Fic: Jericho - Honor Bound - Adult 2/5

[tanaquiljall]

Title: Honor Bound
Fandom: Jericho
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Non-con/dub-con, sexual assault, torture, non-sexual violence
Pairings: Beck/Heather, Jake/Heather
Words: 45820 words
Summary: An AU to scribblesinink's Devil's Due. Heather has been kidnapped by Phil Constantino, who intends to execute her. Discovering where Heather may have been taken, Jake and Beck set off on horseback to try and get her back. But the rescue attempt goes wrong when they run into one of the AS Army's patrols.
Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series Jericho. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: This story is an AU to Awesome!Jakeverse, the shared post-season 2 verse being written by Scribbler (scribblesinink) and Tanaqui (tanaquific). It's been brewing in my mind ever since I saw the alternative ending to Season 2 of Jericho and the scenes in Loomer Ridge. Thanks to Scribbler (scribblesinink) for the beta.

oOo

Jake woke with a start, for a moment not knowing where he was, before memory flooded back in. He held his arm across his face, blinking against the bright fluorescents that had come back on. A harsh buzzer was still sounding, but it cut off as he sat up and looked around his cell.

The brutalist design only served to confirm what Beck had suggested the night before: they were most likely in Loomer Ridge. While the only jail Jake had ever seen the inside of was the town jail in Jericho, he knew they built prison cells like this for supermax facilities. The bed, stool and table were poured concrete, and the shower, sink and toilet were steel and clearly designed to be impossible to take apart. A small window set high up showed nothing but sky, and the door was solid steel, with a hatch. Even as Jake looked at it, the flap was snapped open, and a cup and bowl pushed through.

Jake got up and padded across, his stomach rumbling. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten; he and Beck had snatched a bite on horseback soon after they set off, so he guessed it was nearly twenty four hours ago. The cup contained water, and the bowl slightly oversalted grits. Jake didn't think he was in a position to be fussy, and he quickly finished both.

Under cover of relieving himself, he went back to examining his cell, quickly coming to the conclusion there weren't any hiding places around the nooks and chinks of the sanitary ware that the guards wouldn't already know about. Looking back at the bed as he washed and dried his hands, he decided the multi-tool was already in the best place possible. Although maybe he could make it a little safer....

Before he could act, he heard the series of heavy metallic clanks that meant the door was being unlocked. He turned and watched as it swung open.

"Green! Out!"

Jake gritted his teeth, reminding himself that Beck was right, and there was no point needlessly provoking the guards. Bracing his shoulders, he moved toward the door and stepped outside.

A stun baton slapped across his stomach, not hard but enough to bring him up short.

"You wait one pace outside the door until you're told what to do!" The guard wielding the baton smirked up at him. A second guard lounged against the wall opposite looking bored, as if he'd seen this played out a hundred times before. "Understand?" the first guard asked.

"Yes." Jake nodded.

"Yes, sir!" the guard snapped.

The time the baton hit Jake hard enough to wind him. He staggered back, catching at the door frame to steady himself. Swallowing down the urge to take a swing at the guard, he straightened and sucked in a breath.

"Understand?" The guard poked him in the stomach with the end of the baton.

"Yes, sir." Jake managed to gasp out, trying not to let his contempt creep into his voice. He'd never thought much of bullies.

"Good. Left turn. Get movin'." The guard gestured with the baton, and Jake set off down the hallway. There were more steel doors with hatches at regular intervals, but Jake seemed to be the only prisoner on the move. He wondered where Heather and Beck were, and if he'd get to see them again.

Glancing back over his shoulder to check how far the cells extended in the other direction earned him another prod in the back, and an, "Eyes forward!" Jake supposed he should be glad he still hadn't been shocked, although he guessed it was only a matter of time.

The guards escorted him to another interrogation room somewhere within the same block. It was smaller than the one they'd been taken to last night, with one mirrored wall and no mesh letting on to the next room, although it did have a table and two chairs. Jake began to move toward the table, but one of the guards—the one who hadn't spoken before—put out his baton to stop him.

"Face the mirror!" he barked.

Jake turned and examined his reflection. He looked rough, his skin sallow, dark shadows under his eyes, and his stubble heavy. Not that he'd looked so great even before he'd gotten captured, he reckoned.

The guard who'd ordered him to face the mirror stepped up and put his face close to Jake's. "Squat! Hands on head!"

Jake gave him a puzzled look. Why—? Before he had a chance to complete the thought, he tasted the stun baton again, this time with a jolt of electricity. With a cry he dropped to the floor. Gasping for breath, he was only half aware of the guard hauling him into the position he'd ordered: feet slightly apart, knees bent, his hands on the top of his head.

"Don't move!" The guard stepped back and leaned against the mirror, idly twirling the stun baton like a gunslinger in a western playing with his revolver.

Jake squatted where he'd been placed and tried to work out what the guards were playing at. He started to understand when his legs began to ache after just a few minutes. Gritting his teeth, he held himself still, not only trying to avoid getting another taste of the baton but also determined not to give the guard the satisfaction of using it. Attempting to distract himself, he focused on thinking about the other two, wondering if they were facing the same treatment. He guessed Beck would have been prepared for something like this, but the thought of Heather being pushed around and shocked by these goons made his blood boil. The adrenaline coursing through him helped him hold still for a while longer, though his knees and thighs and ankles and lower back all protested more and more loudly as the time wore on.

When the adrenaline rush had passed—it had maybe sustained him another ten minutes—and the pain began to bite into him even more fiercely, he turned his attention to examining the guards, working out what each of them carried, and where. They seemed to come in pairs when moving prisoners around. If he had the multi-tool and the element of surprise, he could maybe jump his escorts in one of the hallways: put them out of action and take their weapons before they had a chance to raise the alarm. After that... well, Jake didn't think his chances of escape were high, but it was a start.

