Rated T for some intense, dark imagery and occasional swearing.
The first time he wakes he thinks he's dead.
There's nothing - just black and an absence of noise and sensation...so, death.
He doesn't even notice when he sinks back under...
...
The next time he swims to consciousness the darkness is shot through with sparks and sound - an overwhelming pulsating roar that fills his ears and pounds through his skull - comes from inside his skull, obliterating thought...
He's pulled under again.
(He fights to stay, but he's drowning...struggling to the surface only to be dragged back - over and over again)
...
Finally he's awake, aware, long enough for thought instead of just impression and sensation -
Breathing hurts.
Everything fucking hurts...
He can hear scraping, dragging, shuffling. Glass shatters and a voice utters a curse - he's not alone and the knowledge terrifies him. Why?
(He knows that voice...)
This time when he's pulled back under, he doesn't fight.
...
The next time he wakes he learns more -
His arms are bound with chain...
A bag over his head makes it dark as night and makes him fight to breathe...
His knee and hand throb and his ribs ache...
His head feels like it's being crushed in a vise...
His lungs and throat burn...
He remembers water...
...
It's this last detail that allows him to shake off the fog and put all the pieces together -
He's still in the goddamned farmhouse with Brennan...
(Memory comes rushing back)
...He's here because of God's Good Grace.
He remembers now...
An explosion of pain at his temple.
Tumbling down a staircase and waking bound and blind.
Water...so much water that he wished he could drown all the way and be done.
Brennan's righteous anger and regret.
...
Next came his own anger - How dare this murderer preach about injustice? So he'd done some preaching of his own.
Drowning in his own hypocrisy, Brennan gave him the means for his escape. One swing was all it took for opportunity to come knocking and he took it. He was down and free and the fight was on.
Outweighed and out reached, his body broken and bruised, it wasn't much of a fight. He wasn't surprised when it ended with Brennan's forearm locked tight across his windpipe.
Sinking into darkness, his thoughts stretched out into a kaleidoscope of images, there for an instant and gone...
A dark-haired woman with tired eyes; black clumps of earth falling on a gleaming wooden box; a tall man handing him a spoon; tear tracks on a beloved face; long, curly chestnut hair shining in the sun; red and blue lights strobing against a dark sky; blue eyes like a summer sky twinkling with laughter; a brown ponytail swaying gently; sparkling glasses raised in welcome; flashing brown eyes drawing him in; a wide, brilliant smile; then...nothing.
Andy closes her eyes and concentrates on breathing deeply and evenly, aggressively forcing back the bile that's trying to rise in her throat. When she's sure she has control, she opens her eyes and refocuses on the crime scene pictures tacked to the wall, desperate to find something, anything, that will give them a clue to where Sam might be.
It's been almost thirty-six hours since they learned something happened at Sam's cover apartment, his last known movements captured on camera as he left in the company of a remorseless killer, blood left pooling on the stairs grim evidence that he didn't leave willingly.
In the last day and a half the full resources of 15 Division and Guns and Gangs has been brought to bear on Jamie Brennan, producing dozens of potential leads as to where Sam could've been taken, all of them dead ends.
Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she gulps down her now-cold coffee and drops into a chair beside Traci. Pulling over a folder, she ignores the bitter gnawing in her stomach and braces herself to look once again at the horrific evidence of Brennan's past crimes.
If only, she thought, if only she'd spoken up sooner, had been brave enough or less blind, Sam would be here now, safe - would be with her.
The last month has been hard for Andy, lonely and disheartening.
Four weeks ago, after bearing witness to a stranger's unrealized dreams, she'd finally plucked up the courage to grab fate by the hand, only to be stymied by poor timing.
Andy had already come to see that Luke's infidelity, while devastating and humiliating at the time, saved her from making a terrible mistake. They had cared for each other, even loved each other to a degree, but not enough in the long run to make either of them truly happy.
She'd chosen him because she thought she wanted safe and easy. Sam was the opposite of Luke in every way - he was passionate, intense and unpredictable. She could admit that she'd been scared of the instant, visceral attraction she felt for him. Instead of acting on her instincts, she'd overthought everything and ignored her gut which had been pushing her toward Sam from the start.
The last time she'd seen Sam, she'd just saved Leslie Atkin's life. Learning later that she'd died anyway opened Andy's eyes to the folly of saving the good candy and champagne for later - five, ten, twenty year plans looked good on paper, but guaranteed nothing.
Leslie's death had galvanized her, forcing her to finally admit her feelings for Sam.
