lol... so, I finally finished it. Putting it here in attempt to keep the under-15s out. Thanks to SomebodysDarkAngel for the beta... and for putting up with me changing my mind about it every three minutes.

She sat on the beach, legs pulled up to her chest, loose hair flapping and knotting in the sea breeze. Despite the camo pants and grey tee she still wore, she didn't feel like an officer in uniform. There was a dullness in her once-bright eyes as she stared out to sea – looking, but not seeing. She appeared strangely out of place in the bright surroundings. With the warm tropical sun, glistening azure ocean, and fine white sand, it was pretty much paradise.

Except for the company. She could feel his eyes on her, always watching. It had been a week since he had made his escape, keeping her as a 'hostage'. Really, he didn't need one. He just wanted her. He had always wanted her, and it had always been personal, ever since she had rejected his advances. It had been the right thing to do at the time, but now she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she hadn't... Josh probably wouldn't have died, and she never would have wound up here.

Aside from when he was greedily sating his hunger for her, Fulton left her alone. She could feel him watching, making sure she didn't make a run for it – not that there was anywhere to go – but he didn't chain her down or demand her company. Much.

Small mercies, she thought, still gazing flatly at the horizon. They were well away from any shipping channels, and she'd given up hope of anyone finding her... though, in truth, she didn't really want them to. She didn't want to be rescued, to have to grieve all over again... to have to live. Most of all, she didn't want them to see her like this; not just battered and beaten, but broken.

There was nothing tangible, but she knew when he was and wasn't looking at her; and his gaze had just moved. The sound of shifting sand behind her caused her to tense. A second later, his arm fell across her shoulders as he dropped down onto the sand beside her. Her thigh muscles groaned in remembrance, and all she could think was, not now.

She didn't move, just kept her legs tucked to her chin, her arms around them, her eyes aimed straight ahead.

"C'mon Nikki. You could at least look at me." Her jaw tightened a fraction; just enough of a reaction for him to know she could hear him. "If you're trying to ignore me, listening doesn't help."

His arm tightened around her shoulder and, by sheer strength of will alone, she didn't flinch. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He leaned closer, determined to make her react, make her fight. When his lips first touched her skin, her nostrils flared, and she could feel him smirking. Slowly, his mouth travelled up the side of her neck, eventually resting on her earlobe.

"Nikki."

Nothing else. Just her name, said softly and almost lovingly. Don't react, she thought furiously.

"What did he call you?"

Her stomach dropped several centimetres. She closed her eyes, tried to convince herself it was Josh's arm around her shoulders, his lips on her ear... But there was no mistaking the voice.

"C'mon Nikki. What did Josh call you? Remember him?"

She failed to hide the increasing roughness in her breathing.

"You do, don't you?" Her fingers clenched, untrimmed nails digging into her palms. "Course you remember Josh. He was a diver. He drowned. You found him, didn't you?"

The gentle, mocking tone was too much. With a snarl that was half-sob, she lashed out, pushed him away, trying to hurt him but unsure how. Chuckling, he grabbed her wrists and twisted, forcing her down. She kicked wildly, but he looped his right leg around her left, and moved to sit astride her, pinning her body to the sand.

"Really Nikki. No need for that." Dipping his head, he placed his mouth against hers, pressing down until he found an opening he could push his tongue through. Disgusted but unable to escape, Nikki waited a moment, then bit down. It wasn't the first time she'd tried this and, wary to the move, he pulled away just in time.

"That's not very nice," he whispered, then hooked his teeth around her bottom lip. She couldn't look anywhere but straight into his eyes; the cold amusement left no doubt in her mind as to his intentions. As his incisors slowly tightened around the flesh beneath her lip, her nostrils quivered. There was nothing she could do to shield herself from the coming pain. The feeling of total powerlessness was crushing. Her family had left her career choices entirely up to her. As an officer, she'd had a fair bit of control over what happened on board. And in relationships, she was almost always the one in charge. For the first time in her life, she had nothing. She was a doll, the direction and angle of her plastic limbs entirely up to him.

He waited until the moment of bitter realisation changed to fear, then bit down, hard. What had started as a whimper quickly turned into a groan; it was all she could do not to scream, as his teeth came through and blood filled her mouth. She'd been through so much pain in the past week, she had begun to think she was immune to it. The thick taste of fresh blood flooded her mouth, and she realised she was far from being pain-free. She tried to spit it out, but she was still on her back and he was still above her, and with his teeth through her lip she couldn't turn her head. A sob caught in her throat, forcing her to breathe in – but that pulled the blood in her mouth towards her throat, and she instinctively swallowed.

Less than a second later, she was gagging, unable to repress the feeling of the warm liquid stroking the sides of her throat. She was swallowing and inhaling it all at once, choking. In a single flash of clarity, she knew this was how she was going to die. Fulton lying above her, his mouth against hers, drowning on her own blood.