Thinking about escape and memorizing each bit of equipment—pistol, stun baton, radio and more—allowed him to survive perhaps another ten minutes. By that point, his muscles were beginning to tremble with the exertion of holding himself steady. Forcing himself to breathe slowly and evenly, he began to count, parceling the time out into minutes, just trying to get through the next sixty seconds, and the next.... Until, suddenly, his legs gave way and he slumped over sideways.

They didn't actually stun him; he guessed that meant he'd done well enough at the first round of this sick game. Instead, they made him kneel, which he knew was going to end up being just as bad and even more quickly from the moment his kneecaps met the concrete floor. When the position finally grew too unbearable, when all his attempts to distract himself with plans of escape failed, he lifted himself back onto his heels in a crouch. That did earn him another shock, but also the relief of being allowed to stand. Which sounded like it would be a whole lot better—but more than three hours later by his estimate—the guards watching him had changed twice—a whole different set of muscles in his shins and thighs and back were in agony.

He was just wondering how long they'd keep him like this when the door to the interrogation room opened. Instead of another change of guards, the newcomer was unarmed and in shirtsleeves and tie. He looked Jake up and down for a moment, and then gestured with the folder he was carrying toward the chair facing the mirror. "Sit."

Jake flicked his gaze to the guards for a moment, unsure whether this was another test, but they seemed indifferent. Letting out a breath, Jake cautiously moved toward the chair, forcing his stiff legs to carry him there. Taking a seat, he tried to settle into a position that would ease his aching muscles.

"So." The man—an interrogator, Jake supposed—flicked open the file; Jake saw the picture from his passport stapled to the first page. "Jake Green." The interrogator began to turn the pages. "You had quite an interesting history even before you decided to betray your country."

Jake didn't bother to answer. The Allied States wasn't his country. Wasn't even a real damn country in the first place. Of the four people in the room, in fact, he was the only one who wasn't a traitor.

"Did the terrorists recruit you during your time in Afganistan or Iraq? Or before that, when you were in South America?"

Jake snorted. Was the guy serious? When the interrogator raised his eyebrows, Jake just gave him a dumb shrug.

"So, then...," the interrogator flipped over another page, "at some point, you met Robert Hawkins."

Here it was. They wanted to know where Hawkins was. Well, good luck with that one, because Jake hadn't got a clue. Mack had relayed a message a week back—no, must be ten days, now; with a start, Jake realized two days and more had passed since Russell had pitched up at Heather's house. Anyway, the last they'd heard, Hawkins was still in Texas, but making plans to return to Jericho.

The interrogator looked up and met Jake's gaze. "Don't suppose you'd care to tell us where we can find him?"

Jake shrugged again, remembering how that had seemed to particularly annoy Beck.

"What about his associates? Anyone you think could lead us to him?"

Jake laughed. "Thomas Valente?" he offered with a smirk.

The interrogator gave him a long hard look. "Hmm." He looked down and went back to reading through the file again, tipping it up so Jake couldn't see what was on the pages as he turned them. The silence stretched on as the interrogator continued to read. Jake laughed inwardly, because he knew that technique too. Keeping half an eye on the man opposite him, he turned his attention back to the guards, resuming his earlier examination of them.

Eventually the interrogator must have decided Jake wasn't going to volunteer anything just to break the silence. He cleared his throat and looked back at Jake. "So, why don't you tell me about, what's the name of the place?" He flicked back a few pages. "Oh, yes. Jericho. What do you think's going on back there? Who do you think is in charge there now?"

Again, Jake offered him the dumb shrug.

"Come on," the interrogator gave him a conspiratorial smile. "What's the harm in telling me that?"

That you start me talking, Jake thought. He shrugged again. "What's the point? I'm sure you already know the answers."

The interrogator closed the file and laid it flat on the table. "Humor me."

Jake turned his head away, letting a sneer settle on his face. "And why would I want to do that?"

The interrogator leaned forward, his hands clasped on the file. "Because I can make life very... difficult for you, if you don't. Or," he sat back and opened his hands expansively, "I could ensure that any... unpleasantness is kept to the absolute minimum."

He nodded at the guard standing behind Jake. Even as Jake twisted, trying to work out what was coming so he could defend himself, the guard dug the stun baton between his shoulder blades and administered another shock. Jake bit back a cry and grabbed the edge of the table with both hands.

While he gasped for breath and tried to calm his racing heart, the interrogator once more opened the file. "So, let's try this again. Where is Robert Hawkins?"

Jake felt the guard rest tip of the stun baton against his back. He met the interrogator's gaze, and the man raised his eyebrows. When Jake still didn't answer, the interrogator flicked his eyes upward and sideways, toward the guard.

"Wait!" Jake held up his hands. "Wait!" He paused and breathed heavily, wondering how long he could string this out without actually telling them anything. Because he damn well wasn't going to give them anything useful, but he didn't think getting shocked into unconsciousness was much of a plan either. And if he didn't give them anything, then they'd only be harder on the other two, and he didn't want to think about what they might already be doing to Heather, right now....

The interrogator tapped his fingers impatiently.

"Look, I don't know, okay," Jake snapped, trying to inject the right mix of fear and irritation into his tone. "Last time I saw Hawkins was in Texas, and that was weeks ago. He could be anywhere by now, for all I know. Dead in a ditch, or on some tropical island in the South Pacific living the high life."

The interrogator eyed him for a moment, before making an unimpressed noise in the back of his throat. "And Jericho?"

Jake shrugged. "Same as before, I guess." When the interrogator gave him a skeptical look, Jake rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know what kind of half-assed intelligence you have in there," he gestured at the file, "but I wasn't running Jericho. If you're hoping the place is going to fall apart without me, you're wrong. They've probably barely noticed I'm gone."

