. Tony spit out blood and boxed his ears. He reared back. Losing his advantage, the man reached blindly for his gun. He was too far away for Tony to disarm him before getting shot. As the man brought his gun up, Tony swung the chair with all his strength. It broke and the man fell again. There was no time to waste. Tony snatched the gun and bolted back to TJ.

"Hey kid. We gotta move." The hastily barricaded door was starting to splinter. Bullets were still coming from all directions. He shoved the gun in his belt. "TJ."

"Dad?"

That was the first time TJ had spoken the entire evening. It was a beautiful sound. Tony cupped his son's face, forcing eye contact. "Kid." TJ's pupils were two different sizes and neither eye could focus. The glazed look was concerning, but Tony had to prioritize. "Can you move?"

"Where're we?" The slur was a definite red flag.

"Creepy warehouse. You came with me to poker night, remember?"

"No… I didn't want to go."

Tony draped TJ's arm around his neck. "I know, so we're going to leave. Right now. Stand up on three. One, two, three!" He dragged TJ to his feet. Who knew his stick of a son was actually heavy? Damn. The exit was conveniently lit up with a glowing red 'EXIT'. At least something was going right. They shuffled towards it. The door opened into a hallway. The sounds of gunfire were farther away. Which way to go? They came from the left. Might as well go right.

"Talk to me, TJ." Keeping the injured party aware and awake was vital. "Where were you before poker? Was it over at Cora's? Remember to put the tie on the door this time."

Nothing. No half-hearted protest that it was inappropriate or even a bitchy 'that's an infraction.' The kid was still on his feet but Tony was supporting most of his weight. They had to get to a hospital fast.

A door slammed open behind them, and a gunshot rang out. Tony dropped TJ against the wall, drew his weapon, and fired at the man in one smooth motion. The man went down but several sets of footsteps were growing louder.

"Damn!" he hissed. No more helpful exit signs, but moving away from the gunfire seemed like a pretty good plan. A good way not to get shot. The only thing was, they were moving too slowly. The only way to move faster was if he carried TJ. Unfortunately, Tony was about three inches too short and twenty years too old. But he'll be damned if he let that stand in his way.

TJ was right where he dropped. At least he wasn't making trouble. He crouched low and hauled TJ into a fireman's carry. He really was too old for this. Back hurting like no one's business, he steadily made his way down the hall.

"Daddy!" Tony rocked back on his heels when TJ barreled into his legs. Warm arms wrapped around his knees. TJ smiled up at him with wide eyes. "You're home!"

"Course I am!" He tossed the boy in the air, eliciting a shriek of laughter. "Had to see my little boy." Holding TJ an arm's length away, he spun in tight circles.

"Not little!" TJ squealed, swinging his leg and hitting Tony squarely in the chest.

"Definitely not." He wheezed. The kid packed quite a punch.

TJ smacked his arm excitedly. "Me and Mom went to the library after school and I got five new books!"

He swung TJ down and planted a kiss on his hair. "The school one or the other one?"

TJ grabbed his arm and tugged. "The other one!" He planted his feet and leaned as far as he could, as if pulling harder would move his father faster. Tony grinned, and when TJ stopped moving, yanked him forward and swept TJ over his shoulders.

"Hang on. Let me say hi to your mom and then you can show me all those books you got. Deal?"

"Deal!"

God. How old was TJ? Couldn't have been more than five or six. When was the last time his boy was that happy to see him? Definitely before high school. TJ was always clever. He knew something was off about his old man years before the trial.

Once he got out of prison and was living with TJ, the best they could do was a strained balance. TJ smothered him; he blew off the warnings and told him to wear his vest. Until that cop was shot with TJ's gun and a working relationship was developed.

Just because Tony was dirty didn't diminish his truly impressive expertise in the field. Having some extra help and influence didn't replace the skills a detective needs. So while unexpected that TJ stooped to a disgraced captain, it wasn't a surprise. Pathological he may be, his son was no idiot. If there was a legal, rule abiding way to get more information or insight on a case, he'll take it. He wasn't proud enough to let something stand in his way of solving a crime or preventing one.

They were improving. Not perfect, but then again, who is?

"C'mon kid! We're almost there." He peered around the corner, clearing it before he hauled his son faster. "What do you say, you convince me you're not getting brain damage and I'll never drag you to a poker night ever again? Sounds fair to me." Yet another explosion of gunfire. "You know what? You don't have to convince me. Just say something and I'll never convince you to make bad business deals with me. Or rail on you for waiting at that broken light." Tony's voice cracked. "Hell, if you make any noise right now, I'll never break another rule. I swear, I'll go as straight as you. I'll go so straight you'll look crooked."

Nothing.

"Kid!" Tony cursed under his breath. This was bad. This was really bad. The gunfire was dying down, which meant less bullets but he had no way of knowing where the goons were. Paranoia dotted his steps. Doors lined the hallway, hiding potential combatants. The lights flickered. Bursts of gunfire, from all directions. There was no way to map the building, no way of knowing where the exit was, no way of knowing if the shadows hid a person.

