Author's Note: Just playing around with Dead End and the fall-out since I do love Fet and Dutch ... My first Strain fic and the first thing I've written in ages at all, so I'd love to know what you think! Thanks for reading :)

Rescue Mission

Sobbing with fear and rage and frustration, Dutch Velders struggled against her captor as he trailed her down the deserted hallway by one foot. She had put everything she had into trying to make her escape and yet it seemed it had all been for nothing. After everything, that evil Nazi bastard was going to win.

Another cry escaped her lips – one that had nothing to do with the throbbing pain caused by the treacherous carpet tack that had embedded itself in her heel, or with the battering inflicted on her aching body as she was unceremoniously hauled up flights of stairs despite her efforts to twist out of Eichorst's vise-like grasp. All at once, it was dawning on her that this time she really had reached the end of the line.

After everything - all the mistakes she had made in her life, all the times she had screwed up, all the people she had hurt ... She was never going to get to put things right. After all her worries and guilt about being torn between Nikki and Fet, she was never going to see either of them again. There would be no more apologies, no more second chances.

She was stubborn, she knew that. Always had been. She had refused to give up. Had kept up the fight as long as she could. But now, it was over. She was done. Fresh tears burned a trail down her cheeks. Nikki's mum had been right in the end.

"The universe remembers ... Life's coming for you, sweetheart – count on it."

The harsh words seemed to echo in her mind. Maybe this was exactly what she deserved. To be left to her fate alone, save for the monster determined to finish her.

The fingers that had been scrabbling desperately for purchase on the wooden floor stilled by degrees as hopelessness sank in. The foot lashing out against her captor flailed a little more weakly. The neck that had been craned to look for any means to aid her now allowed her head to loll back, thudding dully on the stairs.

Her eyes closed in despair.

Just as there was no one to rescue her, there was no one to release her ... after. It wouldn't be quick, she knew that. Eichorst had already given her a spine-chilling glimpse into what he had planned for her. Agony, humiliation, rape, death.

A waking nightmare, even before the turn.

She woke screaming.

"What if ... What if I can't get past it?"

At the mumbled question, inner fear finally spoken aloud, Vasiliy Fet glanced over at the sleep-rumpled blonde sitting up in his bed and managed a ghost of a smile for her. He hated to see her like this. "You will."

"You don't know that. What if that bastard's turned me into a proper basketcase? It's been days and I still can't sleep without waking up shrieking the place down. What if every time I close my eyes, I'm going to see him? What if all I can think about is what he ... what he tried to do to me? What if it haunts me over and over and ... and I can't ..."

He knew what was worrying her most and he hated that she would doubt herself; doubt her strength. He has feared the worst too, from time to time. But he believes in her. She'll get through this. He'll get her through this.

Getting up from his perch on the desk in the corner, he moved to join her, sitting down on the edge of the huge bed and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Even though she had her own toiletries in his bathroom, he noticed that she smelled like his.

"What if every night I just relive that hell?" she whispered, not looking at him.

He reached out and tilted her gaze up to his. "Then I rescue you," he told her, his words gentle but firm and echoing exactly what she had once told him.

"Every night?"

He knows that she's aware of the lengths he went to in order to get her back, but she still sounds sceptical that anyone would devote such effort to her.

"Every night," he insisted. "For as long as it takes."

One of these days, he was going to make her see herself through his eyes. But for now, it was enough to have her safe and in his arms because, for all his brave front, it was going to take him a while to forget the horror of how they had found her.

Cold fingers of dread had long since slipped around his heart and they tightened with every step. His mind was racing, full of dark images of what might await them and they both threatened to paralyse him and yet spurred him on.

In so many ways, this hellish new world had only allowed him to thrive and given him more than he'd ever had before monsters skulked in the shadows. His solitary life hadn't seemed solitary until now; now that he had others to think about. He shut that thought down pretty quick, or at least he tried to, but it was too late. She was already in his head, as he'd so quickly come to relish seeing her most – all sleep-rumpled soft smiles and hazy green eyes, tucked up in his bed.

A scream tore through the shadowy, abandoned half of the hotel, agonised terror seeming to reverberate off the very walls. Fet froze, his hand clenched tightly around the lethal rebar he was carrying and his jaw set in a bid to hold back his furious distress.

"From that way," he bit out, with a jerk of his head, already striding in the direction the horrifying sound had come from before either of his companions could move to stop him.

"Fet," Eph called sharply. "We can't all of us simply walk into a trap."

"Then don't."

His words were matter-of-fact rather than churlish. He meant it. He didn't want to see the others risk their lives, especially when it seemed like they might be the only people in the city able and willing to do something to stop this plague spreading. And the doc had a kid to think about. But he couldn't just abandon Dutch. Everything she'd warned him about - destructive relationships, her not so-ex girlfriend - none of it mattered now.

This was life and death and he'd choose life for her every time. Even if she ended up choosing to spend it without him.

"Fet, wait ..."

Ignoring Eph, another piercing scream that trailed off into shuddering gasp of pain had him break into run, roaring the hacker's name as he charged down the darkened hallway and threw himself at a reinforced door. The impact juddered through his shoulder, but he simply reared back and tried again and again until a final heavy boot saw it give way. The resulting twinge in his knee made him stumble as he found himself in a bloodstained room, but he never slowed and instead twisted in every direction to look for the threat, finding none.

He had his rebar and a gun, silver grenades in his pack, Eph and Nora armed with silver swords and more guns, but the only thing in the padded white room was a concrete slab with a chain attached and at the other end ...

