Fic: Jericho - Honor Bound - Adult 4/5

[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

Eric hurried through the double doors into City Hall and headed for the Sheriff's Office, realizing he was close to being late for the second time that day. This morning, he'd been heading for Gray's office and the daily meeting, wishing it was Beck's quiet impatience, or Jake's restless pacing, or Heather smiling up at him from the pages of her notebook that waited for him. It was nearly a week since Captain Clark had brought the report that Hoffman claimed to have taken the three of them into custody.

Not that Clark hadn't done a good job stepping into Beck's shoes, but Eric missed Beck's quick understanding of whatever was being discussed, his firm grasp on the politics of their alliance, and his willingness to show a little flexibility now and then. Captain Clark was clearly an extremely competent soldier, but Eric could tell he really wasn't comfortable in the role of diplomat.

He also hadn't realized just how much Heather did, without being asked and without making a fuss about it. Whatever scheme was being proposed for the town, or out at Beck's camp, Gray might get out his big handshake and best beaming smile to convince people it was a good idea, but Heather was the one who actually persuaded people to sign up to things, or give what was needed, or keep the commitments they'd made. Too often in the last week there'd been an awkward silence where Heather's "I'll see to it" would have meant they could all move on to the next item knowing it would be done.

As for Jake.... Eric was worried sick about what Cheyenne might be putting him through, assuming he was still alive: he'd seen the state Jake had been in when they'd rescued him from Beck's hands. And he couldn't do anything to shield his mom from worrying either: she'd seen what Jake had been through last time, too, and knew what might be happening now. She came by City Hall every morning and evening on her way to and from the clinic to ask for news, and her face grew more pinched each time he couldn't give her an answer.

More than that, Eric just missed Jake being there. He'd spent ten years being embarrassed by his big brother, and now he'd do anything to be able to share his worries with him, see Jake's wry grin and hear his amused chuckle—and get the benefit of his advice. Even if it was just to blow off steam about Gray driving them all nuts, or to check if Jake agreed with some changes to the patrols and checkpoints. And, of course, who else was there around now to volunteer for crazy missions deep into enemy territory?

Now, as the clock on the Kansas Liberty building showed just before two—it was kept powered when few other clocks were, to give them "Town Time"—Eric's stomach churned at the thought there might be news at last. Captain Clark had informed them that Hoffman was turning on the power for a couple of hours that afternoon. "He wants to relay a broadcast over the video link at fourteen hundred hours," Clark had reported. "He says there's something we need to see."

Hoffman apparently hadn't been any more specific, but they'd reckoned it had to have something to do with Jake, Heather and Beck. They hadn't spent long discussing it though: the immediate priority had been to get hold of Harry Carmichael and make sure getting main power back didn't fry the wind turbines or set half the town on fire.

The outer office in the Sheriff's department was crowded—clearly the local grapevine was working with its usual efficiency—although people moved out of the way quickly enough to let Eric through. Jimmy stood aside from guarding the door to the small corner office where the video screen was located. The screen was flickering into life as Eric entered, showing a still image of an ASA flag.

Eric did a quick check and saw everyone he expected was present: Gray, Jimmy and Bill; Robert Hawkins—returned from Texas just three days before—with Chavez at his side; Colonel Davies; and Captain Clark, who was fiddling with the video equipment. Gray had asked Clark to watch the broadcast at City Hall, rather than out at Camp Delaware, in case there was anything that needed to be discussed immediately.

An icon started flashing in the corner of the screen and Clark announced, "It's recording." Stepping back, he nodded a greeting at Eric.

Abruptly, the picture changed to show Beck sitting at a table, looking straight at camera. He wore fatigues, and it took Eric a moment to realize what was wrong with them: there were no patches or insignia, apart from one on the left breast that said AS Army. Beck's hands were resting on the table, clasped together. With a jolt, Eric realized there was more to the pose than just one of the major's characteristic gestures: a white plastic tie held his wrists together. He looked tired and strained, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than Eric remembered, and his cheeks were dark with stubble.

Glancing at Clark, Eric saw the captain had gone rigid, while at his side he heard Gray mutter a quiet "Goddamit!"

On screen, Beck cleared his throat. "My name is Edward Beck. I am a major in the United States Army. My service number is five-two-five, two-six, four-three-eight-nine. My date of birth is October 1, 1962." His words sounded uncharacteristically distracted, like he wasn't quite all there. Eric couldn't see any obvious signs that the ASA had hurt him, but that didn't mean....

Beck was still talking in that slightly disjointed manner. "I have been asked to read a statement. As an officer in the United States military, it is my duty to make no statements disloyal to my country. I will not read this statement."

There was a moment's silence, and then, from left of picture, the barrel of a pistol was pointed at Beck's head. The sound of a gun being cocked could be heard clearly.

Beck turned slightly, regarded the pistol for a moment with a contemptuous look on his face, and then turned back to face the camera. "My name is Edward Beck," he began again. "I am a major in the United States Army. My service number—."

"Wait a minute." Jimmy raised his hand and pointed. Ignoring Gray's shushing, he said, "Is Beck signing?"

Eric lowered his gaze and concentrated on Beck's hands; he definitely seemed to be doing something with them. Which would explain why he sounded so distracted. Stepping to the door, he scanned the crowd. "Is Stanley Richmond here?" There was some muttering, but Stanley didn't step forward. Eric's gaze fell on one of the Rangers loitering near the door. "Frank, have someone fetch him." Another thought struck him. "Trish Merrick, too, if you can find her." He'd remembered she knew how to sign as well.

Turning back, he saw Beck being dragged from the chair. Apparently, whoever held the gun had mercifully decided against shooting him on camera. Probably thinking that seeing their commanding officer getting summarily executed wasn't exactly likely to endear Cheyenne to Beck's troops. A moment later, Jake was pushed into the chair. He was wearing orange scrubs and, like Beck, his hands were tied. Also, like Beck, he looked like he hadn't slept much in the past week, and his stubble was a fair way toward making a decent beard. The resemblance to old photos of Grandpa at the same age was striking.

Jake gave the camera a resentful glare that Eric recognized only too well, before he started speaking. "My name is Jake Green. I'm not a member of the US military, so I can read this statement and you can hear how stupid it is."

