A/N: This is set in the 'New Findings' future-verse. Bailey and Emma are an established couple (for you slow learners out there, that means femslash). It is set a year after NF. Bailey has her doctorate and this is the first dig she was heading.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Suite Life On Deck or any of the characters from it. I do own Charles Bolivier, George Bishop, and Aboidun (this last one isn't hugely important).
Warning: This story contains violence, harsh language, and a femslash relationship (no sex). If any of that offends you I recommend you pull your head out of your ass and get over it. For those of you not offended by the aforementioned things, please enjoy.
*****'*****
I'm really in trouble now, Bailey thought as she worked to free her hands of the crude rope bindings. This is what I get for thinking I could go off by myself. What do I always tell my team members? Never go anywhere without at least one other person and a weapon. And what do I do? Storm off by myself, unarmed. Fantastic. I should have just apologized, the fight was stupid anyway, and now I might never get the chance to. Horse pucky.
She hadn't been thinking when she'd stormed out of their camp on the outskirts of the small African village. She'd ignored the warnings about poachers, bandits, and guerrillas in the area and tore off on her own without even a knife to aide her. All over her foolish jealousy.
She had been so angry she hadn't even noticed when she'd passed beyond the bounds marked as the village's territory and just kept on going. Darkness had fallen so quickly she'd barely had time to register the change from dusk to true night. And then she'd been attacked so swiftly and so violently she'd never had a chance to respond. Sacking had been forced over her head and several blows to the gut and jaw made sure she was disoriented and incapacitated enough for them to bind her at the wrists and ankles with the same rough rope she bore now. She remembered, barely, being lifted and tossed none too gently into the back of a truck. She'd thought she'd heard a familiar voice speaking an unfamiliar dialect, and had tried to shout out for help, but was struck another blow to the head which had rendered her unconscious.
***'***
She's not here! Emma had searched the camp and village high and low for her young lover, planning to apologize for the misunderstanding but she couldn't find her anywhere. The last place she had looked, the hut they'd been sharing, stood empty. No sign anywhere of Bailey. She'd hoped Bailey had just gone on a walk to cool off, but it appeared as though her upset lover had vanished into thin air.
Emma tried not to panic. Bailey is missing. Bailey is smart. She wouldn't have gone anywhere without at least a weapon, right? Emma checked Bailey's gear and found her pistol and boot knife stowed in her pack. Okay, so if she didn't take any weapons she wouldn't have gone far, right? She's always warning the crew not to go off alone and unarmed, surely she wouldn't do so herself, right? Her thoughts were not reassuring. But if she were angry, not thinking clearly, if she'd been distracted by her thoughts…Bailey you idiot!
Suddenly full of worry and near hysterics Emma raced from the hut and searched out the head of their security team and several village officials enjoying a game of poker in the mess.
"Dr. Pickett is missing," she announced to the table.
"Emma," the head of security, George Bishop, said soothingly, "Maybe she's just gone off on a walk to settle herself. Near everybody in the camp heard y'all had a tiff 'bout an hour ago."
Emma did not appreciate his making light of the situation, "Yes. We did. And since then I have searched the entire camp and village for her, George." Her voice became icy, "She. Is. Not. Here."
"Perhaps she is avoiding people," the village chief, Abiodun, said reasonably.
"No, we've had arguments like this before. Bailey never stays mad for long." Emma replied; worry creeping into her voice, "She thinks herself out at fifteen minutes, tops. And I can always find her, no matter what. She is nowhere in the camp or village. And she doesn't have any weapons on her."
Concern began showing on faces around the table, but George's looked the most concerned, "I'll put together some search teams. We'll find her." His last words were as much to reassure himself as Emma.
Twelve hours later, come morning, they found a clue. Signs of a scuffle, blood on the ground, and tire tracks leading west.
George was unprepared for the guilt, and the tears, when he told Emma the grim news.
***'***
When she awoke Bailey found she had gotten herself well and truly caught.
The leader of this group of bandits, and they made sure she knew it was bandits and not guerrillas (these men had no political agenda beyond what netted them more riches) who had captured her, was called simply Charles. He was a tall man whom she estimated was in his mid-forties with skin so dark that 'black' was an inadequate descriptor. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and smooth…seductive, almost, with a lilt that made it clear he was a native African thought she couldn't place the region. He was broad shouldered, well muscled and had many scars; 'boyhood scrapes' he had called them when he'd caught her staring in fascinated horror at the network crisscrossing nearly every visible inch of his skin.