He didn't think that last part was true, but he knew the rest of it was: Eric and Gray and everyone else would do just fine without him. The knowledge gave him strength.

"I see." The interrogator turned a page in the file. "And what about the resistance?"

Jake raised his eyebrows. "The what?" He did his best to make the question sound as incredulous as possible.

"The resistance outside Jericho." The interrogator looked up calmly from the file.

Jake shook his head. "I don't know anything about that."

"Oh, come on." The interrogator shook his head slightly. "We know Jericho's been passing people through ASA lines. Nearly caught some of them too, though," he dipped his head slightly in an approving nod, "your guys are pretty good. I guess you do have home advantage."

He stopped talking and looked at Jake inquiringly, but as there hadn't actually been a question in any of that, Jake wasn't planning on answering.

After a moment, the interrogator must have realized that as well, because he said, "So, what's all that about?"

Jake snorted. "Smuggling?" he offered.

"Smuggling?" The interrogator raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Jake gave him a contemptuous look. "We like to eat."

"So all that activity? That's just about food?"

"Pretty much."

"And people outside Jericho, they're willing to sell to a rebel town?"

Jake shrugged. "I guess. I don't really know."

"And these... smugglers. They're not making contact with agents from Texas?"

Jake gave the interrogator a blank look. "Not as far as I know." No need, when they had Mack in town, and he had some kind of hotline back to San Antonio. Sounded like Cheyenne didn't know that though, and Jake tucked that bit of information away in case... well, in case he ever got out of here and could actually tell someone.

The interrogator looked disappointed. He asked a few more questions about the smuggling: who they were buying from, about what kind of gossip they brought back. When Jake offered him nothing but half a dozen variations on "I'm not running Jericho, I have no idea", his expression grew blacker and blacker. At last, after another five minutes of getting nowhere, he simply closed the file, got up and left the room.

Jake carried on sitting at the table, wondering if any time now the guards were going to force him back into another painful position. After maybe half an hour, one of the radios carried by the guards crackled. The guard answered it. Jake didn't properly catch the order that came over the airwaves, but it obviously meant something to the guard. He jerked his head at Jake. "On your feet."

They marched him out of the room, along several corridors that echoed with their footsteps, and through some double doors that led outside, to what looked bizarrely like an empty swimming pool. Some steps near the doors led down into the sunken concrete area, and the guards with Jake led him toward them. Four other guards were lounging at various points around the perimeter, eyeing two orange-clad prisoners who stood close together at the bottom of the concrete depression, a few paces away from the foot of the steps.

A wave of relief washed over Jake as he recognized Heather and Beck, and he hurried down the steps. Beck saw him coming and touched Heather's arm to alert her. She turned; even though her skin was gray with fatigue and there were shadows under her eyes, her smile was like the sun coming out.

Reaching her, Jake gathered her into a hug, holding her close for a moment, before she pushed him gently away from her.

She glanced over her shoulder at the four guards who'd already been there when he'd arrived, who were now congregated on the far side of the area, and then past Jake to where the pair of guards who'd brought him here were lighting up furtive cigarettes. She shuffled a little sideways, turning Jake too, his hands resting on her upper arms still, and he realized she was making sure the guards couldn't see them "talking".

"No time," she signed, and he nodded. He didn't think the guards were letting them spend a few minutes together out of the kindness of their hearts.

Letting go of her arm with his right hand, he signed, "You OK?" She nodded. He glanced over her shoulder at the guards, wondering if he could believe her. She must have seen his gaze shift, because she shrugged and signed, "Looks. Words. Val said: no touch."

He let out a breath. He couldn't be completely sure Valente's prohibition would hold, but he guessed getting on the man's bad side wasn't something the guards were likely to want to risk.

Beck coughed, drawing Jake's attention away from Heather. He stepped closer, and Jake turned a fraction, his left hand still on Heather's arm, to admit him to the circle.

"We should talk a little," Beck said, keeping his voice low. "It'll look suspicious if we don't, and they may work out—." He gestured slightly with his hands. "But we should only discuss what they already know. Anything else...." Again, he made a slight movement with his hands.

Jake nodded: it made sense.

"So," Beck cleared his throat, "how's your day gone so far? Mine was stress positions and then being interrogated: how did I have my troops deployed, what did I know about the resistance outside Jericho, what's Texas up to, where's Hawkins?" There was the hint of a wry grin on his lips as he added dryly, "They do seem very keen to get hold of him."

"What d'you tell them?" Jake couldn't quite keep the cynicism out of his voice, even though he knew Beck was on the same side. He was finding it hard to forget that Beck had worked for Cheyenne and used some of the same tricks on Jake.

Beck gave him a mildly annoyed look—again, Jake found his hackles rising automatically, and he had to swallow down his irritation—and shrugged. "Name, rank, serial number, date of birth. I think my interrogator got bored by the end."

Jake snorted. "An easy answer for everything."

Beck pressed his lips together, but didn't say anything. Realizing he was unnecessarily trying Beck's patience, and it wasn't a good time, Jake dipped his head in apology. Beck gave his own brief nod to acknowledge the gesture. "You?" he asked.

"Stress positions, too, I guess. At least, they were damn uncomfortable." Jake rolled his shoulders at the memory. "Then sounds like much the same questions as you. Told 'em I'd no idea what had happened to Hawkins since I left Texas, and that I wasn't running Jericho, so I'd no idea on the rest."

Beck nodded; Jake thought there was a hint of approval in it. They both turned to look at Heather.

"They just made me stand and...." Her cheeks went pink. When Jake raised his eyebrows at her, she added, "Just comments. You know, the kind of the kind of thing some guys say...."