Eric was only half aware of what Jake was saying as he watched his brother's hands and saw that Jake, too, was making small movements with them as he spoke. After a minute, Eric realized he didn't know enough signs—were they individual letters?—to decipher what Jake was trying to communicate; he switched his attention back to listening to the statement Jake was reading out.

Jake had his head down and was reading slowly, without much inflection, although sounding less disjointed than Beck. He was asking them to accept Cheyenne rule, to hand over "the terrorist Robert Hawkins", to refuse any more aid to the mutinying troops unless they surrendered.

Eventually he looked back up, first straight at the camera and then letting his gaze flick to something—someone—standing to one side. He gave a small shake of the head and a grimace. "This is crap." He shoved at the paper with both hands, and it shot across the table and fluttered to the floor. "Don't give in, Jericho. Don't surrender. Whatever—." Suddenly Jake launched himself from the chair, yelling, "Heather! No!" at something to his left, beyond the range of the camera. He disappeared out of shot. Immediately, there was a sickening crunch and a cry of pain from Jake, followed by a the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Eric closed his eyes and grimaced, hoping Jake hadn't paid too dearly for what he'd done.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Heather was now seated at the table. She was staring off to one side, to where Jake had headed, an appalled look on her face. She sported a large bruise on her forehead, and the dark circles under her eyes stood out against her chalky skin, while her hair hung in rough tangles. She, too, was dressed in orange scrubs and had her hands tied. Eric thought he'd never seen her look so ill and miserable, even in the middle of that terrible winter in New Bern. Even after they'd been captured trying to sabotage the munitions factory.

Someone snapped "Lisinski!" from somewhere off camera, and she slowly dragged her attention to the lens.

"My name is Heather Lisinski." Her voice was cracked and barely above a whisper, but Eric saw she too seemed to be signing. She looked down at the piece of paper in front of her and frowned. "I don't even know what this is...." She looked back up at the camera. "I do know that the Cheyenne government is corrupt—" From off-screen came a strangled cry that sounded like it might be Jake. A visible tremor ran through Heather, but she swallowed and plowed on. "—that it was behind the September bombings—" Her words were almost drowned out by another yelp of pain. "—and that it lied to cover up—."

The view of her face was blocked by a man's back as he stepped in front of the camera and backhanded her. For an instant, she could be seen falling from the chair, before the video feed cut out.

There was a long moment of silence and then Gray shook himself. "Well, I guess that didn't go quite to plan for Cheyenne," he remarked to no one in particular.

"At least we know they're still alive...." Jimmy sounded like he was trying to find something positive to say, although there was a deadened quality to his voice. Eric knew he blamed himself, despite everyone's reassurances, for not taking better care of Heather.

"For now." Bill folded his arms and nodded at the screen. "After that little display...."

"They won't kill them. Not yet." Hawkins' quiet confidence commanded everyone's attention. He met Eric's gaze. "Cheyenne's like Constantino. They'll want to make a big show of it. Put them on trial; execute them on the record as traitors."

"Hawkins is right." Chavez, lounging by the window, nodded his head. "Tomarchio. J&R. They've always been about the PR war. Manipulating public opinion."

They all digested that for a moment, before Gray cleared his throat. "So, what do we do now?"

"We need to know what else they were trying to tell us." Hawkins shifted on his chair, apparently trying to ease his side. While he'd been fit enough to make the journey back to Jericho with one of Dale's smuggling teams, it had obviously tired him out.

Eric peered out through the glass into the outer office, wondering how long it would take Stanley or Trish to arrive.

"Mayor Anderson." Clark, who'd been glaring at the screen as if he wanted to reach through it and strangle whoever was on the other side, snapped to attention. "I would like to inform you that the status of the Tenth Mountain Division stationed at Camp Delaware remains unchanged. We will never surrender to any enemy of the United States, and we will continue to defend to the best of our ability the loyal citizens of the United States. I can only hope—" His impassive mask broke for a moment, and his pride was evident in his face and voice. "—that we can do so with the courage and fortitude demonstrated by our commanding officer."

Gray nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Captain." He cleared his throat. "We appreciate knowing that." He looked around the room, catching everyone's eye, before he turned back to Clark. "May I assure you that Jericho also stands firm. That," he jerked his head at the screen, "is not and never will be our government."

"Sir." Clark dipped his head in acknowledgment.

A murmur of voices from the outer office drew Eric's attention back out there; he saw the crowd was starting to look restless. "Gray?" He turned back to the mayor. "Perhaps we should say something?"

Gray nodded and made his way to the door. "People." He raised his voice a little and repeated the word, and the crowd quieted. "We have confirmation that Jake, Heather and Major Beck are alive." There was a rustle of whispering and breaths being let out, but Gray ignored it. "We need some time to look at the recording again, and find out exactly what's happening and what they were trying to tell us. In the meantime, I can tell you that neither Major Beck's troops nor this town will be surrendering to Cheyenne. We'll let you know more as soon as we do." Eric saw Gray pause, and then wave to someone at the back of the crowd. "Let her through."

A moment later, Trish joined them. She looked around nervously at the serious faces ringing the small office.

"Trish." Eric ushered her toward the chair Gray had vacated. "We need your help. The broadcast...."

"I heard." Trish nodded at Gray, who had followed her back in as she sat down. She clutched her hands together in her lap. "How...?"

"We think they were signing." Hawkins, leaning forward, took over the explanation. "We were hoping you could look at the recording and help us work out what they're saying." He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Eric for a moment, before he added, "What's on the tape is... not very pleasant. We're looking for Stanley as well, if you don't want to...."

"No." Trish licked her lips. "I'd like to help."

"Stanley's here." Jimmy, still guarding the door, sounded relieved.

After Stanley had also squashed himself into the now rather crowded office and had the situation explained to him, he positioned himself behind Trish's chair. Clark started the recording.

Trish and Stanley watched in silence for a minute. The Trish tilted her head back a little toward Stanley. "He's fingerspelling?" she murmured quietly.

"Yeah. I think so." Stanley was frowning. "He's not very clear."

Trish shook her head. "I didn't know Major Beck knew how to sign at all."