He swore breathlessly in Ukrainian, once more rooted to the spot in shock, but only for a moment. His eyes closed as if in a second's silent prayer and then, wielding the unrelenting steel, he closed in on the mess of torn clothes, battered skin and tangled hair. She looked almost lifeless; broken. He wasn't prepared for how deeply that ached.

He would spare her the agony of being turned if he had to, but oh fuck, please no, not that. Not for her.

"Dutch?" Fet tried hesitantly, his voice hoarser than usual. "Dutch, talk to me. I need to hear you, sweetheart."

The faint whimper made him flinch and he dropped to his knees beside her, throwing caution to the wind as he reached out to turn her onto her side. Why the fuck was she half naked? He swore again, darker this time, hating the terror etching across her tear-stained face.

"No!" she managed, weak but frantic as he moved to gather her into his arms. "No, no, no. Let me go!"

He stared at her as she scuttled backwards until she was pressed up against the nearest wall, barely able to bring himself to consider what that might mean. "He ... Did he ... Are you infected?" he managed roughly.

"I destroy everything I touch!" she sobbed, burying her face in bloody hands. "Make it stop. Just make it stop. Please, Vasiliy, make it stop!"

He was barely aware of anything but her, but somehow Nora was there and already had a UV light on her, scanning for any sign of infection even as Dutch broke down crying in earnest.

"Please," she begged him, wild-eyed. "Please, let me go, let me go, let me go."

Confused, he held out his hands in a bid to soothe her. "I ... I'm not going to hurt you, Dutch," he tried desperately.

"Let me go," she mumbled. "Let me die. Please, Vasiliy. I just want it to be over. Let me go."

Fet froze, every bit as stunned as if she'd slapped him square across the face. More so even. He'd have welcomed a slap over hearing those words from her. She had fought fearlessly alongside him in the war against the strigoi, for crying out loud – this gorgeous woman who had turned out to be braver and stronger than she knew and who could twist him round her damn finger with little more than a look or a knowing smirk. What the hell had that unholy bastard done to her?

"Never," he growled finally, in response to her dark request. "You hear me? Never."

"Vasiliy ..." she whispered.

His name on her lips had once sounded so sweet, but was now full of anguish and regret. Tears filled those eyes as she snuck a glance up at him, her arms wrapped around the long slim legs drawn up to her chest. Fuck, he could see how badly she was hurting – physically, mentally – but she was a survivor, he knew it, and no way was he letting her give up now.

"Dutch," he echoed, his big hands coming to rest gently on her bare knees, conscious of her flinch but ducking to catch her gaze. "We need to get out of here. All of us. You and me. I won't leave you here. I can't. I'm not leaving you."

"Fet," Nora interrupted, her words somehow both reluctant to intrude and yet urgent. "We need to go, in case Eichorst comes back ..."

"Let him," he growled. "See how that fucking piece of shit likes it when I rip that goddamn stinger right out of his goddamn throat."

It wasn't a hollow threat. If left to his own devices, he would have had every intention of following through, but anyone could see how badly traumatised Dutch was by whatever had gone on in that room. Whatever his temper might have wanted to do to her tormentor, he had to put her first.

Thinking on his feet, he tucked the rebar into his pack, leaving the end free so he could grab it if he had to, and then stowed the gun in the waistband of his jeans before stooping to gather up the trembling blonde. Ignoring her faint protests, he cradled her to his chest and headed for the door with Eph in front and Nora behind, swords drawn.

"I've got you," he whispered, over and over. "I'm not letting go."

He could feel Dutch shaking with fear and her hot tears on his neck, but at least she was clinging to him now, her arms around him and her head buried against his shoulder instead of fighting him. She was alive and, right now, that was all that mattered. Anything else they could deal with when they were home safe.

If he was secretly worried about getting his gorgeous little anarchist back to her old self, all he had to think about was that moment when getting her home was more than he had dared to hope for. It had been days, Nikki was long since gone, and Dutch still hadn't opened up about exactly what had happened with Eichorst. It was obvious that sick bastard had really done a number on her in his torture chamber though. Sometimes her eyes would close, just for a second, and he knew at once that she was right back there. He was deadly serious that he would always be there to pull her back though; to anchor her where she belonged.

"Hey," Fet said gently, sending those hazy eyes flying open as he once more drew her back to him. "He'll never get that close to you again. I promise. Unless it's with me right there beside you, cheering you on as you cut his goddamn head off."

Even as her arms slipped around his shoulders and slim fingers toyed thoughtfully with the scruff of his beard, he could tell she was torn between feeling touched and still not quite bringing herself to believe this was real. And, sure enough, she side-eyed him, half joking but more than a little serious. "I don't deserve y-"

Fet cut her off with a kiss.

"What was that for?" she asked, when they were both just a little bit breathless.

"I'm rescuing the crazy woman I fell in love with."

"From?"

"Yourself, sweetheart," he told her, shooting her a little grin when he got another kiss in return – as well as a playful slap on the arm. "So I save you, tell you I love you, and now you beat me up, huh?"

A little of the old Dutch sparkle was back as she shrugged. "Maybe I just want an excuse to kiss your boo-boos better ..." But before he could even retort, her soft lips were on his again, even as her fingers slid to the buttons on his shirt. "Or maybe I love you too, tough guy."

"Yeah?" he managed, letting her push him down against the pillows of his bed. Their bed. "Maybe?"

"Yeah."

He'd take that. After the hell she'd been through, he'd absolutely take that. He knew they still had a long way to go. You didn't just get over a nightmare like the one she had been forced to endure. But even so ...

Rescue mission complete.