She tailed off as Jake instinctively gripped her arm more tightly. He knew exactly what she meant: he'd heard way too much of it when he'd been out in Iraq with J&R. Most of the time he'd tried to tune it out: when the other guys were watching porn or swapping skin mags or just shooting the breeze. A few times, he'd stepped in when they'd started verbally roughing up the few female J&R employees working in the Green Zone or out at BIAP. Gotten him a bit of a reputation, and there might have been trouble, but Freddy had always had his back; it was one of the reasons Jake had stayed in touch with him after—.

He realized Heather was looking at him unhappily. She reached up and put her hand over his. "It's no big deal." She shook her head. She let out a forced chuckle. "Just like being in High School. You know, fifteen year old boys with too many hormones and no experience. Really." She glanced at Beck—Jake guessed he wasn't looking any happier about it than Jake was—and then back at Jake. "It's fine. I can handle it."

Carefully relaxing his grip on her arm, Jake puffed out his cheeks. "Okay." He wasn't sure he entirely believed her, but he reckoned she needed him to act like he did.

Beck cleared his throat again, pulling Heather's attention away from Jake. "So, did you get the same questions?"

Heather nodded. "I kept telling them I wasn't involved in that stuff. In the end, they asked me what I was involved in." Her lips twitched. "I told them wind turbines. That I was responsible for keeping the town supplied with power."

"And they believed you?" Beck sounded a little incredulous himself.

She shook her head. "Not at first. So I spent most of the time they were talking to me explaining the technology. How a governor works; how we get the blades to automatically turn into the wind...." Again her lips twitched. "Plan on telling them all about the sewage farm tomorrow."

Beck was shaking his head, but his smile said it was admiration rather than disbelief. Jake pulled her close for a moment and murmured into her hair, "You're incredible." When he drew away, he saw she was blushing again.

Beck tapped him on the arm, drawing his attention, and Jake saw he had his fist clenched, ready to sign. Jake glanced at Heather and saw she was watching, too. He nodded at Beck and turned his gaze back to the major's hand.

"Need intel," Beck signed. Jake thought he must have been practicing: he was faster than the day before, clearly not having to think so hard about each letter before he formed it. "Cell locations, guard posts, routines, friendlies." He gave a shrug as if to say there was probably more they could find out. "Share." He circled his hand to indicate the three of them.

Jake nodded. He didn't know how much good it would do, but they needed every advantage they could get. Which reminded him—.

He gripped Heather's arm to get her attention again, and then signed. "Multi-tool. Safe."

She gave him a warm smile in return, and a quick dip of the head to show she'd understood.

"What—?" Beck's question pulled Jake's attention back to the major and he saw a puzzled frown creasing his forehead.

Jake looked back at Heather, wondering how to explain without taking forever to sign it. She gave him a slight nod of the head to indicate she'd handle it, before she turned to Beck.

"When Jake came back from Texas, he brought me a present."

Jake saw her sign "Knife. Other tools...." and raise her eyebrows at Beck. When she shaped her hands to mark out something about the size of the multi-tool and mimed opening it, his expression suddenly cleared and he nodded to show he understood.

Heather signed, "On me." Keeping her voice low, she added out loud, "When Constantino's thugs snatched me...." Signing again, she spelled out, "Last night. Change clothes...." She gestured in Jake's direction.

Beck nodded. Looking at Jake, he signed, "Weapon?"

Jake shrugged and signed back, "Maybe. Surprise...." It wasn't exactly what he'd have chosen to effect a breakout. If he was Hawkins, of course, it would be a different story. It occurred to him that maybe the same was true for Beck, who was infantry. He pointed at Beck and signed, "Trained?"

Beck nodded and murmured quietly. "Not recently, but... yes."

"Hmm." Jake guessed that meant he should really get the multi-tool to Beck. Although he wasn't sure how he could manage that without it being discovered. On the other hand, it wasn't doing much good shoved under his mattress, either, and maybe they could find a way to smuggle it between them if the guards were going to let them meet like this every day.

He squashed down the little voice in the back of the head telling him the tool was Heather's, and Jake had given it to her, so why should Beck get to have it, because he knew he was just being childish. It really did make more sense for Beck to hold the tool.

Before he could suggest they find a way to transfer it, one of the guards at the far end of the area called out, "Lisinski. Time to go."

Heather had twisted round to look at the guard as he called her name. She swung back and met Jake's gaze, and he drew her into another all-too-brief hug before he reluctantly let her step back. Turning, she gave Beck a quick, stiff, one-armed embrace that seemed to surprise him a great deal; he'd barely brought his own arm up to return it before she was pushing away from him and hurrying across to the steps in time to meet the guard at the top of them.

Jake watched her pass through the double doors. From the corner of his eye, he caught Beck looking after her too, the normally stern lines of the major's face softened. He looked almost as sorry and worried to see her disappear out of sight as Jake was.

Jake wasn't sure if he found Beck's expression comforting or irritating. On the one hand, it was a relief to know Beck would probably do his best to take care of Heather if anything happened to Jake. On the other hand, Jake didn't think the major had any right to lay claim to friendship with Heather after what he'd done to Jericho, and after landing her in this mess by asking her to be his liaison. But, then, Jake should never have let Heather go to New Bern in the first place....

The two of them stood there in silence, until it was Beck's turn to be marched away and, finally, Jake's.

oOo

Heather woke from an uneasy sleep at the sound of the buzzer and the lights coming on. For a moment, she hunched under the blanket, wishing she could return to black forgetfulness, wishing she could stay like that.

Last night, just like the night before, she'd found it hard to fall asleep. She'd lain tensely on her bed, wondering if the ordeal of the day was really over or if there'd be—more. Footsteps had passed occasionally in the hallway outside, shadows cutting off the rectangle of dim yellow light coming through the open hatch in her door, and she'd held her breath each time. She was afraid the footsteps would pause, the way they had once or twice yesterday afternoon after they'd taken her away from Jake and Edward and brought her back here. That there'd be more eyes watching her, more whispered words telling her what they'd like to do to her. That there'd be the rattle of door being unlocked....

