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A goofy grin spread across Doug's face as he looked at Tom. He could tell he was in pain, but that one sentence had sparked hope inside him. If Tom could even manage a grin, however weak or fake it seemed, then Doug knew there was hope for his friend. All he had to do was get him out of this Hellhole and then back to America. Back to America where he should have just left Tom in the first place. If he had, then the younger man could be watching Laurel and Hardy instead of finishing their quotes, injured who knows where and stuck who knows where.

"It's not your fault."

Doug looked at Tom, who had managed to pull himself into a sitting position and was now staring at his friend with that look. That look that meant he knew what you were thinking and that you were wrong. Doug had seen that look too many times; and too many times had it been true. It seemed Tom could always read him, and now wasn't any different.

"It was as much my choice to come here as it was yours. I coulda easily said no; I coulda said I didn't want to come here 'cause I was scared." Tom had to stop talking while he allowed his breath to even out, but he still continued to stare at his friend.

"You were scared?" Doug asked, reaching out a hand to support his friend as he started coughing and nearly falling over onto his side.

"Of course I was scared!" Tom exclaimed. "I go undercover in high schools, Doug. I knew all about what went done here. But I still came, scared and worried, because you're my friend. My best friend." Tom stopped and hung his head; his eyes were closed and he was once again out of breath. Having your head shoved under water and losing air like that really killed your lungs.

"You coulda said something; I wouldn't of cared if you'd stayed, Tommy. Marta's my wife, my responsibility. Not yours," Doug replied, watching his friend, a worried look on his face.

"Your responsibility?" Tom asked, surprised at Doug's choice of putting it.

"I mean, it was my choice to come look for her."

"Yeah?" Tom asked, opening his eyes and raising his head. As he stared hard into Doug's eyes, he continued, "And it was my choice to come here with you. My responsibility, not yours. Got it?"

Doug stared at his friend, a bit taken aback by the harsh tone and fierce way of explaining himself. "Yeah, I got it," he replied. "Crystal clear."

"Good," Tom muttered, slowly lying back down, resting his head on the hay pillow and closing his eyes. "Night, or day or whatever," he mumbled.

Doug said nothing, just looked at the steady rise and fall of his friend's chest. Maybe it was Tom's choice and responsibility to come here with him; but no matter what Tom said, he was now Doug's choice, Doug's responsibility. And he planned on getting him out of here. No matter what.

With a sigh and another glance at his friend, Doug stood. Tom's breathing had slowed and shallowed out, so he knew the younger man had drifted into the world of sleep. Being as gentle as he could, Doug lifted the younger man into his arms and he carried him to the corner of their 'cell' and carefully put him back on the ground. He sat him slightly upright and let his head fall to rest against the wall. The older officer had witnessed Tom's struggles with breathing, and knew the younger man would be better off sitting instead of lying. Doug's first step with Tom as his responsibility was keeping him alive. No matter what.

Doug lay down in front of Tom; if anybody came in, he'd be awake first and ready to fend off any one who tried to get near the younger officer. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and with one final glance at Tom, he closed his eyes and joined his friend in the land of the unconscious.

TBC...