Just how long was this hallway? He had been walking for hours, it felt. TJ was a bean pole, but he was heavy. He'd have to get a back transplant after this.

Tony focused on stepping one foot in front of another. The world shrunk until it was just him carrying his most important treasure. The kid was a pain in the ass, sure, but he was Tony's pain in the ass. And family meant everything. Each step was a fight, a challenge to take his son away. Tony was a father. First and foremost, the highest ranking title. You'd pry it out of his cold dead hands.

A light shone down the hall and Tony snarled, ready to do battle. The figure swung the light on him. Tony tensed. He'd have to put down TJ to fight, but the only way to do that would be to drop him and Tony'd be damned if he was the one to add to his injuries. No way could he set TJ down in time to fight, and running away was not an option. If it came down to it, he'd rather see TJ alive with damage than fine in a casket.

"Mister C?" The light moved again, but it illuminated the stranger's face. It was Cora. Back up had finally arrived.

Relief crashed into him like a truck and he sank to the ground. He clutched TJ to his chest. "We made it, kid." He began to shake.

Cora crouched in front of him. "What's wrong with him? Is he injured? How bad?" She reached for TJ and Tony growled at her. She reeled back. Their eyes met and Tony glared. She spoke again, voice low and soothing, like she was talking to a victim. What a joke. "You have to let TJ go. It looks like his head got hit. He needs brain scans and tests and medical attention, Tony. We have to get him to a hospital."

She was right, dammit, but he just couldn't let go. TJ was his burden and he was going to carry it. No one else.

"Looks like he needs a hospital, huh." Tony almost snapped that she had said that already when a different voice answered.

"Going into shock, probably." And boy, Tony must really be out of it to not notice Burl come in. "Medics are on their way." The detective looked more alarmed than he'd ever seen. Not only alarm, but any emotion. Tony would have to be touched later.

He tried to talk, rasped, cleared his throat, and tried again. "What happened?"

"We were hoping you'd tell us." Burl looked steadily at him. Tony glared. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. The two stared at each other until Cora broke in.

"We got a tip that two gangs were blowing each other up. We had no clue the two of you were missing. We-" she gestured to herself and Loomis - "were called in for more manpower. The Chief didn't want to bother with you two."

Tony absorbed the information quietly. Somehow, Simon had screwed up badly enough that his rivals got the drop on him. A vicious feeling of satisfaction burned in his chest. The cops had been trying to nab him for years. Now he would spend the rest of his life in jail. The ultimate punishment for a man who fastidiously kept his hands clean.

He closed his eyes and dropped his face into TJ's hair. They made it.

"Mister C?" Cora crouched in front of him. "The medics are here. They need to take TJ to the hospital." He didn't miss the look passed between Burl and Cora. He may be- only maybe!- in shock but he could still observe his surroundings. Two paramedics with grim expressions were briskly walking over, rolling a stretcher. They quickly looked TJ over, checking for spinal injuries or anything potentially fatal or that would hinder them from moving him.

"Sir? You need to let go." One paramedic looked him in the eyes, calm and reassuring. "We need to get him to the hospital, but we have to get him on the stretcher."

Tony knew that, but he couldn't seem to get his fingers to unclench. Slowly, agonizingly, he forced his cramped fingers to straighten. The paramedics gently took TJ's weight from him and then they were situating him rapidly and hurrying to the ambulance outside, urgency quickening their movements.

He sat there for a moment, watching them take his son away, until comprehension dawned and he scrambled to his feet.

"Woah, easy there tiger." Cora grabbed his arm. A good thing, because he would have fallen over. "Just where do you think you're going?"

He almost growled at her. "I'm going to ride with him to the hospital."

"Of course you are." He ignored her and started to follow his son on unsteady legs. His knee gave out and he would have fallen again but Burl was at his side this time. Tony, ready for an argument, opened his mouth to snap at him, but Burl wrapped Tony's arm around his shoulders and started walking forward.

At their shocked looks, Burl looked steadily back and said, "I thought we were going to see how TJ is?"

The trio made their way down the hallway. Officers and detectives watched them with varying levels of concern, but none stopped them. They passed through one more door and the night air swept over Tony. Finally outside the damned warehouse, it was easy to see the chaos. Officers from all over the city were there, guarding and transporting the cuffed perps. Dozens of tattooed men sat sullenly and glared at the police force. Several ambulances parked close to the entrance, their attendees patching up the worst of the injuries from the bust.

"Mister C." Cora unwound his arm from her shoulders. "TJ's ambulance is about to leave." Sure enough, an ambulance away from the others- Tony spared a second to thank God that the ambulance wasn't close to the gang members they just arrested. One more commotion and he'd have a heart attack - was closing the doors. His steps more sure, he bolted, in time to stop the door.

The medic briefly looked him over. He was one of the two that reached TJ first. Recognizing Tony, or deciding that there wasn't time to argue, he stepped back, allowing him in.

Tony sat next to TJ, out of the professionals' way but close enough to wrap a hand around TJ's. He clutched it tightly. Without his glasses, TJ looked even more frail. A surge of protectiveness heated his chest.

"We're going to be okay, kid." He murmured. "We're going to be okay."