Turning on her back, she saw the hatch was still open. It hadn't been closed at all while she'd been in the cell. Taking a deep breath and trying to mask her expression so her fear wouldn't show, she climbed out of bed and went to use the toilet. As she washed her hands and splashed water on her face, she eyed the shower: although she badly wanted to climb under it and get properly clean, she wasn't sure she was quite accustomed enough yet to the lack of privacy for that.

There was a clatter behind her, and she turned and saw breakfast had been delivered. Maybe she could work out a time when the guards were too busy with other duties to come and peer at her while she showered. The perfunctory way the food was pushed into the cells—last night, it had been a tray with meat stew and bread, and some kind of stewed fruit—suggested whoever was doing that had a lot to deliver. Or perhaps she could work out when the guards were on shift change and occupied with chatting with each other down at the guard post at the end of the wing.

She ate breakfast quickly, knowing that, if yesterday was anything to go by, it wouldn't be long before they came for her.

This time, as they marched her to the interrogation room, she tried to memorize the route and count how many paces it was, to get some idea of the size of the place and the layout. Of course, it wasn't easy when all you could see were fluorescent-lit corridors, and you had no idea of the shape of the building. Yesterday afternoon, on her way back to her cell, she'd determined from the few signs that she was in C-wing and cell 203. The interrogation rooms were on the floor below—after they'd gone past the guard station and various locked gates, they'd descended some stairs to get to them. She thought that maybe there was a central block with wings stretching out from it like arms. The only time she'd had any glimpse of the outside was when she'd been taken to the exercise area.

As the guards pushed her into place in front of the mirror in the interrogation room, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on visualizing the layout of the building, on seeing it like an engine part: this piece connected to here, and at this angle, and was this long.... Yet all she could do for the first few minutes was think about the others. About how good it had been to see them and know they were still alive. To be held close by Jake, and to see Edward's faith in her in the way he smiled at her. She knew they couldn't protect her, any more than they could protect themselves, but it was easier to face what was happening with them here.

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she forced away those memories and concentrated on what she'd seen on the way to the interrogation room. It helped her to block out the conversation being carried on by the two guards. One of them was telling the other in some detail about how he'd had a dream about her last night, although from the bits she couldn't help hearing, she didn't think he really had. It sounded more like he was fitting the two of them into some porn movie he'd once seen. Heather wouldn't actually know—she'd never watched any porn—but she vaguely knew about the kind of stuff you found in them.

After the guy had been droning on for around half an hour, and she was finally pretty sure she'd made sense of the structure of the building, based on what she knew so far, the guards changed. She used the moment when they were distracted talking to each other to shift her weight a little and ease her feet. Glancing briefly at the new arrivals from under lowered lids, she saw one of them had been part of the group that had booked them in when they first arrived, but the other one was new to her.

The new guy walked around her slowly, inspecting her. She clamped her eyes shut and pressed her lips together, trying to ignore the smell of stale cigarette smoke and sweat coming off him. He stopped close at one point and leaned in and sniffed her, but he never touched her. She guessed Valente's orders—given the first evening when she'd been taken to see him—still held. She tried not to think about what might happen when they no longer did.

"So, this is the new hoochie I been hearing about? The one the Director's all so riled up about." The guard had leaned closed again, his breath tickling her cheek.

"I guess." The other guard sounded bored.

"Not much for looks, is she?" Now he had his face in hers; she tried not to wrinkle her nose at his sour breath.

The other guard grunted.

"Hear she's got great hooters though. You guys have all the fun while I'm away." The guard stepped back, and Heather let out the breath she'd been holding.

Peering from under her lashes, Heather saw from the way the new guard's feet were arranged that he was lounging back against the mirror. She guessed from the way that her skin crawled that he was still looking at her. In the quiet, she thought she could hear him breathing heavily.

Forcing down the fear that wormed within her, she tried to focus again on what she'd be able to tell Jake and Edward when she next saw them. There was definitely a pattern to the guard changes—there had to be, that was how prisons worked—but without any kind of clock or watch, she wasn't completely sure what it was. Maybe if she counted....

"Hey, Conrad." The new guard's voice broke into her thoughts. "How 'bout you go fetch us a couple coffees."

"You think—?" The other guard sounded uncertain.

"Oh, come on, you think she's gonna cause me any trouble. Come on, man, I'm parched."

Heather heard a heavy sigh from the other guard, and then his footsteps and the clatter of the door as he left the room. She tried to breathe deeply and calm her racing heart as she heard the new guard step toward her. She sensed him move behind her, and then the touch of his stun baton on her shoulder.

"Kneel," he ordered.

She swallowed and did as he asked, feeling the hard concrete under her knees. The baton lifted from her shoulder, and she felt him edge closer. Then she heard a zipper being undone.

She pressed her eyes tightly closed and bent her head, swallowing down the vomit rising in her throat. Behind her, the guard began grunting, and he was close enough for her to feel the air stirring as he moved. She tried to close her ears to the sounds he was making, to block out the smell of him, but she didn't seem to be able to. Tears were leaking from her eyes, but she did her best not to shake, not to let him know.

Then something warm and sticky hit her hair and began to drip down onto her back. She couldn't stop the violent shudder that ran through her, knowing—.

"Oh, jeez, man!" Heather had barely been aware of the door opening as Conrad returned.

"Hey, what?" She felt the guard behind her step back and heard him zip up his pants. "Valente said no touching, right?"

"You're sick, Morgan." Conrad sounded genuinely disgusted.

"Just 'cause you wanna do the same, but you're too much of a pussy...." Morgan taunted as he moved away from Heather.

She was shivering now, despite her best efforts.