Apart from the scars, Bailey would have thought him quite a handsome man were it not for the perpetual sneer he wore. The first time she had seen him smile, she wished she hadn't, he'd been severing the fingers of a subordinate for failing in some minor task. He'd made sure she witnessed that violence, performing it in full view of the cage she occupied, he said to 'serve as an example of what would happen to her should she ever try to defy him'. That smile haunted her nightmares.
The man terrified her. Never had she encountered man or beast she would call evil, until Charles had stepped into her life. He had a kind of casual cruelty, dealing blows and maiming for the joy of it, which made it clear he took a sinister pleasure in being the source of pain and fear. What was more frightening was that aside from the off-hand violence, perpetrated on prisoners and bandits alike, he was a perfect gentleman to her.
He'd even prevented his men from raping her two days into her captivity, delivering savage beatings to the underlings to get them off of her and murdering the ringleader outright. His words to his men showed her his strange moral boundaries, which at once served to comfort and unsettle her, "Any among you who would force himself on an unwilling woman is no man at all. Any who try this disgusting act again, on any woman kept among us, will have me to face. And this will be your punishment!" he cried in a thundering yell. He had then brutally and efficiently castrated each of her attackers, including the already dead man, in full view of the entire camp. "Live or die as you please," he'd addressed the bleeding men before him, "but you will never be men again." He turned to speak to the rest of his cadre, "So long as you are under my command you will obey my rules." With an eloquent gesture he indicated the fallen men, "Disobey and your punishment will be swift."
Following that he had her wounds tended, dressed her in fresh clothing, rebound her wrists, and placed her in her cage once more. She hadn't been able to stop herself from asking, "Why did you do all that?"
"I may have you bound in that cage," he'd said, "but that is no reason to be discourteous, doctor." And that seemed to be the end of the matter for him. But the fact that he knew who she was hadn't escaped her muddled perceptions. He knew who she was, he was after something specific, and that meant she might have some way out of this.
***'***
They had called in military officials to help in their search for Bailey. They would be needed considering how vast the territory and how dangerous. Between wild animals, poachers, bandits, guerrillas and the fact that they had no idea who had taken Bailey they had their work cut out for them.
George had tried to get Emma to take it easy, to rest and let his teams and the military personnel handle everything, but it was for naught. Emma's lover had been taken, right from under all of their noses, and she would be damned if she wasn't out there helping to get Bailey back.
Emma armed herself with a rifle being signed out to search groups.
"You don't even know how to use that!" George had exclaimed, still trying doggedly to get Emma to stay behind. Bailey had asked George at the very beginning of this expedition to keep an eye on Emma, to keep her safe, and while George had failed to do the same for Bailey he would not fail in upholding her wishes.
"Then I suggest you teach me," Emma had replied with steel in her voice. It was tone she'd used as a teacher, the one that made students sit up straight and pay attention, and it worked like a charm on George. "Quickly."
***'***
It was several days, filled with more casual violence and just enough sustenance to keep her alive, before she was able to speak to him again.
"What is it you want from me?" She'd asked one morning as he was passing by.
"From you, dear doctor?" he'd turned a twisted grin on her, "Not a thing. What I want is what your people have. What you dirt grubbers have been so kindly digging up for me. You, little one, are merely my means to an end."
"What is it you think we have that's of any value?" she questioned around a split lip, watching him carefully through blackened eyes, "We haven't found any gold. No jewels. Just simple artifacts."
His grin turned fierce, "Simple artifacts. Ha," there was no humor in the laugh, "Have you any idea of the value of those 'simple artifacts'? There are private collectors all over the world who will pay a small fortune for those painted pots. A large fortune for even one of the talismans you have found. A king's ransom for the ancient inscribed tablets. You were sitting on a treasure worth more, quite literally, than all the tea in China."
Bailey thought she should have realized that, there was a reason their camp was so secure, but she'd been caught up in the excitement and historical significance of the find that it had never occurred to her the monetary value of any of the pieces she and her team had uncovered. How on earth did this bandit know exactly what her team had found? "So why do you need me?"
"Hmm, I may as well tell you, yes," Charles tossed her an ugly smirk even as he struck her for impertinence (she'd known he would), "We need you for leverage. The man I have on the inside does not have access to the artifacts. My people cannot break into your camp; you set up very good security Doctor Pickett, I was impressed. The only way for us to get those prizes was make a trade. It just so happens you are valuable to your people, more so than the trinkets, and so you are valuable to me. We only had to wait for the opportune moment to take you, which you so helpfully provided. Really, I will owe you a debt Doctor. You will be making me a very wealthy man."