"Neither did I. But Jake does. Maybe he taught—? Holy crap!" Stanley sucked in a breath as, on screen, the unseen guard threatened Beck with the pistol. Trish let out a small gasp. They both stared at the screen for a moment, shock written large on their faces, and then Stanley shook himself. He glanced at Clark. "Can we rewind to where he starts signing?" His voice sounded a little hoarse.

Clark nodded and sent the images reeling backward. Stanley put his hand on Trish's shoulder and Eric heard him ask quietly if she was all right. She gave him a nod.

Clark started the tape forward again.

"L... O... O...." Trish steadily named each of the shapes Beck made, though she didn't sound completely confident, but then she hesitated. "Is that an N?" She half turned her head toward Stanley.

"I think it's an M. E.... Probably R...."

"Loomer Ridge?" Hawkins interrupted, sounding not at all surprised.

Stanley nodded, still quietly reciting letters to himself. "R... I... D.... Yeah. Loomer Ridge. That's that prison in Colorado, right? The one Goetz tried to send Dale to?"

Hawkins nodded. "It's a supermax facility a couple hours drive from Cheyenne. Nice and convenient for holding enemies of the state."

Trish had tensed again as the gun was once more pointed at Beck's head, but she was still silently mouthing letters. When Beck was dragged from the chair, she turned to Hawkins and shrugged. "He just signed Loomer Ridge a second time."

Jake was now on screen and beginning to sign. After a second or two, Stanley snorted and said, "Jake's much clearer." A few letters later, he shrugged and added, "But it's just Loomer Ridge again."

"Hold on," Eric advised. "There's a lot more from Jake. I'm guessing they didn't know which of them would get to speak—especially not once they started being uncooperative—or whether we'd be able to understand all of them."

Stanley nodded absently. He and Trish carried on watching, both of them mouthing letters. Every few letters, one or other of them would offer a word, or a correction of the previous word, until they'd gotten the next part of Jake's message: "Trying to break us. Still okay. Stay strong."

Eric allowed himself a private chuckle at the first part. Good luck to Cheyenne with that: all three of them were stubborn as mules. He reckoned the last part was aimed at those watching in Jericho, rather than Jake describing the intentions of the three prisoners.

Stanley and Trish were still following Jake as he carried on signing, but both of them began to frown. Eric saw Stanley tighten his grip on Trish's shoulder to get her attention. "Does this make any sense to you?"

Trish shrugged. "I think so." She tilted her head toward Captain Clark. "Would you rewind again, please. And we'll need a pen and paper."

"Already on it." Jimmy had his notebook open and his pencil poised.

Clark set the recording going forward again; after several seconds, Trish said, "He definitely signed 'cells'. I think he's giving us their cell numbers in the prison. 'A116. B125. C203.'" She looked up at Stanley for confirmation.

"Yeah, I get that too." He was still looking at the screen. "G... U... A... guards. Shift. Twelve... H. H?"

"Hours would be my guess," Hawkins offered.

Stanley nodded but didn't take his gaze away from watching Jake's hands. "Six A.M" He chuckled. "He thinks." Jake had waggled his hand back and forth briefly.

"Guess there aren't too many clocks in there," Chavez pointed out.

"Is he talking about when they change shifts?" Jimmy peered over the top of his notebook.

"Probably." Hawkins gestured at Trish and Stanley to go on. "What else does he say?"

"Keycard?" Trish offered questioningly. "And then he says thumbprint. He must be talking about the security. I think Loomer Ridge is a J&R facility and both of those are pretty standard in high-security areas." She frowned. "But I can't make head nor tail of what he's saying now."

"There was something about Glocks. I think he's telling us what the guards are armed with." Stanley waved his hand to indicate Clark should rewind the recording. "Go back and let's go through it more slowly."

It took them several stops and starts, and a couple more times backtracking, before they were sure they'd got the full list down correctly. After Jake had finished the list, he visibly hesitated. Then he signed, "Valente. Twice."

Eric immediately looked over at Hawkins and caught the flash of anger on his face. "Valente's visiting them?" he asked.

It was Chavez who replied, though his gaze was fixed on Hawkins. "Sounds like it. Wonder what kind of security escort he has when he makes the trip from Cheyenne...."

Hawkins' face twitched. "Not enough." He exchanged a brief nod with Chavez, before he returned his attention to the screen.

When Eric also looked back at Jake, he saw he'd stopped signing again, a slight frown settling on his face even as he continued to read the statement. Eric wondered if he'd forgotten what he'd planned to say next, or if he'd reached the end of what he'd prepared. Seemed like the latter. After a moment, he started signing again.

This time it was Trish who translated for the rest of them. "Told... bomb... Jericho... camp... think... lie... hope... U... OK...." Once Jake had once more stopped signing, she looked around, a confused expression on her face. "What does that mean?"

"Sounds like Cheyenne told 'em they'd bomb Jericho and Camp Delaware—or stop bombing us—to get them to do the broadcast." It was the first time Davies had spoken. "But they don't believe Cheyenne's telling the truth. Not sure how they've figured that out—" Davies's moustache twitched as he grinned. "—but they're right so—."

Davies's words were cut short as, on screen, Jake let out a yell and hurled himself off camera. The room descended into tense silence as they listened again to Jake's cries of pain, and then watched Heather speaking. When the guard stepped forward and hit her, Stanley's "Oh, Jeez!" overlaid Trish's quiet "Dear God." Eric glanced across and saw both of them looked like they were going to be sick. He knew how they felt: it wasn't any easier to watch second time through.

Trish took a deep breath and then turned her gaze toward Hawkins. Her voice cracked a little as she said, "She just signed Loomer Ridge again."

Hawkins nodded. He exchanged a long look with Chavez, and Eric could almost see their brains working, planning something, as the room once more fell quiet.

"So—," It was Bill who broke the silence. "—they want us to rescue them?" He sounded like he thought the entire notion was insane.

"No. They want us to go on resisting." Hawkins smiled wryly. "They're just hoping we can maybe rescue them."

Chavez uncoiled himself from where he was leaning against the wall next to the window. "Trish. We're gonna need your help. You know the J&R systems...."

"Anything." Trish nodded at him. Her hands were once more clasped tightly together in her lap, and she still looked a little nauseated. "Anything I can do...."

"And what are you going to do?" Gray interrupted.