Then he opened his teeth and pulled back, allowing her to prop herself up and turn her head to the side as she retched.

And he laughed. Rolling off her half-limp form, he laughed.

Grains of sand were glued to her face, and the pristine white beach was stained red. The hole extended right through her lower lip, and when the bleeding eventually stopped, a deep throbbing took up its place. Crawling away from the sound of his mirth, she wiped at her mouth with one arm in an attempt to spit out the gritty taste of sand between her teeth.

As if only just realising he was no longer pinning her down, she scrambled to her feet and stumbled away.

"Where are you going, Nikki?" he called, and she froze.

Her face contorted as she looked out at the brilliant blue water. Where was she going? She didn't know. There was nowhere to go. Trapped. Alone. Prisoner. The grief was so strong it was like a physical pain, and for a whole minute she stood, stock still, clenched fists and closed eyes unable to stop the tears trickling down her face.

Then, in slow motion, her legs folded and she dropped to the ground. Her shoulders shook and her chest heaved, and she sobbed. She was beaten, defeated, and broken. Hiding her pain and anger meant nothing, achieved nothing. He wanted to see it, he wanted to watch her lose. Maybe if she gave him that then he would kill her quickly and it would all be over.

She could hear him coming towards her again, but left her forehead against her knees and her eyes shut. His hand touched her lightly on the shoulder as he sat down beside her, in what was almost a comforting gesture.

"Nikki?" he said quietly. "Hey." There was something approaching real concern in his tone, and she immediately tore the thought apart. No. He was capable of countless atrocities, but not that. Not empathy or affection. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not," she mumbled, keeping her head down, struggling to regain her composure. Her lip was throbbing in time with her erratic pulse.

"Yeah, I am. I just realised... I'm not being very nice."

Not being nice. A bitter laugh sounded in her throat. Discounting their 'history', he had threatened her, abducted her, imprisoned her, raped her, hurt her, and humiliated her. He was definitely 'not being nice'.

When she didn't say anything out loud, he continued. "I mean, I'm rich enough to own half an island. I've been getting myself all these nice things... haven't got anything for you."

"I don't want anything."

"New clothes? Something pretty. You're still in your old uniform."

"I like my uniform," she growled, lifting her head just slightly. The camouflaged pants were filthy, and the grey shirt showed all the blood she'd spilt over the past week, but she much preferred them to anything he could give her.

"You know, Nikki," he began, the friendly tone gone. "I could rip those clothes off you and force you to either go naked or wear what I tell you." Gritting her teeth, she glared at the ocean. Now that she had finally lifted her head, he took a moment to study her profile. "But I won't do that."

Aiming her sour expression at him, she tried to work out what he was thinking. "Am I supposed to thank you for that?"

"It'd be nice," he smirked. He caught her gaze, and smiled thinly, letting the desire show in his eyes. Sighing, she looked away again, her eyes tilting upwards. She almost wanted to pray, but she didn't know what for.

"Go away," she whispered.

"You need to change your perspective on this," he said, leaning back on his elbows in the sand. "We had a bad start. But let's put that behind us... we could be friends."

"Friends?" she scoffed, her lips twisting into something that, at any other time, could have been construed as a smile. Her lower lip gave a painful twinge, and the look fell away.

He shrugged. "Probably uses less energy than hating me."

Unfortunately, he had a point. It was already taking everything she had to keep going. Most of the time, she wondered why she bothered – probably because some stubborn part of her refused to just lie down and surrender. She found herself unable to just give up, as inviting as the concept was.

"Well?" he prompted, and her lip curled. "Fine. Let me do something for you."

"Leave me alone?" she suggested flatly.

"Anything you want, I can get for you." She didn't move. "Anything, Nikki. Just name it."

Very slowly, she blinked and looked back at him. For a moment, she remained silent, and simply studied his earnest expression. "I want my fiancé back."

His expression faltered briefly, then he sneered. "Anything possible."

"I thought you said money could buy anything."

He sat up properly, inching towards her. "How about I get you a new fiancé?"

She gingerly touched her tongue to the hole in her lip, and managed to restrain herself from spitting in his face. Then she frowned, and looked at him sideways.

"Anything?" He raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I want my fish back."

"Your fish?"

"Yes. Lance. My clown fish."

"Ah. Of course."

"He'll need a new tank, too. A bigger one. And not just any clown fish. I'll know if it's not him."

There was something genuinely amused in his expression. "Alright. I'll find your fish."

Finally, he stood, and turned away. Her eyes left the glittering expanse of ocean, instead following his path down the beach way from her. Before she knew what she was doing, she was calling out, "Campbell." He paused, looked back. For a minute, he waited, and she wondered what she was trying to say. "Thank you."