"Man on the inside, huh? Not a very useful man is he?" Bailey tried to get a read on Charles, but he was as inscrutable as ever. Still, she continued, hoping if she enraged him he would reveal the name of his informant, "I mean he couldn't even smuggle out one tiny talisman. Those things are so easy to hide, too."
"I see what you are trying to do, Doctor," he scoffed in amusement, "You are not very skilled at it. Still, I will tell you what you wish to know. My agent is a man named Jamal. I believe he was posing as one of your diggers, though he may also have been a cook. Very good at blending in, my Jamal. I doubt you ever even noticed him."
Bailey wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing he was right, though she suspected he already knew.
His grin made her sick. "Good news for you, though. Your people have finally received my ransom message and have kindly acquiesced to my demands. We will be making a trade tomorrow."
She doubted that even if Charles got what he wanted that he'd let her leave alive. She had seen the kind of man he was. He would keep you so long as he had use for you. After that, you were so much dirt under his boot. No, she suspected that she'd be dead as soon as the artifacts were handed over. He would probably even kill the people from her side making the trade; they would be able to describe him, after all, and that would be bad for a man amassing a fortune and gaining a public face.
As injured as she was she wouldn't be able to escape before the trade would take place, she might be able to free her hands, but that would do no good if she was too weak to use them. She knew that at the very least she had several cracked ribs, perhaps even some outright broken ones. She knew her nose was broken, the swelling which very nearly forced her eyes closed told her that. She suspected internal damage and a broken ankle. And she knew her left shoulder was dislocated. She was almost thankful that the amount of pain she was in was great enough to practically numb her, she thought that feeling might be attributed to her concussion. On top of all that she had a number of scrapes, cuts, and bruises. And bug bites covered a fair amount of her skin, she'd managed to chase off the scorpions but nothing would deter the mosquitoes. Add in her being nearly starved and severely dehydrated and she was in dire shape. Charles had his people treating her just enough to keep her alive, no more, no less. Still, as poorly off as she was, she wanted to at least free her hands and make an effort. She'd hate to die with bound hands.
But what she'd really hate is that she may never get to see Emma again. She may never get to tell her how sorry she is for overreacting like that, how stupid she'd been. She may never again get to say to Emma 'I love you', may never look into her eyes, feel her lips, hold her close…Screw that! Like hell I'm going to die out here! Not from some jumped up kidnapper and a little beating. I will not die tomorrow. I will not leave my Emma alone in this world. No way, no how. Somehow, I will fucking make it. I will not die tomorrow. I won't allow myself to. You hear me, God? Bailey Pickett will not die tomorrow. I've got too fucking much to do and a good woman waiting for me.
***'***
A week and a half! We found out nothing in a week and a half, and we'd still know nothing if the bastards that took her hadn't finally delivered their message. Emma cursed a blue streak in her mind, keeping her jaw shut so none of it leaked out.
The military, as soon as the message had been brought to them, began planning their response. The first step in their recovery plan (though Emma knew they were more interested in capturing the bandits than rescuing Bailey, after all, stopping this criminal group would be a huge feather in all their caps) was to send a message appearing to accept their terms. They immediately sent a team to scout the exchange point and set up whatever traps they could in the time they had.
Emma's litany of curses continued unabated as she cleaned her rifle, making sure each piece was in perfect working order. I don't care what the military types think, I'm damn well going to that drop point and I will damn well rescue my girlfriend. No way am I staying behind while these pricks seek their political glory by killing a bunch of criminal thugs, they won't watch out for my girl and I am going to make sure Bailey makes it out of this alive.
Come hell or high water I will be taking Bailey home with me, alive, or I will kill every one of the sons of bitches that took her…
But God, please, please help me save her. I love her, so much. I don't think I can live without her…and so help me, I wouldn't want to. Not anymore. Not now that I know what being in love really means, what it feels like to have every dream come true. Living without her would be a nightmare become reality. I know, someday, you'll call her back and I'll have to say goodbye. But not yet. Please, not yet.
George watched as Emma's jaw went tight, her hands moving automatically over the weapon he'd drilled her to use. He never would have believed she could learn so fast but then, he supposed, she had a damn good reason to get really skilled really fast. He'd been keeping his eyes on her, just like he'd promised Bailey he would, and he'd seen how this last week had torn her apart. She was all frayed around the edges and unraveling fast. Knowing this it shouldn't have been a surprise when, as she was reassembling the rifle, tears started falling unchecked down her cheeks and yet it caught him off guard.