Hawkins and Chavez exchanged another look. "We're going to get them back." The lazy amusement had been stripped from Chavez's voice; he was all business.

Gray snorted. "And just how do you propose to do that?"

Hawkins gave him a grin that had absolutely no humor in it at all. "We're going to give Cheyenne exactly what they're asking for. We're going to give them me."

oOo

Beck was surprised when he was pushed into the interrogation room to find Heather there. He'd been marched across to the other interrogation block: the one where they'd been taken the first night, and where he'd met Valente the second time. He was expecting to be shown into Valente's presence again.

Close on the heels of his surprise, he felt relief. He hadn't seen her since the broadcast the afternoon before. When the guard had stepped forward and hit her, his first thought was to get to her, to protect her, but two of the other guards had held him back. He would have expected Jake to be there before him, of course, except Jake was too busy writhing in pain on the floor after he'd been shocked with a stun baton for a third—or was it a fourth—time. In the end, the guards had seemed satisfied with just hitting Heather once, leaving her huddled next to the chair while they yelled recriminations at each other. Eventually, one of the guards had pulled her roughly to her feet, even as the two holding Beck had turned him around to march him back to his cell.

He'd been left alone after that for more than twenty four hours, apart from the usual routine of meals being served and lights on and off. He'd lain on his bunk, waiting for them to come for him, but it seemed the interrogators had decided it was a waste of time trying to talk to them—or had no more deals left to offer. Which had given Beck plenty of opportunity to wonder what was happening to Heather and Jake, and whether they were okay.

Now, here was Heather, at least, although she didn't seem to have noticed him. She was standing with her back to him, her hands clutching the mesh covering one of the openings that let into the next room. Her back was rigid with tension as she stared into the other room, which this time was lit. Beck hurried forward, wondering what she was looking at, and having a bad feeling he knew.

"Heather?" Her name died on his lips as he got close enough to see what she was seeing. In the other room, guards were working to strap someone into a chair. The man had been stripped to his underpants, and a hood covered his face.

Beck swallowed. "Is that—."

"Jake?" Heather nodded.

Beck reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel her shuddering.

"Jake?" Heather raised her voice a little, and Beck saw Jake cock his head slightly. "Edward's here."

Jake nodded his head slightly. The guards finished strapping his wrists and ankles to the chair, and stepped back.

"My God...." The words escaped Beck—somewhere between a prayer and a groan of revulsion—as another guard stepped forward, and began fixing pads trailing wires to Jake's skin.

"Are they...?" Heather sounded disbelieving.

Beck swallowed, wishing he didn't have to confirm it, yet knowing he had to. Bending his head closer to hers, he murmured, "They're going to shock him, yes." The lump in his throat made it hard to get the words out.

Another shudder ran through Heather, and he heard her whisper, "No." Beck tightened his grip on her shoulder, wishing he could do more to protect her. Wishing he could do more to stop this happening. He saw with growing horror that the guard was fixing pads to each of Jake's shoulders and to his thighs. Depending on how they wired them up, the current would cross Jake's heart, and that would be bad. Very bad. Beck wondered if the guard knew what he was doing. He suspected he did.

The guard had finished working on Jake, and was now doing something with the other ends of the wires at a control panel sitting on a trolley next to the chair. Another guard stepped forward and pulled the hood away from Jake's head. He blinked at the bright lights, before glancing down to see what had been done to him. He briefly flexed his muscles against the bonds that held him: more confirmation that they were as firm as he thought than any real attempt to escape, Beck guessed. When he looked up, he met Heather's gaze.

"Jake...." Heather pulled herself closer to the wire mesh that separated her from him.

The two of them looked at each other for a long moment, and then Jake's gaze slid sideways to Beck. He shook his head slightly and mouthed the word, "Don't...."

Beck thought he probably meant "Don't let her watch." He'd already considered suggesting it to her himself and dismissed the idea, because he didn't think she'd listen. He gave Jake a helpless shrug. Jake's forehead creased in annoyance for an instant, and then he seemed to realize what Beck meant, and he gave a faint nod of acceptance. He turned his attention back to Heather. Beck stepped closer to her, hoping Jake would understand that he'd take care of her as best he could.

The guard working at the control panel had finished what he was doing, and he and the other guards left the room. For a few moments, the three of them were alone—as much as they could be with whoever was watching and listening on the other side of the mirrors. Beck could see the shapes of himself and Heather, obscured by the mesh over the opening, dimly reflected back from the mirror on the far wall behind Jake.

Then Beck caught his breath as he heard the tap of a cane and the shuffle of feet, and a familiar figure entered the other room.

Jake turned his head slightly to see who the newcomer was and let out a derisive snort when he caught sight of Valente. Valente looked down at him as he positioned himself in reach of the control panel, a slight smile playing across his lips, before he flicked his gaze up to Heather and Beck.

"The three of you have been very... troublesome." Valente turned his attention to the control panel as he spoke. He reached out with his free hand—he was leaning on his cane with the other—and appeared to do something with a switch, although the angle the panel was tilted at meant Beck couldn't see what. "That little display yesterday...."

Beck saw Valente unexpectedly stab at something on the control panel with a finger. Jake let out a yell of pain, his wrists and ankles bucking against the restraints as his body convulsed.

"No!" Heather yanked furiously at the wire mesh on the opening, as if trying to rip it from its fixings, but it simply rattled with her efforts. Beck put a hand on the frame to steady himself, bile rising in his throat as he watched Jake slump back, breathing heavily. His own pulse was racing in sympathy and shock.

He turned his attention to Valente, and noted the cold smile playing on his lips. The bastard hadn't even offered them a deal before starting in on Jake.

"The signing...." Valente was turning his head from side to side, apparently reviewing his options on the control panel. "That was very clever...." He adjusted something else. "You were wrong about the bombings, but I do admire your audacity."

His finger hovered over the control panel. Heather let out a gasp and pulled herself close to the mesh, her gaze locked with Jake's. Beck could hear her whispering "No" over and over.

Jake was still panting heavily. After a moment, he shifted his gaze to Beck and shook his head slightly, his lips once more forming the word "Don't." He flicked his eyes in Valente's direction.

Beck licked his lips, trying to moisten his dry mouth. "You know," his voice was so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable to him, "we can't tell the troops to surrender or the town to give in?"