"You're sick," Conrad repeated flatly.

oOo

Heather managed to stop shaking after about five minutes, as the first of the shock wore off, leaving her feeling wrung out. The semen on the back of her neck cooled and dried, but she could still feel it when she moved. After a few minutes, Conrad told her, in a surprisingly gentle voice, to get back on her feet.

She took a few more breaths once she was standing, and then opened her eyes. Through the mirror, she met Morgan's gaze. He smirked at her and she wanted to look away, but she went on looking at him, long enough and steadily enough that she hoped she'd convinced him that what he'd done didn't matter, that he hadn't gotten to her.

Then she deliberately turned her head away and closed her eyes. It wasn't so bad really, she told herself. It could be a lot worse. If Valente changed his mind, or the guards ignored his orders, it probably would be.

It was still a relief when the guards changed shift. She heard some whispering from the new pair; although she couldn't make out what they were saying, she guessed they'd seen the state of her and were talking about it. She shoved away the thought that if one of them had done it, the rest of them would take it as license to follow suit. As the hours wore on, and another crew swapped in—again, more whispering—it seemed like the others either didn't have the desire or the balls. Heather allowed herself to relax very slightly.

The worst part, as she waited out the hours, was that it robbed her of some of her pleasure in the thought of seeing Jake and Edward again. Because neither of them were going to be at all happy about what had happened if they found out, and Jake—. Heather had done her best so far to save Jake from himself. It meant the world to her that he cared so much about her, and that he wanted to protect her. But not when he got himself hurt unnecessarily doing it. The way he'd lashed out at the guards the first evening, and the way they'd punished him.... She hoped she'd have a chance to clean up before they took her out to the exercise yard, so he need never know. If they didn't.... She tried not to think about how he'd react if he found out about this, or what the consequences would be.

When the interrogator came in—the same man as the day before—he did a double take when he saw her, but didn't comment, just gestured for her to sit. He tried asking her the same questions as before, in different ways: trying to get her to tell him what she thought people in Jericho would be doing right now, or who they'd be talking to. She played dumb again, saying she didn't really know what Gray or Eric would be up to—still having their daily meeting, if with Captain Clark rather than Edward, she hoped—and he changed tack. What would she be doing? She asked him what day it was. When he told her, she said she'd be checking the sewage plant and doing routine maintenance; he cut off her explanation of exactly what was involved a few sentences in.

Then he tried asking her who she was especial friends with, so she told him about Emily and the wedding-that-never-was. He indicated that he knew Jake had been dating Emily; she guessed it was somewhere in Jake's file—maybe Edward had made a note of it back when he'd asked Jake to be sheriff? Heather debated with herself for a moment, and then decided it was best not to give their captors any more ammunition to use against Jake; she told the interrogator he and Emily had split up, no, she didn't know why. (Oh, but she'd hoped, she'd so hoped.... Not that she told the interrogator that.) He moved on to asking her if she was friends with the Hawkins family as well, but when she stonewalled him on that, he apparently decided he'd had enough for the day and left. She just hoped that, in all her babble, she hadn't given him anything important.

She sat and waited for whatever was going to happen next. The guards changed again, and her heart sank when she saw it was the pair with her tormentor of the morning. A few minutes later, Conrad's radio crackled with the word "Ready", and they got her to her feet. As they led her out of the interrogation room, she realized it was likely she was either going to have to shower while Morgan ogled her, or put off showering until he was called away—and, God, she so wanted to get that...stuff off of her—or that she'd be meeting Jake and Edward with it still on her, while Morgan smirked down at them.

It turned out to be last option, and when they led her out to the exercise area, Jake and Edward were already waiting. She moved slowly down the steps, happy to see they were okay, but dreading the moment when they'd find out what had happened, and Jake impatiently hurried toward her and drew her against him.

After a moment, she felt him tense, his hold on her loosening a little. As he pushed her back so he could look into her face, he muttered, "What—? There's something in your hair...."

She met his gaze and then looked away. Edward had caught up with Jake and was frowning at her with concern as well. She swallowed. "One of the guards—." She couldn't prevent a shiver from running through her, though she did manage to stop her gaze sliding away to where she'd seen Morgan amble round to one side of the exercise area.

"What?" Jake kept his voice was low, but she could hear the anger.

Letting go of his arms, not looking at him, she curled her fingers into a fist and forced herself to sign "masturbated". She was just starting to form the B when Jake curled his hand over hers and stopped her. She could feel him shaking, too. Looking up, she saw he had twisted his head away and was grimacing. When she glanced at Edward, his face was set in hard lines, and she knew his anger burned as coldly as Jake's fury burned hot.

She turned back to Jake, but his gaze was still turned away from her; he was looking over her shoulder, scanning the guards parading around the rim of the exercise area. He stiffened, his fingers digging into her arm hard enough to make her gasp, though he didn't seem to notice, and his eyes went dark with hatred. She realized he'd been looking for the pair who'd brought her here—and found them.

"Jake?" She tried to draw his attention back to her, but he let go of her without looking at her, and began to push past.

"No!" Edward reached around her and caught Jake's arm. Jake shrugged his hand off with such force that Edward stumbled into Heather.

He got another two steps before Edward, regaining his balance and pushing himself away from Heather none too gently, tackled him from behind, trying to get his arms around him.

The two of them went down in a tangle, struggling together. Jake was fighting furiously to get free of Edward's grip, but somehow Edward managed to come out on top, straddling Jake. Jake continued to thrash underneath him, aiming punches anywhere he could reach.

"Jake!" Edward's voice growling Jake's name galvanized Heather, bringing her out of the shock that had held her rooted a few paces away, and she hurried forward as well.