She had always been so unflappable, but here she was crumbling before his very eyes. It broke his heart. He sent a prayer up to any god that was listening to watch over them and to make sure they all came out of this safely. He knew, he could tell, that if Bailey didn't live through this Emma wouldn't live much longer. He'd seen that kind of despair and rage in the eyes of many soldiers just before they'd do something stupid and get themselves killed. He just hoped like hell that Emma would never reach the breaking point…and as long as Bailey came out of this okay than Emma would be fine. And if Bailey didn't make it…he would lose two friends he loved and cherished, and the world would lose two of the greatest women it could ever hope to produce.
***'***
Bailey's morning had not started off promising. She got the usual beating as the camp stirred to life, a little rougher this time as her guards were getting in their last kicks instead of saying goodbye. Bug infested bread and stale water for a meal. The regime of champions, truly, Bailey thought sarcastically as she managed to choke down the bread. Bugs are just protein is what Pappy always says, and I ain't died yet so it must all be making me stronger.
She was dragged from her cage after her meal, the blinding sack once more forced over her head, and tossed like a bale of hay into the bed of the truck. She listened to it clang when she landed, and to it starting up and roaring off as she adjusted herself. She wondered, briefly, how many had died like this. How many men, women, and children had been taken by this man, used and abused, only to be slaughtered in an unknown place for no good reason? How many lives has Charles taken? Dozens? Hundreds? Surely not thousands…but perhaps. He is a monster. People die in droves in his camp. Fresh victims always being driven in. How many people has he made helpless and broken? How many more would he ruin before someone finally brings him to justice?
Jail is far too good for him. I respect that he doesn't rape, and doesn't allow his men to, but one golden standard does not make amends for all the thousands of depravities. And there's nothing that could ever hope to rectify the mental anguish he's inflicted on people. But perhaps, that's part of what he's after all along. Doesn't matter, I don't care. All I need to do is live through today, live to get back to Emma.
Bailey hardly noticed when the truck came to a stop, but she definitely noticed when her guards grabbed her by an arm each and she didn't get the expected pain. Huh, throwing me in there like that must have popped my shoulder back in. They frog marched her, as she could only hop on one leg, to some predetermined position and forced her to kneel. She decided to count kneeling as a good thing since it kept weight of her broken ankle. Then she heard them all settle in to wait.
When she knew they were sufficiently settled, meaning drinking and playing some card game, she began worrying away at the ropes lashing her wrists. She'd done a fair amount of work fraying them thin the night before and she could feel them slowly starting to give, she felt rather than heard them creaking as strand by strand the rope broke.
"Look sharp gentlemen, our bounty has arrived." Even with the sack covering her eyes Bailey knew Charles' cultured voice.
A sudden thought struck her, is he really so dumb as to come to this place himself? Didn't he ever think it might be a set-up? Surely Emma and George would have alerted the authorities to my disappearance. Charles can't really expect to be dealing with just civilians can he? Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a gun's hammer being cocked and knew, of course he'd come prepared. My life as insurance.
Still, she continued tearing through the rope, she was almost free.
***'***
George had tried to stop her. Abiodun had tried to stop her. The military man in charge had tried to stop her. None of them had reckoned on just how furious and desperate Emma was at that point. There was nothing short of trapping her beneath a mountain that would have kept her away from that meeting place. Nothing would keep her from going to her girlfriend's rescue, and it was foolish of them to even have tried.
Emma placed the rifle against her shoulder. She sighted down the barrel. She saw a tall black man holding a gun to what must be Bailey's head (it was difficult to tell for certain, the face was covered and she wasn't wearing the clothes she'd disappeared in but instead wearing baggy men's clothing, still Emma could sense that was Bailey). The soldier next to her cautioned her to wait, they hadn't been given orders yet and striking prematurely would just get a lot of people killed. Emma knew that. She held herself in readiness, weapon steady and warm in her hands.
"I see you have brought what I requested," the rich voice of the black man carried even to where Emma lay in wait, "This is good. Place the crates there, my men will secure them, then we will hand over the good doctor."
"How do we know that's Dr. Pickett?" George's voice, too, carried well.
"Wise," the man said and pulled the hood from the prisoner's head. It was definitely Bailey, though beaten hardly recognizable. Emma sucked in a breath sharply and barely managed to stop herself from shooting the man right then.