Jake gave him a slight nod, and Beck knew he'd understood him correctly. He looked back at Valente.

"Yes, I do know that." Again Valente stabbed at the control panel with a finger, and again Jake cried out in pain as he was racked by another seizure.

Heather was shivering, tremors running through her. Stepping closer, Beck slid his arm around her and pulled against his chest. He turned his head and pressed his face into her hair. He wanted to tell her it would be alright, but he couldn't, because it wasn't going to be. He knew she must be able to feel him shaking too. "Be strong," he murmured, not even sure if she could hear him, and the words as much for himself as her. "We have to be strong."

"That was the second setting." Valente's tone was almost conversational, as if he was merely imparting an interesting aside. "I am reliably informed that the fifth setting is generally fatal."

Beck lifted his head and looked at him again, wondering of the other man could read the fury boiling inside him—and also see the impotence he felt.

Valente met his gaze. "You have made it quite clear that surrender is off the table, and that you value your ridiculous cause more than the lives of your friends, even though it has no hope of success. Which has me wondering what you will trade for your friends' lives."

Beck swallowed hard. The smug way Valente spoke told him that he wasn't going to like whatever Valente was about to demand any more than he'd liked the idea of surrender. "What do you want from us?" He forced out the words between gritted teeth.

"I want to find your breaking point, Major. This cosy little team." Valente waved his hand to indicate the three of them. "It really has been most annoying. But I believe everybody breaks. If you push the right buttons." Valente glanced sideways at Jake as he almost casually pressed the switch that sent however many volts or amps or whatever it was coursing through Jake's body: not yet enough to kill, but enough to make his muscles spasm and to wring another involuntary cry from him.

This time, when the seizure passed, Jake slumped in the chair, his head lolling forward. Beck thought he might have passed out. Then he saw that Jake was pulling in deep breaths; a moment later, he raised his head and offered Beck and Heather a grimace that was probably meant to be a smile.

Beck looked back at Valente. When the other man was sure he had Beck's attention, he leaned forward and made a show of turning a dial to the next setting. Which was number three, Beck guessed, unless he'd missed Valente ramping it up as he toyed with them.

"What do I want?" Valente smirked at him. "Mr Green's life will be spared, all this will end," Valente gestured at the control panel, "on one condition. Major Beck copulates with Miss Lisinski."

The world seemed to go black for an instant—Beck could no longer hear Jake's ragged breathing or feel Heather shivering against him, or even sense his own blood pounding in his ears—and then it all came rushing back. But he must have misheard. Surely he must have misheard. Because Valente couldn't really have said that. Could he? Except that his own disbelieving "Excuse me?" was intercut with Heather's appalled "What?" and Jake's shocked "No!"

He met Valente's gaze and Valente gave him another of those cold, hard smiles. "I believe you heard me the first time, Major. Fuck Miss Lisinski, and Mr Green's life will be spared."

Beck stared at him, still too shocked to reply, still trying to wrap his head around what Valente was demanding.

Jake was the first of them to respond. "You sick bastard!" He struggled futilely against his restraints as he spat the words at Valente.

Valente arched an eyebrow at him. "I didn't quite believe the guards' reports that you were ready to launch yourself at them when you thought they'd been molesting Miss Lisinski, but perhaps you are willing to die for her. How terribly touching." He met Jake's furious glare with an amused smile, before he turned back to Beck. "Well, Major? I'm not asking you to betray your military oath, or this bizarre idea you all seem to have about loyalty to a country which no longer exists."

No, Beck thought savagely to himself. You're asking me to betray my friend. My friends. Because this wasn't just about what Valente wanted him to do to Heather, but also about what Beck would be doing to Jake if he agreed to this. He hadn't been able to help overhearing Jake's confession two days ago—not that he'd needed it to know how the other man felt. And he knew that she'd signed something he didn't catch to Jake before the broadcast yesterday, and that whatever it was, it had brought a relieved look and a smile to Jake's face.

As for the thought of doing that with—to Heather.... Beck's stomach turned over. Even though there'd been a little stab of disappointment when he'd seen that Heather reciprocated Jake's feelings; even though it suddenly became clear to him that deep down he'd begun to entertain the distant hope that one day he and she might be more than friends; even though the thought of what it might be like to make love with her made his heart beat a little faster. But not like this. Not like this.

"No." Beck pulled himself a little straighter, holding Heather close. He shook his head. "No. I won't do that."

"Do you really value your honor so much, Major?" Valente's mouth shaped itself into another smirk as he pushed the button again, and Jake once more convulsed, not able to hold in the cry of pain as the current ripped through him. "You're willing to watch a man die to keep it?"

Beck swallowed, tasting bile. At his side, in the circle of his arm, he could feel Heather shuddering. "Edward...." Her voice was choked with tears as she turned and put her hand on his chest, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

He put his hand over hers. "Heather, he's asking me to...." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"He's offering you a way to save Jake's life." Heather squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath, before she opened them and met his gaze again. "I know what he's asking you to do. What he's asking us to do."

"Heather?" Jake's croak made them both turn and look at him again. His face was twisted with misery. "No." He licked his lips. "You don't.... can handle it...."

Heather stepped away from Beck and once more hooked her fingers through the mesh covering the opening, pulling herself as close to Jake as she could get. She gave a small shake of the head. "No, you can't." She spoke quietly, but with certainty.

Jake snorted and tried to shrug. "Doesn't hurt... so bad."

"That's not—." Heather's voice was still choked with tears, she but sounded surprisingly calm. Beck recognized, through the hoarseness, the even, analytical tone she used when discussing plans at their daily meetings. "It's not about the pain. That stuff...." She jerked her head toward the control panel. "It can stop your heart. The current even doesn't have to be that strong. It could happen any time. Every time. And if the current gets turned up, there will come a point when... when it will be fatal. Even for you, Jake. Even for you."

She put her hands to her face, letting out something between a sob and a snort. Jake was blinking at her, as if he was having a hard time following what she was saying. After a moment, he gave a shake of the head and muttered what sounded to Beck like “No.” He wasn't sure if Jake didn't understand Heather's words or didn't want to accept the truth in them.