"Jake!" She added her voice to Edward's as she knelt next to them. "Jake, stop it!" She leaned over, trying to make eye contact with him and snap him out of it. She got a blow to the temple for her trouble and reeled back. Steadying herself, she reached out and grabbed Jake's arm as he flailed, holding on tight and letting him drag her into Edward as he tried to pull away. "Jake! Stop it!" Panic rose within her.

With Heather holding onto one of Jake's arms, Edward managed to pin the other one down. Jake struggled for a moment longer and then, abruptly, the fight went out of him. He let the arm Heather was holding drop. She could hear Edward panting heavily, while Jake drew in deep, shuddering breaths.

"Jake?" Heather slid one hand down his arm to grasp his hand. His fingers curled around hers, his grip firm but gentle, and she knew the blind fury had passed. He turned his head and met her gaze, his expression still filled with anguish. With her other hand, she reached out and laid her hand against his cheek.

"It's...." She stopped and swallowed, her throat feeling scratchy. She hated lying to Jake, but she had to. Taking a deep breath, she said as calmly as she could manage, "It wasn't them." Glancing up, she saw the guards were looking down at them, their stance suggesting they were amused by events below, and that they had no plans to intervene. Morgan was no doubt smirking, but she resisted the temptation to look for him. Turning back to Jake, she stroked her thumb over his cheek, gentling him. "And even if they were...." She shook her head. "You're just going to get yourself hurt, and it's not worth it."

He shook his head slightly, denying her words, but she hurried on. "No. It's not. It was horrible, but then so's all this." She jerked her head to indicate everything around them, She left unspoken the thought that it could have been much worse. That she was a little surprised that it hadn't been.

Jake must have guessed what she was thinking, because his expression darkened.

She pressed her hand to his cheek and whispered, "It's not important, okay?"

He snorted, and for a second she thought he was going to argue, but that was the extent of his disagreement. He let out a heavy sigh and, squeezing her hand, gave a reluctant nod. She saw him flick his gaze to Edward, and something must have passed between them, because Edward let go of Jake's arm and stood.

Heather helped Jake back to his feet as well. She could feel him still shaking. Reluctantly, she let go of his hand.

"Heather's right." Edward spoke quietly as he stepped back toward them. "We have to survive. We have to endure." He glanced at Heather, his expression grim, before returning his attention to Jake. "Now's not the time—."

"It never is with you, is it?" Jake sneered.

Heather saw Edward's face tighten for a moment, before he sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke again, Heather could hear how he'd forced himself to speak evenly and calmly. "Giving them excuses to make things worse—."

"Yes. I get it." Jake cut him off with an impatient shake of the head, his voice clipped, though his mouth still twisted in disgust.

Edward gave him a long, hard look, before he turned to Heather. He tilted his head a little to allow himself a better look at the mess her hair was in, before catching her eye again. "When we get out of here, you are going to tell us his name." He spoke quietly but fiercely. "And we're going to make quite sure—."

"Yes." She nodded. Her head was throbbing, either from the intensity of the events of the past few minutes, or from where Jake had sideswiped her, she wasn't sure. She lifted a hand and rubbed her left temple, wincing when she hit a tender spot. Edward gave her a concerned look, but she didn't want to dwell on what had happened. Hurriedly, she said, "We should...." Clenching her hand into a fist, she signed "Intel."

Edward nodded. She signed, "Cell. C. 203." She had to improvise for the zero, because she had no idea what the sign for that was really supposed to be, but they seemed to understand. They signed their own cell numbers: Edward was in A-wing and Jake in B. That they'd been separated into different wings didn't much surprise her.

She signed, "Layout." and then drew a rough hexagon in the air between them. "Interr." She didn't bother to sign the whole word, reckoning they'd get it. "Cells." With her left hand, she marked three lengths running at less than right angles from each other, while her right signed "A, B, C" in order. She circled her hand to indicate the space around them and pointed to between where she'd marked A and B wings. Looking up, she saw Jake and Edward nodding in agreement.

Edward signed "Guards. Change. Two hours." She wasn't sure how he knew that, except maybe he was better at estimating the passing of time than she was. Or perhaps he'd tracked a particular pair of guards and figured it out, because the next thing he signed was "Total shift. Twelve. Access. Cards everywhere. Thumbprint onto, off wing."

Heather thought that tallied with what she'd seen, although she hadn't really been paying attention to that. She tried to push away the headache she was developing, perhaps from the extra effort of concentrating on signing. Absently, she rubbed at her temple again.

"Are you all right?" Edward's softly spoken question caught her off guard.

She nodded. "I'm fine. I just think I got hit when—." She shot an apologetic glance in Jake's direction.

"Here, let me see." Edward reached up and put his fingers just behind her ear, tilting her face gently so he could examine her forehead. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see abrasions on his knuckles. "You'll probably have a bruise, but it doesn't look too bad."

He let his hand drop and she caught it and examined the scrapes and shallow cuts on his skin. He curled his fingers around hers and gave her hand a brief squeeze, while he offered her an it-doesn't-matter smile.

Letting go of Edward's hand, Heather turned to Jake. He was looking down at his feet, his cheeks red. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay." Heather touched his arm. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between the three of them, and then Edward cleared his throat. "What else?"

Jake roused himself and looked from Edward to Heather and back again, before he signed, "Guards carry...." He paused until Edward nodded at him, showing he was paying close attention, and then signed, "Glock 19, 12 mag. Stun baton. Hurts." Glancing up, Heather saw Jake grimacing at the memory. "Pepper spray. Radio: looks US Army MBITR. Plastic cuffs."

Heather didn't understand all the technical jargon, but it seemed to mean something to Edward. She wasn't sure how, with all that stuff ranged against them, they stood any chance of overpowering the guards, especially as they seemed to come in twos, but Jake and Edward both knew a lot more about fighting than she did. And she had no doubt that Hawkins or Chavez would have taken them down in a heartbeat; some of the Rangers told hushed stories about what Hawkins had done the night Goetz had besieged the med center.

