This story is completely written and edited, and has three chapters. I'll upload the next part on Wednesday, and the final part on Sunday.

This is an actual, serious story in this verse. Not sure how it happened. Inspired by Tamuril2, who is the sole reason this series even became a series, so thank her.

This is technically the third story in the Dalton and Dalton series, but all you need to know about Madam Secretary and the other stories in this series is:

-Conrad Dalton is the president

-he's Jack's uncle

-Conrad and Mac have met a couple times before

Warnings: Torture, mentions of torture. Nothing above a T rating, though, and, as always, absolutely nothing sexual.

When Conrad Dalton woke, he was lying on his back and staring at a pristine white ceiling with lights so bright that a headache immediately began to form. He sat up, and, as he tried to bring his hands up to rub at his head, found that he was now sporting a shiny new pair of handcuffs. They were attached loosely, just tight enough to keep him from taking them off. Frowning, he looked around the room in confusion.

The door in the corner of the room was brought to Conrad's attention as it swung open smoothly; a pleasant young man with a small smile on his face walked into the room. His eyes lit up as he saw that the president was awake. "Hello, Mr. President. How are you feeling?"

Conrad had been trained for situations such as this when he had first become a politician, and more extensively when he had become president. Politicians make enemies, and it paid to be prepared. The path of least resistance to his captors- until they wanted something he couldn't give up- was best for the time being. He responded, making sure to seem calm and casual, "The lights are a bit bright, but otherwise, I'm fine."

The man grinned. "That's good. Oh-" The man's eyes widened. "My apologies- my name is Francis Gardel, but please, call me Francis. And, of course, I know who you are, sir."

Conrad blinked. He was a bit taken aback by the fact that the man had so willingly given away his name, but then again, it could easily be fake. He continued the conversation carefully. "I must ask, Francis, why am I here?"

Francis' grin dropped off his face. "Ah, I hoped you'd take a bit longer to ask that question. Well, you see, my organization is a bit strapped for both cash and information at the moment. You're here to be a hostage, mainly. After it's been twenty-four hours since we've taken you, after the government has sufficiently worked themselves into a panic because they haven't found you, we'll send a ransom demand. We want six billion dollars and three nuclear missiles."

Conrad was speechless for a moment with shock. "They're never going to give you that."

Francis smiled again. The expression was much colder than previously. "You are the president, Mr. President."

Conrad shook his head slightly. He knew instinctively that reasoning with this man would be futile. Instead, he said, "You said I'm mainly here to be a hostage?"

Francis nodded. "Ah, you picked up on that. We need some information regarding your military plans in the Middle East. I don't suppose you'll give them up easily?"

Well, Conrad thought, the peace was nice while it lasted.

He shook his head silently. Francis shrugged. "I suspected as much. That's why we've got some incentive for you."

Francis motioned for Conrad to follow him, and the older man did so, not that he had much of a choice. They emerged from the room Conrad had awoken in and found themselves in a wide hallway, sparsely populated with people, with doors dotting either side of the hallway.

As they walked, Francis continued talking. "We captured a government agent a few days ago, and he's been- resistant, to say the least, to our questions about his agency. I'm sure they've noticed he's missing by now, but, by taking him on his way home from another mission, we bought ourselves a day or so, and we put it to good use, as you'll see."

They turned into a smaller hallway, and then into a room that was- like the rest of the base- very, very white. Inside the room there was a table with a few chairs- one on one side of the table, two on the other side- and a large window that showed a small room that was, somehow, even more blindingly white than the room Conrad had woken up in.

All in all, it was a bit of a worrying setup.

Francis motioned to the chair that was by itself. "If you'd oblige me?"

Conrad sat in the chair, placing his handcuffed hands on the table. Francis smiled again, an expression that did not reach his eyes, and brought a hand up to his ear. He spoke, keeping his eyes on Conrad. "Bring him in."

There were a few moments of nothing, and then a door opened in the smaller room. Conrad watched as two men dragged a smaller man into the room. He had a bag over his head and his bare feet were stumbling as he tried to keep up with the larger men. They dragged him by his arms, his hands cuffed behind his back, and only released him once they reached the middle of the room.

With nothing holding him up, the man crashed to his knees. His head sagged to his chest for a moment before the taller of the two men grabbed the bag and pulled it from his head, handing it to the smaller man, who disappeared out the door with it.

Conrad watched, wondering who the man was, as the taller man grabbed the dirt blond hair that had been revealed and yanked it up, pulling the captive man's face up so that Conrad could see it through the glass.

To his horror, the president found that he recognized it.

The face and hair were dirty, stained by blood, and what Conrad could see of his body- his shirt was torn in a few places, and his face was also covered in bruises- was bruised and scraped.

Despite all this, though, the agent was unmistakably Angus MacGyver, Conrad's nephew's friend.

Conrad's his stomach clenched in horror. He took care not to show his dismay on his face, though, knowing that if Francis saw that Conrad knew the man, things could become much worse.

Somehow.

Francis was looking at MacGyver through the glass. "He's young, isn't he? Probably no more than twenty-one or so. Makes one wonder if he knew what he was doing when he signed up for this life."

Shut up, Conrad thought. Wait. No. Keep talking. Delay this.

Francis, however, had turned from the glass to face Conrad again. He walked to a shelf in the back of the room that Conrad hadn't noticed at first, and pulled a large map and a marker from it. Walking back to the table, he spread the map before Conrad and set the marker on the table by the paper.