That last day before he'd gone undercover, though it was spent chasing a child abductor through the city and she'd almost burned to death (if I'd known the car was going to catch on fire...), she'd been happy. It was one of those wonderful, fulfilling days that made her proud to be a cop.
Most of all though, it had been perfect because of whom she'd spent it with - Sam.
From the moment she'd tackled him (and tried to kiss him followed automatically in her head now, no matter how many times she protested) he'd made her heart pound, her breath quicken and her skin tingle.
He could calm her down or fire her up. One quirk of his lips could infuriate or elate her.
His eyes, a special blend of calm intensity which seemed able to see straight inside her, were the first thing she sought when entering a room or when she was unsure of herself.
By turns sweet and considerate (Do you want to talk about it?) or encouraging and reassuring (You're ready...If you can't trust yourself...trust me), he always seemed to know exactly what to say.
Often ready with a sarcastic retort (Are you allergic to silence?) or a cocky comeback (Why would I? You took me down and I'm awesome!), the one thing Sam didn't do was bore her.
His magnetic smile, usually directed at her if seldom seen by others, could always draw a return grin from her, and his dimples (along with memories of his hard, sexy, muscular body) had played a starring role in her dreams for much longer than she would ever admit.
After leaving Sam a message that she wanted to make the next three weeks count and taking a cab to his house, she'd waited for an hour in the cold before giving up for the night. She'd returned to Traci's home determined that in the morning she would seize the day and tell him she was ready.
She'd gone into work the next day with a bounce in her step and a lightness in her heart only to learn that Boyd had moved the undercover up and Sam was already gone. For the rest of the day she'd veered between despair that she'd waited too long and fury at him for leaving without contacting her.
Talking late into the night with Traci, Andy poured her heart out, acknowledging that she'd known of Sam's feelings for her but had taken for granted that he'd always be there waiting. She knew she had no right to be angry with him. He'd warned her he was going and she could see now that he was looking for a sign from her that she wanted him to stay.
Traci convinced Jerry to speak to Boyd and he'd confirmed that Sam was gone by the time Andy'd called and left her message. He'd had no reason to call her - he must have thought she'd made her choice and, once again, it wasn't him.
The truth was, like Leslie Atkins, she'd thought she had more time.
Andy's pulled out of her thoughts by the arrival of Luke, Jerry and Best. Everyone at Fifteen's been working around the clock, following up leads and going over Brennan's file.
Luke glares at her for a moment before his gaze softens. "You should go home and get some sleep, Andy. You won't be doing anyone any good if you're asleep on your feet."
She looks at him incredulously. "I'm not going anywhere until we find Sam."
The three men exchange a look. She knows what they're thinking: the chances of finding Sam alive are getting slimmer with every hour that passes.
Dropping her head back down, she rips open the folder, determined to absorb every detail if it means getting a lead. After all, she reasons, she only has to look at it. Sam has to endure it.
Waking up the first time around, he'd been completely disoriented until the hood was pulled off and he could see.
This time he knows exactly what's happening, but clarity doesn't bring relief. Finding himself bound and blindfolded at the mercy of a remorseless killer is not something he'd ever thought to experience again, yet here he is. Back for round two.
"Good, I was starting to worry." The bag's yanked off his head. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust.
Brennan's grinning at him from only a few feet away.
Deja vu.
That first time Brennan'd faked a good-buddy bonhomie that had him thinking for a few minutes that he could talk his way out. He'd ignored the glint of malice in the other man's eyes and pretended a confusion he didn't feel. "So what am I doing here?"
He doesn't have to pretend confusion this time - Why hadn't Brennan finished him off?
Ignoring Brennan for the moment he looks around. It's still dark, but a pale glow silvers the air revealing a kitchen this time - he can just make out cracked linoleum, ancient appliances and a counter with a sink and a few glass jars scattered on top.
Seeing the jars brings back memories of drowning and he flinches. Brennan follows his eyes; laughs. "That scares you, doesn't it?" then nods, answering his own question. "It should."
Brennan straightens up, crosses to the sink and turns on the tap.
When he hears the water drumming on the metal basin, he panics. He can't help it. A primal fear surges through him and he struggles to get up; get away. His arms are stretched under the chair arms and secured behind the chair, and Brennan watches with interest and no little amount of amusement as he yanks helplessly at the restraints.
Finally, Brennan laughs and shuts the water off.
"You won't get out this time. Chain, not rope." He gestures with his chin and grins, "That chair? It's mahogany. And no matter how mad you make me, I won't kill you quick and easy."
He walks over and stops, leaning down to get right in his face, blue eyes glittering in the darkness. "You're not going anywhere."