Out loud, Edward asked, "Anything else?"

Jake shook his head. "Not that I've seen." He glanced over Heather's shoulder, his eyes narrowing. Turning, Heather saw the guards were looking more alert, joining together in pairs, and she guessed their time together would soon be over. Jake touched her arm to draw her attention back to him. "Same questions?" he signed, and she and Edward both nodded.

There wasn't time to share any more before one of the guards called, "Green!"

Jake made to reach for her and then halted. She saw the uncertainty in his face, his gaze going to her forehead, and the pained look in his eyes. Not stopping to think, not doubting herself for a second, she stepped closer and drew him to her instead. His arms came around her for a moment, and she heard him whisper "Sorry" against her hair, before he let her go and walked past her. Tears stung her eyes and she dashed them away with her hand. By the time she turned, Jake was already almost back inside the building.

"Heather?" Edward's touch on her wrist called her attention back to him. He looked as unhappy as Jake had. "I—." He gave a helpless shrug.

Heather glanced to where Morgan and Conrad stood together, and then looked back at Edward. She shook her head. "There's nothing you can do. Like you said, we have to endure...."

Edward turned his head a little, looking to where she'd looked, and nodded absently.

"Beck!" One of the remaining guards called his name.

Edward swung back toward her and, to her surprise, caught her hand and gave it a squeeze for a moment. The feel of his fingers against hers lingered even after he'd let go and marched away, just like the memory of Jake's arms around her had stayed with her.

Both gave her strength. When Morgan called her name, she squared her shoulders and headed for the steps with a determined air.

The trip back to her cell was less awful than she'd feared. She walked quickly, so that Morgan would have no reason to touch her to hustle her along. And although he was at her shoulder, closer than she liked, she couldn't see him and whatever expression he wore. The worst moment was when they reached the guard post at the end of the wing. It seemed news had spread: one of the guards on duty there high-fived Morgan before he pressed the button to unlock the door that led onto to the wing. Some lewd comments passed between them, but she was learning to tune those out.

It was what might happen when they reached her cell that worried her.

Stepping through the door onto the corridor that ran down the center of the wing, she could hear noise coming from the far end, as if someone was banging on the door of one of the cells. It was the first real sign she'd come across that there were other prisoners being kept there, although she'd guessed there must be.

The banging didn't let up as she walked the short distance to where the door to her own cell stood open. At her side, Conrad sighed. "Jeez. Someone needs a taste of Mr Zappy. Go deal with the bastard, will ya?" He jerked his head toward the far end of the corridor.

Morgan hesitated. "Shouldn't we—?" He gestured toward Heather.

"Oh, come on, you said it yourself," Conrad shot back. "She's not going to cause any trouble."

Morgan shrugged and set off down the corridor at an amble.

Heather stepped into the cell, casting a longing glance at the shower. It'd have to wait until she was sure Morgan had left the wing.

"Lisinski?"

She turned in surprise at the quiet way Conrad said her name. He glanced anxiously down the corridor after Morgan before he looked back at her.

"I'm gonna shut the hatch when I lock the door. Can maybe keep Morgan down there ten minutes." He shrugged. "Shower only lasts five, anyway."

Heather stared in disbelief while he pulled the door closed and, good as his word, flipped up the hatch. Hearing the rattle of the lock, she shook herself out of her bewilderment and backed away from the door toward the shower.

Not quite believing the hatch really was going to stay closed, she grabbed a towel and put it close at hand, and then made sure she stood with her back to the door while she stripped off her soiled clothes, hit the shower control and stepped under the blissful stream of hot water. She kept glancing over her shoulder as she quickly worked at the crusted mess in her hair and on the back of her neck, and sluiced the rest of her body, but the hatch remained closed.

The water cut off, as Conrad had said it would, and she hurriedly reached for the towel and wrapped herself in it. The hatch was still closed. Grabbing the spare scrubs she'd put away on the shelf above the table, she retreated under the bedclothes, still a little damp, to get dressed.

She'd pulled on the top and was wriggling into clean pants when the hatch banged down.

"—idiot, Conrad!" The tail end of Morgan's words floated through the hatch. Aware of his eyes peering at her, Heather stopped moving. Her pants were still around her hips, but the thought of him watching her wriggling to pull them higher made her skin crawl.

From somewhere beyond him, she heard Conrad say, "Hey, I forgot, okay. Just followin' normal routine."

"Ain't nothin' normal about this one." Heather could hear Morgan's leer in his voice.

"Come on." Conrad sounded bored. "I need a smoke. She'll still be there when we get back."

"Oh, yeah." Morgan flipped the hatch so it banged—to remind he was there, or to startle her, she guessed—before she heard two sets of footsteps retreating, and the sound of the door at the end of the corridor being buzzed open.

She finished getting dressed and hopped out of bed. Her hair still didn't feel completely clean—there wasn't any shampoo—so she fought with the short bursts of cold water from the tap in the sink, and lather from the bar of soap that had been provided, until she finally felt clean.

Toweling her hair dry as best she could, she curled up on the bed under the blanket. Somehow, Conrad's unexpected kindness was the final straw. She didn't understand why he'd been so nice and it was as if her confusion had undone the tight knot of self-control that had held her together all day. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she scrubbed at them with the heel of her hand. Foolishly, uselessly, she wanted Jake to be there with her, his arms around her making her feel safe even if they weren't. She wanted Edward's solid presence beside her, his quiet smile telling her they'd figure something out between them, like they always did. She wanted to stop having to be so strong, all the time....

She choked down another sob and took a deep breath. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. Taking another deep breath, she scrubbed away the last of her tears. Jake and Edward needed her to go on being strong, so that's what she'd be.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5