Heather dropped her hands, letting them rest on the ledge below the opening. "It's my choice.” Her voice was now steadier, as if she'd gotten her emotions under control. “I'm not going to let you die, Jake. Not over something that... won't be so bad. That doesn't really matter...."

She turned back to Beck, a determined expression on her face. She straightened her shoulders a little and said quietly, "We have to do this."

"Heather—." Now he was the one shaking his head. He understood what she was saying, but thinking about doing that to her—to any woman—made him want to vomit. That he could contemplate doing it, even in circumstances like these, made him feel... dirtied, less of a man.

"Don't you understand?" She stepped closer and put her hand back on his chest. He could feel her shaking, though now it seemed to be with anger. "There are no good choices here. He," she gestured through the opening at Valente, who stood watching them, smiling faintly, "he's made sure of that. That's the point."

Beck glanced at Valente again. Heather was right. This wasn't about dealing with the resistance or getting hold of Hawkins. This was about humiliating the three of them: payback for making a fool out of Valente over the broadcast. He remembered how, when he'd had Jake arrested, a little bit of him had—deep down—wanted to make Jake pay for not living up to the trust Beck had placed in him by appointing him sheriff. He'd tried not to let it color his actions, but he suspected it had made it easier for him to do what he did.

As for Valente.... Beck had seen it in the way he'd had ridden Beck over the search for Sarah Mason: underneath that cool exterior, Cheyenne's Director of Homeland Security could be impatient and petulant, and he didn't take well to having his orders questioned or his desires thwarted.

Almost as if he could read Beck's thoughts, Valente spoke. "You are trying my patience, Major." His finger reached out toward the control panel and hovered there. "It seems the young lady is quite willing. Maybe would even welcome it. From the reports I've had, she seems perfectly happy with the attentions of the guards."

It seemed Jake wasn't so completely out of it as Beck had thought, because he let out an angry hiss at that which mirrored the fury Beck felt. Just because Heather had managed to hide from the guards how miserable their behavior had made her didn't mean she hadn't hated every moment of it. And perhaps it was simply because Valente had kept pushing at him and pushing at him, but the remark was a step too far for Beck: suddenly, he understood Jake's urge to hurl himself at the guards. If he'd been in the same room as Valente....

Heather pressed her hand to his chest, trying to calm him. She leaned closer and whispered, "It's just bodies. It's just sex. He can't touch what's in here." She moved her hand over his heart. "Please. I don't want Jake to die." She lifted her other hand to her shoulder and signed, "I love him."

Beck closed his eyes for a moment, hating himself and yet knowing she was right: there were no good choices here. Opening his eyes again, he looked down at her, seeing the trust in him in her expression. "Very well." He swallowed. "We'll do it." He turned his head so he could meet Valente's gaze. "If you'll stop hurting Jake, we'll... do what you want."

Valente drew his hand back from the control panel, his lips twitching in satisfaction. "You have my word." All three of them let out various snorts and huffs of disbelief at that, but Beck guessed they didn't have much option but to accept that Valente would keep his end of the bargain.

Glancing around, Beck realized the room they were in was furnished with a low cot. He'd been too preoccupied when he'd first arrived and found Heather there to notice it. It was set where it would be clearly visible to anyone looking through from the other side of the opening they stood at: where it would be clearly visible to Jake, strapped in the chair.

He glanced back at Valente. "Now?"

"Yes." Valente jerked his head in the direction of the cot.

Beck took a deep breath. Now he was committed, his mind was racing with how to reduce the misery of this as much as possible for Heather. "I don't suppose—" God forgive me! he thought to himself. But, then, God would have bigger things to forgive him for. "—you'll provide us with a condom?"

"You suppose correctly, Major." Beck could hear the sadistic delight in Valente's tone as he added, "I'm sure having your semen inside Miss Lisinski will strengthen the very touching bond the two of you have already developed. Now, get on with it!"

Sucking in another deep breath, realizing he shouldn't give Valente any additional opportunities to humiliate them, Beck took Heather's hand, intending to lead her to the cot. To his surprise, she stepped back from him, though she didn't let go of his hand.

"Wait." She turned to face Jake again, and said his name softly.

Jake's expression was wretched as he lifted his head and gazed back at her. Beck saw him mouth her name silently.

"Jake?" Heather said again, licking her lips. "Do you remember what I signed before the broadcast?" Jake simply stared at her for a moment, and Beck thought that maybe he was too far gone to understand her, but then he drew in a deep breath and nodded, offering her something that looked like an attempt at a smile. Heather gave him an encouraging nod and a pale smile of her own. "Nothing's changed, okay? No matter what happens today, no matter what Edward and I do—" Her hand tightened on Beck's. "—that's never going to change. Do you understand?"

Jake swallowed and nodded again.

Heather put her hand up to the mesh, spread flat, looking as if she was almost half hoping that somehow Jake could place his palm to hers. "One last thing. Don't watch, okay?"

Jake nodded a third time. Heather held his gaze a moment longer, before she turned back to Beck and raised her eyes to his. "I'm ready."

Steeling himself, Beck led her to the cot and encouraged her to lie down so that, when he lay next to her, his body would shield her from Valente's view as much as possible. Jake's too, though Beck hoped he had the sense to follow Heather's suggestion.

The cot was narrow, forcing them to lie close. He was aware of how little they'd touched each other before. Until they came to this place, it had been no more than the occasional brush of hands as they passed forms and documents to each other, or a touch on the arm to draw the other's attention. Even here, he'd been surprised when she'd embraced him a couple of days back; surprised at himself, now he came to think about it, that he'd unselfconsciously drawn her to him to comfort her when Valente had first begun to make Jake suffer. Part of that distance was the respect he'd accord any woman he didn't know well. Part of it, he now realized, was because he'd very much wanted to hold her and comfort her and be comforted by her—long before they were brought to this place.

And now they were here, he found himself at a loss as to where to start. Through the arm he'd slid around her as they lay down, and the hand she'd placed on his shoulder, he could feel the tension in her, and he knew it would make things more painful, more difficult if she was still that tense when he—.

Maybe that was the place to start.

Taking another deep breath, he met her gaze. In her eyes, he saw a mixture of anxiety and trust in him that gave him courage, and he lifted his free hand and brushed the hair back from her face. Leaning forward to put his lips close to her ear, he murmured, his voice rough, "This will be a lot easier on you if you're—." He stopped, not knowing how to say what he wanted to say.

