"Pick up the DAMN phone and call her right now!"

"Outta the question!" Agent Edgar Reade spat through bloodied teeth. He could barely catch his breath as he shot daggers to his abuser. Blood spilled from his mouth and onto his grey t-shirt. What the fuck was he doing there?

"Oh yeah? We've got a tough one."One of the sandstorm members chuckled as he pulled out a laptop. He was gonna see where this agents loyalties lied.

Reade could barely see through his swollen eye. He noticed That there was a sharp pulsing in his duct while He tried to examine the room where they kept him. Nothing was there save for the chair he occupied and bland beige walls. Keeping his eyes from shutting became a task, sleep threatened to take over but he couldn't allow it. He recalled being taken a few hours ago on the way to his car. Why didn't he just look over his shoulder. That would have easily bought him enough time to pull out his pistol and POW he would have never been there. Ever since he arrived the beatings continued yet, He refused to give up his teams' where a bouts. Well, his former team but still once a team always a team.

"You ...don't need ...her here. You have me!" He struggled to find these words his brain was dazed. He took several blows to the head and he was pretty sure that he was suffering from a concussion. His chest rose and fell quickly as he tried not to pass out. The sandstorm guy who's still hadn't identified himself spoke but Reade couldn't hear the words over the ringing in his ears. Sweat rolled down his face stinging his eyes while he concentrated on making a description of them in his mind. The last thing he wanted was Zapata to be in the same room as these...these Terrorists! The FBI agent peered down at the laptop screen.

At first glance he couldn't make out the image everything appeared to be moving too fast like a child speeding downhill on A bike. He forced himself to focus in on the screen and he could see an unmistakable blonde with a gun pointed towards her head. Patterson! Reade was infuriated by the appearance of her. Her eyes seemed sunken as if she hadn't slept in days. Her clothes showed signs of being pushed around. And from the looks of it she appeared to be begging. Her body language was all wrong she didn't come across as the vibrant techie he once knew.

"Let her go!" He struggled against the metal restraints that were too tight on his limbs. "One phone call to Agent Zapata and you've got yourself a deal."

"Alright, alright! I'm leaving! You don't have to kick me out on my ass." Tasha joked to her favorite bartender at the local bar. She always gave him hell but he knew it came from a good place. "You know the rules, two drinks and you're out" his thick New York accent danced around his words with a slight threat. He knew what she did for a living and never wanted her to get into trouble. " yeah yeah yeah" Zapata mumbled as she reached into her wallet to pay the bill. She knew if she stayed any longer he would have someone escort her home and she really didn't feel like being bothered. "Look Tasha, you've been coming here a lot lately. I don't wanna see you get messed up again" the bartender tried to have a heart to heart. He felt like a therapist to some of his regulars. If only they paid him as much as a therapist. Tasha knew exactly what he meant by 'messed up' he meant deep in debt with gambling.

"I just love seeing your handsome face, is that such a problem?" The FBI agent asked mockingly looking up from underneath her eyes with a slight tilt of her head as she always did when she used sarcasm. It had been two years since she felt whole. Two years since she was able to spill her heart out with nothing but truths and comfort. Two years since she had a real friend. She was already 'messed up.' All of that friendship stuff ended with Quantico. Kudos to Reade and his stupid transfer. After that nothing seemed the same. Her work life seemed as though she was living the same day over and over again. Although she ran her own team, everyone there was a bunch of squares; all too afraid to bend the rules a little. Whatever happened to the old saying ' trust your gut' Ugh. And home life? Forget it. all she ever did was catch up on sleep or hang out at the bar.

"You better get outta here before I let the cops know they've got an inebriated officer on their hands"

"Special Agent" Tasha corrected him

"Whatever" he waved her off as she opened the door to leave.

Although it was night out, the weather was warm and the light breeze was perfect for the black leather jacket that she wore. Her apartment was just a few blocks away so she had no problem with walking. She actually preferred it to clear her mind. Lately she felt as if she was going 100 miles per hour never stopping to enjoy the scenery. As she approached her apartment her cell rang: An unknown number. Hmm

"Hello?" Zapata questioned

"Tasha?"

"Reade?" Zapata's stomach dropped she hadn't heard his voice in months. After his transfer he tried to make himself disappear, only seldomly calling her to let her know that he was okay.

"Yes." He sounded on he verge of tears.

"You okay?" She still recognized when he was in trouble although he tried to hide it a lot.

"I..."

"What? What's wrong did something happen? Tasha heard rumbling though the phone and then a grunt.

"Reade? Are you okay? What's happening?"

"Tasha, listen" His voice sounded too loud

"What? Say what you need to say" Zapata grew frustrated as she tucked her hair behind her ear . She could hear her heart pounding inside of her ears. Something was wrong. She had seen him at his lowest point. Even Nurtured and cared for him through it. This sounded like one of those moments.

"Look, I" he breathed " I need to talk to you can you meet me on 45th street at the"

"Xi'ans" Zapata cut him off. They always had late night Chinese runs at Xi'ans. "Sure she finished I'm not too far from there I'll head over now."

"Alright and Tasha?" Reade started. He sounded a bit mumbled.

"Yeah?" She asked curious to find out what lasting words he had to say.

"I..." the line went dead

The FBI agent looked down at her phone to see if she had lost signal . Full bars.

She hurried to get to 45th street. The click clack of her black ankle boots hitting the pavement was the only sound she could make out. What could possibly be wrong with him? Could it be the tapes again? Was he using drugs? The possibilities were endless. As she rounded the corner she noticed a tall dark figure standing in front of the restaurant. "Reade!" Tasha all but screamed. She half doubted that he would actually show up, but now that she physically saw him in front of her all of the good memories flooded back. She sped up to a jog to meet him there. He moved slowly towards her. Like he wasn't too excited to see her. She could barely see his face with all of the shadows casting over.

"How are you!" She reached up to give him a hug and he winced away. "Sssll" he inched away a bit "not too tight" he mumbled.

He held his head down in sorrow afraid to meet her gaze.

"What's going on?" She asked pushing him toward the light of the store. "You had me freaking the hell-" Reade lifted his head and met her eyes. "WHAT in the hell happened to your face?" Tasha all but yelled. His eye was swollen shut revealing shades of purple, his bottom lip was bulging with a scratch on the center of it, and his nose seemed as if it was broken. "Who did this to you?" She asked standing on her tippy toes for a better look.

"I'm sorry." Reade simply stated with a dead look in his eyes.

"Sorry? Sorry for what? You're confusing me. Just talk to me." She pleaded grabbing his hands. His puppy dog eyes glanced directly behind her.

"I'm sorry" he repeated.

*Chick-chack* the unmistakable sound of a gun right at the back of her head. Tasha's heart lurched, as she felt the pressure of the gun hard on the back of her skull. Too shocked to look away from Reade's big brown eyes, she squeezed tighter on his hands as her eyes filled with tears.

"Reade?" Her voice trembled with confusion. Did he really set her up?

"I'm sorry" he said again. And with that the but of the gun slammed against Tasha's head causing her to fall forward onto Reade"s torso.

"Not so tough now huh?" Sandstorm asked as they dragged Zapata into the back of a van.