It was a map of the Middle East. Conrad raised his eyes to the face of the man before him, and Francis gestured to the map. "Take the marker and show me where the U.S. is going to send troops."

Conrad shook his head. "You know I can't."

Francis shrugged, a careless, lazy motion. Then he rapped on the window.

By this time, the smaller man had reappeared, bearing something that looked an awful lot like a taser. The taller man, however, simply let go of MacGyver's hair, allowing his head to sag to his chest for a moment. Then, so fast that Conrad didn't process the movement for a second, he kicked MacGyver in the side hard enough to send him sprawling.

The smaller man holstered the taser in his belt and hauled MacGyver to his feet, ignoring the way that the lean blond was hunched in on himself in pain. He held the kid on his feet as the taller man laid into him.

The beating continued for a few minutes, and then Francis rapped on the glass again, saying, "James, that's enough. You can let him go, Trevor."

James- the taller man- immediately stopped hitting the blond, who was struggling to keep his head up. Trevor released his hold on the kid, and he fell to his knees, bending almost double in pain. His breathing was harsh and labored, and the wheezing was audible even through the glass.

Francis smiled and turned to Conrad. "Ready to tell us where the forces are being sent?"

Conrad swallowed. He had known, when he had become president, that he would have to make hard decisions- had made them, made many more than he would've liked. Every time he had to make a decision like this, every time he had to look at someone and tell them his decision even as he knew the consequences, his conscience became heavier, the weight on his shoulders dragging him down slowly and painfully.

But. He had known what he would have to do when he swore the oath.

Conrad shook his head.

Francis smirked. "I didn't think so."

The man rapped on the window again. This time, Trevor grabbed the taser from his belt and thumbed a button on the side, bringing it to life with an ominous crackle. MacGyver, still huddled on the floor, seemed to shrink into himself even more. He stiffened, waiting for the pain.

Trevor brought the taser directly in between his shoulderblades.

The blond jerked, his body spasming in an attempt to move away from the pain. When Trevor brought the taser away from the younger man, MacGyver was sweating and shaking. In some corner of his mind that wasn't preoccupied by the scene in front of him, Conrad realized that the taser must've been on a low setting if the kid was still conscious after that.

Francis merely raised an eyebrow at Conrad, waiting for the older man to respond. Conrad shook his head, unable to bring himself to even say the words. Francis nodded.

Conrad felt sick, but he was unable to tear his gaze away from the terrible scene before him. Dimly, he felt that if he was the cause of this pain, he should have to suffer something too.

He was not going to take the coward's way out and refuse to watch.

And so it continued.

Eventually, Francis brought him back to the room he had awoken in, unlocking his handcuffs and leaving him there with nothing more than a polite nod.

After Conrad had been alone for around four hours, Francis returned. He was bearing a glass filled with water and a foil-wrapped sandwich. Offering these to Conrad, he said, "It's been awhile since you ate. Here."

Conrad shook his head, and Francis frowned. "I'd hate for our guest to have to suffer more than he has to, Mr. President."

The threat was clear, even though it went unvoiced. Conrad ate.

After the president had finished the sandwich and drank the water, Francis beckoned for him to stand once again. "It's time for us to have another talk."

They went back to the same room from earlier. This time, there was a chair in the smaller room, with cuffs attached to the arms of the chair.

Just like the last time, MacGyver was dragged in by the men Conrad recognized as Trevor and James. This time, however, the blond didn't have a bag over his head. He walked in under his own power, but there was a new bruise blossoming on his face, and Conrad knew that the kid hadn't received it during the previous interrogation.

He was still fighting, then.

MacGyver was forced into the chair, his token struggles silenced quickly with a blow to the head as the men cuffed him.

Trevor disappeared outside the view of the window for a moment, and returned with something that Conrad didn't recognize. It was oblong and pure, menacing black. The blue electricity that began to hum when he brought it to life was unmistakable, though.

MacGyver tried to move away from the device, but he was securely locked into the chair. His eyes widened as Trevor approached, his struggles growing increasingly desperate and painful to watch.

Then Trevor shoved the device into his side.

Conrad watched in sick horror as the kid let out a pained scream. He tried to twist away from the painful current that was coursing through him, but to no avail. Finally, after a few more moment, Trevor released the trigger and moved away from the smaller man. Angus slumped in the chair, lacking the strength to even hold himself upright.

A drop of blood fell from a reopened cut and slid down his face, a bloody tear mourning the pain of its owner. It hit the ground, marring the white with its vibrant red, a gruesome flower against the white snow of fake decency.

Francis turned to Conrad, the smile that had at first seemed charming but now could only be described as sadistic firmly fixed on his face. The man repeated the phrase that the president had come to hate in a short time. "Ready to tell us, Mr. President?"

Swallowing, Conrad shook his head. Francis' grin vanished, his eyes narrowing. Sure you don't want to reconsider?"

Conrad's gaze fell to the floor, but he forced it to return to the face of the his captor. He would not show fear in front of these men. "I'm sure."

Francis nodded, then rapped on the window as he said, "I think you'll find that we can do this for quite a bit longer than you can, Mr. President."

The older man didn't answer. Instead, he watched the scene before him with a stony face that gave no indication of the turmoil he felt.

The screams continued.

I'm sorry for that cliffhanger.

Wait, I'm not. See y'all in three days.