She came to his rescue, the way she always did: knowing what he wanted, what he was struggling to say, even before he could fully form the thought. Squeezing his shoulder, she whispered back, "Ready for you? Yes, I know." She pulled her head back a little so she could meet his gaze again and added quietly, "I'm not—" she swallowed "—I'm not a virgin. That's going to help, right?"

"Yes." He nodded at her, feeling some relief. That had been in the back of his mind: not just that this might be her first time, and he didn't want this to be it, but that there was almost certainly no way he could make that not hurt. At least he had a chance now of making the whole thing merely very unpleasant.

Dragging in another lungful of air, he dropped his hand to her waist, letting it rest there for a moment, before he found the edge of her top and slid his hand underneath. His fingertips met her bare skin, and she tensed a little, before she let out a long breath, clearly making a conscious effort to relax.

He began to caress her side with long strokes, feeling her slowly grow less taut under his touch. Unbidden, the memory came back to him of lying like this with Alondra, of making love to her slowly and gently on the last night of his last leave before the September attacks. After which—. His hand faltered for a moment, before Heather quietly saying his name brought him back to the present. He focused again on her face, seeing the slightly puzzled look in her eyes, and forced away his memories of the past. It would do no good to think about Alondra, to think that he was betraying her too. The only good of thinking of his wife would be to remember what worked for her, and hope Heather wasn't so different.

After a minute more, when he'd resumed his steady attempts to ease the tension from Heather, she put her hand on the back of his head and drew his lips down onto hers. For a moment, he didn't return the kiss, because he hadn't expected it. Kissing her hadn't been part of his plan, because he'd thought it might make her uncomfortable, might make her think he was treating this or regarding her as if this was real or normal. Then he realized that maybe Heather needed the kiss precisely because it made things more like normal, because it would help her get aroused enough that he wouldn't hurt her when the time came.

Closing his eyes, he let his lips part under hers, accepting the kiss and returning it. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer, while he went on stroking her, all the while feeling her grow less tense. And though he kept the kiss light and controlled, mindful always of where they were and who was watching and why they were doing this, he couldn't help noticing how good kissing her was. How, despite the conditions they'd been living in and the conditions under which they found themselves now, she tasted and smelled and felt as good as his subconscious had told him she would. He noticed he was beginning to harden in response; a part of him was horrified that he was aroused by this, even as a part of him knew he had to be. That he needed to get hard just as much as Heather needed to relax, or they wouldn't be able to do what Valente was demanding of them.

When Heather seemed to have gotten as relaxed as he thought she was going to, he made his first foray downward, slipping his fingers under the drawstring waistband of her pants until his hand rested on her hipbone. She tensed again, but only a little, and he guessed he'd maybe startled her. Pulling back from kissing him, she caught his gaze, and gave him a slight nod, giving him permission to go on. Not breaking eye contact, he found the edge of her panties and slid his fingers underneath the elastic. He let his hand rest there a moment longer, painfully aware that he had only ever touched one other woman as intimately as he was about to touch Heather, before he moved his hand sideways.

She breathed in sharply as his fingertips brushed over the stiff curls of her hair, but she let her legs part as he gently pushed his fingers down between her thighs until he was cupping her lightly. She swallowed and gave him another nod, letting him know that she was still okay—as much as either of them could be okay doing this, here, now.

Drawing in a deep breath of his own, he prepared himself to—.

"You are trying my patience again, Major. I suggest you get on with it. Or do I need to give you another incentive?" Valente's icy tones jerked Beck out of the cocoon of intimacy he had been carefully constructing around himself and Heather. Beck silently cursed the man as he felt Heather stiffen under his hand and saw her lips shape Jake's name. Like him, she must have interpreted the word "incentive" as Valente's hand hovering over the button on that damn control panel.

Pressing down on the panic that rose within him—because, whether or not Heather was ready, he knew he wasn't—Beck looked up and caught sight of the black bulk of Valente's reflection in the mirror facing the opening into the other room. Valente had stepped up close to the opening: the better to observe them, Beck supposed. Next to him—though the combination of poor lighting, the mirror's distortions and the mesh covering the opening made it hard to be sure—Jake appeared to have his head bowed.

"Look." Beck tried to keep his tone level and not show his fear, to Valente or to Heather. "You want this. I don't. If I'm going to.... do what you want, you have to give me a chance to... perform." He gritted his teeth, not wanting to think about what might happen if he simply couldn't.

"Very well." Valente sounded amused as he added, "Perhaps I should have come to expect such dilatory action from you, Major."

Taking another deep breath, Beck turned back to Heather—and had to bite back a yelp of surprise when she put her hand on him.

She blushed as she met his gaze. "I need to help you, don't I?"

He nodded, growing hot with embarrassment at the way he'd reacted, even through his pants, to her fingers curving around him. And yet.... He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and reminded himself that it was a good thing she could get him aroused.

When he looked at her again, she tried to smile at him, before she tilted her head forward and leaned her forehead against his. "We can do this," she whispered.

He felt her fumble with his scrubs as she worked her hand up under his top, down into his pants and then inside his underpants. A small gasp escaped him as her hand closed on him, cool against his hot flesh, and as he responded involuntarily to her touch. Sucking in another breath, he tried to concentrate on her, on what she needed, as her palm and fingers settled into a steady rhythm moving over him.

His hand still cradled her, though his fingers were stiff with tension. He forced himself to relax them. Then, carefully, he slid one finger between her folds. It was her turn to let out a small gasp, but she didn't flinch from him. Even though, he was troubled to discover—if not much surprised—she was hot and dry. Hoping that, just as she was mechanically bringing him to the point where he could do his part, he could produce a facsimile of desire in her, he slid his finger on until he found her opening and could dip his fingertip inside her. Rubbing gently over her, he was rewarded after a moment with a sudden slickness.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, he continued to stroke her for a little longer, feeling her begin to open up to him. His own body responded, anticipating the moment when he would be inside her. Again, he pushed away the nausea that rose up within him as he realized a part of him must be enjoying this. Focusing on the task in hand, he leaned in so he could once more put his mouth close to her ear and murmured, "Pull your pants down below your hips. Leave your panties."

