A/N: Forgot this in the first chapter, so in case you were wondering, I don't own the Losers. Also, the title is from the song by Beck.

xxxx

Jensen woke up in a warehouse. Of course, he didn't exactly know it was a warehouse, only that it was dark and cold and that his entire body hurt like a sonofabitch. He was on his side, lying on the ground, his arms tied tightly behind his back; His shoulder was screaming in pain, and he could feel warm blood trickling down to the floor. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, but he was pretty sure that it wasn't a good thing to still be bleeding.

With a groan, he managed to lever himself up to a semi-sitting position, slumped to one side as he breathed heavily, head swimming from the change in position. There didn't seem to be anyone around, but there were boxes and crates that could easily hide someone, plus his glasses were missing and he couldn't see too well, so Jensen figured it was highly unlikely that he was alone. And, the more he thought about it, the more he figured that he would probably end up being tortured in some manner.

Getting shot was one thing. Getting tortured- that was another.

"Hey, guys?" Jensen called out, surprised at how husky his voice sounded. "Think I could get a drink of water?"

Predictably, there was no response.

"I don't really care what kind of water, Avian, Dasani, it's all the same to me."

Jensen paused to clear his throat. Still silence.

"Hell, it could even be tap water. I've had some damn good tap water in my day. Back home, we drank water out of a well, tasted like heaven, you know? Also had some pretty shitty tap water. Bolivia? Tasted like ass. Afghanistan? Tasted like…dusty ass." Everything tasted dusty in Afghanistan. Food, water, even the sweat that trickled down your face until it inevitably ended up in your mouth.

Damn it, still no answer, and Jensen's head was starting to pound in rhythm with his heart, and his shoulder felt like one big mass of pain and fire, and he was thirsty as hell. And his thoughts, not that they weren't always moving a mile a minute, were going so quickly that even Jensen was having a hard time keeping up with his brain.

"Come on guys," he whined, and he knew how annoying is whining could be. The last time he'd used this tone, Clay had not-so-subtly pulled his gun out and started making sure the sight was lined up. In Jensen's direction.

"I just want some water. Or some vodka. I normally don't drink a lot, at least not as much as some of my friends-" Clay, Aisha, sloshed in the room they were sharin, while Cougar and Jensen listened outside and wondered if the noises they were hearing were fighting or…other things, trying not to laugh "-but I could use some now. Might take an edge off of, you know, stuff." Pain so bad that Jensen almost wished they would just cut his arm off, but then how could he keep all his mad hacking skills?

"Maybe you don't have vodka. Juice? Chocolate milk? I love chocolate milk. Always have." Once when he was sick, his mom had made him a huge glass of chocolate milk and let him lay in her bed and watch movies all day with it. Later, when he was sick (because malaria apparently still existed in some back part of the world that, of course, required the team's special set of skills,) Pooch had somehow procured a bottle of it for him, had handed it to him and wiped his forehead with a cool cloth and then gone and helped the other guys take down a corrupt warlord.

It was getting bad now. He felt dizzy and sick and before he knew what was going on, Jensen was retching on the floor, unable to support himself with his hands bound behind him so that his forehead ended up resting only inches from the pile of vomit, which only lead to more puking. It didn't take long for him to empty his stomach and continue to dry heave. It took only a little longer for him to get so light-headed that he passed out completely.

xxxx

Clay was pissed off. Not that he ever seemed not pissed off, per se, but when he got in one of his blacker moods, everyone knew it. He walked heavier, glared more deeply, answered more gruffly. Generally, his team took care not to piss him off. Not finding Jensen, not finding a single damn trace of him, pissed him off.

Of course, he wasn't the only one. Aisha had disappeared somewhere just after the van containing their tech geek had driven off, with no sign of her since then. Clay assumed that she was also displeased with the day's turn of events, and had perhaps gone off to find someone she could shoot without feeling guilty about it. Cougar, never one to speak much, had turned inward to the point that he wouldn't even look at Clay, just sat aimlessly on his bunk, cleaning his gun over and over again.

Clay sighed. He couldn't handle much more of being alone with the silent sniper, and Pooch needed to know what had gone down anyway, so he stood up, stretching his back and grimacing at the popping sounds that resulted.

"I'm gonna give Pooch a call," he told Cougar, wondering if the man would even respond. "He'll want to know." Cougar nodded sullenly, inspecting the scope of his rifle.

"I should have taken them out faster," he said suddenly, and Clay frowned. It wasn't like Cougar to blame himself for things; then again, it wasn't like Cougar had ever had his best friend's kidnapping to blame himself for.

"They would have cut the line, Coug. There's no way Jensen would have survived that drop. At least this way he has a chance." Clay decided not to say the other thing that came to mind, the little thought that refused to be ignored, that said that Jensen's captors would want to know who he was working for. Judging by Cougar's expression, the same thing had crossed his mind.

"Yes. A chance." They both knew that the chance wasn't very big. Cougar turned back to his rifle and Clay stepped into the bathroom, his cell phone open and Pooch's number dialed almost before he knew what was happening.

"Clay? What's going on?" Pooch sounded worried, and Clay wished the man didn't have such good instincts. Then again, he rarely called Pooch unless things had gone badly.

"We had some trouble on the last mission. Jensen's missing."

"Jensen's missing because Jensen's crazy, or Jensen's missing because Jensen's in trouble?"

"Trouble. He got captured."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

There was silence on the other end, and Clay could practically hear Pooch thinking.

"So you think…"

"I think they'll torture him."

"He won't talk. Jensen might just be a tech geek, but he's had training just like the rest of us. He won't talk."

"Pooch, all he ever does is talk."

There was another minute of silence.

"Shit. Kid's gonna get himself killed just for pissing them off."

"Pretty much."

Pooch sighed loudly. "I shoulda been there. I'm sorry."

"It wouldn't have mattered."

It was both the truth and a lie. In all honesty, Pooch probably wouldn't have been able to change anything. Then again, having another man that you could rely on was always beneficial.

"I'll be there in ten minutes. We'll find him."

Clay rubbed a hand over his eyes, took in the hotel room's gaudy wallpaper, thought again how pathetic they were to be operating out of a Motel 6.

"Okay. See you soon, Pooch."

Almost as soon as he hung up, Clay's phone rang again.

"Aisha. Where the hell are you?"

"Clay, I think I've got a way to find Jensen."