Suddenly a new voice boomed out, "CHARLES BOLIVIER! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER PEACEFULLY!"
The man, Charles, rapidly lost his composure and brandished his gun at Bailey. "Fools! Idiots! You think I will not kill the girl? You think I will give up now? Never! I will never surrender! And I will take this wretched woman with me!"
***'***
Several things happened at once.
Bailey finally snapped the rope binding her wrists and dove to the side and slightly behind the enraged African.
Emma rose up and fired a single shot, whipping the gun out of Charles' grip and leaving a hole through his hand.
The soldiers broke cover and fired upon Charles and his two men.
It was over in mere seconds. The bandits lay dead and everyone converged on the spot where Bailey had flung herself down.
George Bishop was the first to reach her but Emma, moving almost inhumanly quickly, was not far behind.
"Bailey?" George asked as he knelt gently beside the prone figure. "Bailey, you alright girl?" He reached out and carefully pulled her over as Emma arrived at Bailey's other side.
"Oh Bailey," Emma gasped at the gruesome sight Bailey made with her face of mottled bruises and cuts still covered in blood. "Bailey, sweetheart. Please be okay."
Emma could have wept with relief when Bailey managed to open her eyes to mere slits and cracked a broken grin. "Nice shootin', Tex," Bailey said, "I had no idea you had such good aim. You got him right through the hand. My hero."
Emma blushed bright red and decided not to tell Bailey that she'd been aiming for the bastard's head.
George broke in, "How you feeling, girly?"
"I," Bailey began in a weak voice, "have had better mornings." She coughed, throat parched and tasting blood on her tongue. "Mostly involving you," she said shakily pointing at Emma, "and our bed."
Emma smiled, tears gathering in her eyes, "Only mostly?"
Bailey leaned her head back and grinned a little easier, "Well, sometimes it was a cot."
Emma laughed and cried a little at the same time.
George laughed outright, "Oh, I think this one will be fine," he told the military personnel still hovering around. Many of them had been sent off to try and track the truck back to Charles' base camp, there was little hope with the winds wiping clean their traces, but there were those left to transport the people and the artifacts back to the camp and at least one medic eager to get a look at his patient.
"Emma," Bailey said. "Emma, I'm so sorry about our fight. I shouldn't have overreacted like that-"
"No, no," Emma protested, "I'm sorry. I know how it must have looked to you. I understand why you thought what you did." Neither of the women cared that the medic heard every word passed between them as he took stock of Bailey's injuries.
"Still, I overreacted. I should have listened to you instead of running off believing in a misunderstanding," Bailey replied.
"Well, running off was pretty stupid," Emma grinned down at Bailey.
"Believe me," Bailey said as emphatically as she could manage, "I know. And I won't ever do that again. Talk about a lesson learned. Which reminds me…Hey, George?"
The security man leaned forward, "Yeah?"
"There's a guy, Jamal. He was Charles' agent. Worked as a digger or a cook in our camp. Find him and get him to show the military types where Charles' camp is. And make sure those artifacts make it back to camp."
He grinned wolfishly at his young friend as he got up to follow orders, "Sure boss."
Emma leaned close and kissed Bailey's forehead, the only place she could see with no marks or blood, and whispered, "Don't you ever scare me like that again."
"I make no promises about that, since I didn't exactly do this on purpose. But I can promise you this: I will love you with all of my heart for every day of the rest of my life. Even when I'm being stupid and unreasonable, I'll love you."
Emma nearly cried again, "Then I'll promise you the same."
"Even when you're being stupid and unreasonable?"
"I'm never stupid and unreasonable," Emma paused for a moment a grin stretching her lips, Bailey waited her out with a matching grin, "But, should the day come that I'm ever stupid and unreasonable…I'll still love you, even then."
"Good," Bailey said, "Because asking you to marry me would be kind of hard if you weren't going to be as stupidly in love with me as I am with you."
*****'*****
THE END
A/N: Now, you may be wondering what set Bailey tearing out of the camp before the start of this fic. Here is what happened: Emma was walking and talking with one of the security men (nameless), asking him about specifics to the security measures around the camp/dig/village (as they'd seemed excessive to her). As they were walking she tripped and he caught her. It happened to look, from a distance, like a very close embrace (a flirting/kissing embrace), which is what Bailey took it for and blew up about. They got into a pretty heated argument, Bailey accusing, Emma asking Bailey to just trust her that it was innocent. Bailey, being still young and stupid, went off pissed and jealous. And events of the story were done from that point forward.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the fic. Please review.