Her scrubs were like his: with a drawstring waist that, once loosened, should give her room to spread her legs enough without having to take them off. Without her having to expose more of herself than was strictly necessary to those who watched. As for her underwear.... He drew his hand away from her and out of her panties, and hooked his finger under the leg elastic so he could pull them to one side, out of the way.

Somehow, they shifted, so that she was underneath him, while his other hand worked his own clothes down far enough to free him. He had a moment when he wondered if they could fake things: if he could simply slide between her thighs and use the movement to make himself come. Then he remembered Valente's words about wanting Beck's semen inside Heather. He had a nasty feeling that if Valente had any sense he'd been duped, Heather would be subjected to a highly unpleasant examination, and Jake would suffer if the results weren't to Valente's satisfaction. No: they had to do this properly.

Beneath him, he felt Heather wriggle her pants down a little further, while her gaze sought out his. Then her hands were on him, helping to guide him into her, while she looked up at him. He wasn't sure if it was the feel of her around him, or the look of complete trust in her eyes, that made him moan quietly as he pushed into her.

From the other room, he heard Valente's sarcastic "Finally!" and, he thought, a quiet, whimpered, "No!" from Jake.

He tried to ignore both as he pushed further into Heather. She was tight around him and yet not so tight that he thought he must be hurting her, and he was afraid that he might slip out if he stopped too soon. Then he did stop.

He lifted a hand to brush her hair back from her face, supporting himself on his other arm. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

She bit her lip, but nodded at him. Taking another breath to steady himself, he began to push into her again, slowly and gently, allowing her to open up to him. She slid her hands down his back and, with light pressure, encouraged him on, her breathing long and measured as she took him in, until he was deep inside her.

Again, he paused for a moment and gave her a questioning look. "Still okay?"

Again, she nodded. Taking it as permission to go on, to get this over with, he began to move in shallow thrusts. She lay passively under him, and that was so unlike how Alondra had been that he faltered. But she gave him another nod of encouragement, and he reminded himself that they weren't here to put on a floor show. This was about doing the minimum to get through this. In another time and place, he would have wanted nothing more than for her to wrap her legs around him and match his thrusts with her own rhythm, but not now, not now.

The thought helped him, though, and he went on thinking about how it would be if they ever made love properly—which they never would, she was Jake's, he knew that—while he carried on looking down at her and moving inside her. She lifted her hands to his face, cradling it between her palms, her thumbs stroking his temples, and that helped too. And a mercifully short time later, he was holding in a groan, his eyes squeezed shut, as he came in short, jerky thrusts.

Breathing heavily, he opened his eyes again and saw her smiling up at him. She smoothed a hand over his hair, almost as if she was proud of him. Perhaps she was, for doing something so terrible with as much honor as he could manage. Tears blurred his vision for a moment—the tension, perhaps, and its release—and he leaned down and pressed his lips to her temple, even as he slid himself out of her. Because, God, he was proud of her too, and the way she'd handled all of this.

He felt her hands leave him, and begin to wriggle her pants back up. He lifted himself a little to give her room, while still trying to cover her from watchful eyes, and worked one-handed to rearrange his own clothes. When she put a hand on his arm, he raised his head and met her gaze again, and she gave him a quick nod that said she was ready.

Lifting himself off her, he scrambled his legs round so he could perch on the edge of the cot, facing her. She sat up, pulling her knees up to her chest, and he reached out his hand and cupped her cheek, not sure what to say.

Before he could find the right words, he heard the rattle of the door being unlocked. He let his hand drop away from Heather and twisted around, wondering what was about to happen now. Next to him, Heather shifted so that she could put her feet on the ground, ready to spring up.

The door opened, and Jake staggered into the room, a hard shove in the back making him stumble. He was still dressed in nothing but his underpants, although it looked like someone had pushed his folded scrubs into his arms a moment before. He dropped them as he tottered forward.

Beck leaped to his feet to catch Jake before he fell. He slung Jake's arm over his shoulder, staggering a little under Jake's weight. Heather, a step behind, put her arm around Jake from the other side and helped Beck guide Jake over to the cot. Jake clung to her as he sank onto the cot, and she let him pull her down to sit next to him.

Beck let go of Jake and backed up, retrieving Jake's scrubs from where they'd fallen on the floor. When he approached with them, Heather was stroking Jake's bangs back from his forehead, just like she'd done to Beck when—.

Beck forced away the memories and held out the scrubs. Heather must have been aware of him, because she put out her hand to take them, even though her gaze was still fixed on Jake's face. She was murmuring quietly, "It's okay. Shhhh.... It's okay."

Beck handed over the clothes and retreated to the other side of the room, wishing it were further.

Heather bundled the scrubs on to her lap, before reaching up and lightly running her fingers over Jake's chest, where the pads and wires had been attached. Jake was still holding on to her like a drowning man clutching a life preserver, his expression miserable as he gazed at her mutely.

Again, Heather brushed his hair back from his face. "Come on, let's get you dressed." Not breaking eye contact with him, she blindly groped at the clothes in her lap. She managed to get Jake into them, helping him put head and arms and legs through the right holes, just as if he were one of the third-graders she used to teach.

When he was clothed and sitting back on the cot, once more clutching Heather's arm—he seemed unsteady even seated—he reached up tentatively with his other hand and touched her face with his fingertips. "Are you...?" His voice was hoarse.

"I'm okay." He must have looked doubtful, because she nodded at him and repeated, "I'm okay. Edward—" Beck saw her swallow. "—made sure it was as... unhorrible as it could be."

Jake looked across at Beck, who was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, watching them. He knew he should have turned away as soon as he'd backed off, to give them some privacy, but he couldn't help himself: he had to know that things were still okay between them.

Jake's dark eyes were unfathomable as he met Beck's gaze. There was a long moment of silence, and then Jake's gaze lost focus and slid away. After another moment more, he heaved a breath and looked back at Heather. He blinked a few times, apparently a little surprised to find she was still there, or maybe to try and clear his thoughts. Then he let his head fall forward to rest on her shoulder, burying his face in her neck. She pulled him closer, and he slid his arm around her, clutching at her as if he planned on never letting go.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5