Drugs. It had to be drugs.

Jack tried to open his eyes but had to squint against the bright light. He could make out a tall figure hovering over him and quickly clamped his lids shut from both pain and the vision he saw. He rolled his head weakly from side to side against the pillow which was damp from his sweaty hair and tried to compile some memory or recollection of what had happened since Cheng had taken the photo of him.

No images came forward, cementing his assumption that he had been drugged. But why did he have a pillow, and why was the room bright? He hadn't been taken from the dark dingy environment in which Cheng had imprisoned him before - why move him now?

Sensing movement behind him, Jack tensed, wondering who it was that was watching him. Was it Cheng ready to interrogate him or a guard on duty? He tried to move but felt his arms held firm with restraints. As he tugged he felt a pinch in his arm and squinted again against the bright light to check his assessment - a drip.

They were drugging him through a drip. Was Cheng waiting for him to come round before questioning him again, hoping to find him physically weaker as a result of long term drug dosages? But why had they moved him? The surface he laid on felt soft, almost warm - was it a bed? He closed his eyes again and welcomed the darkness as the ache from the swelling that remained from the last beating intensified. Trying not to make a sound he gritted his teeth against the pain, and realised that Cheng was trying to soften him up with bed and a pillow and warmth.

Why retreat back to chemical interrogation? The question swam around the empty blackness that filled his mind - that he had made fill his mind - to hide all other information - and confused him. Early in his imprisonment Cheng had used a strict regime of drugs and had failed. Was he hoping the few comforts would soften his prey up, make him let his guard down and allow the drugs to take control? Maybe, Jack wondered, this was a last ditch effort to break him - maybe they were out of ideas, or time, or maybe-

"Jack?"

Jack froze, suddenly aware that the void of silence had been disrupted, somebody was speaking to him - but he couldn't make out the individual words. He tried to concentrate and only then felt the way his chest was heaving in and out from the stress of his thoughts. He rolled his head from side to side again as he tried to calm himself and felt driblets of sweat roll over his chin. Christ, if this was what Cheng had been hoping for, it had worked, he had lost control over himself.

Something brushed against his head and Jack jolted back as far as the cuffs holding his wrists to the bed railings would allow. Fear now engulfed him, encouraged by the unknown figures contact with him. Now blinking, he forced his eyes to stay open despite the stinging sensation which made them water, knowing he had to see where he was to better prepare himself against the next battle he was to endure. Not fight - he was past fighting - but he could still hold out. As long as he held on, he hadn't failed. As long as he didn't give in, silence, although weaker than resistance, was stronger than passivity and he had to stay strong.

Jack stared at the figure now seated besides him and felt the warmth of his body turn suddenly cold. The man's hand reached out again to brush his matted hair away from his face and this time Jack held still as he did so, staring up at the man through half swollen eyes, unsure if what he was seeing was reality or a drug induced illusion.

"Dad?" He hadn't spoken in months, he was surprised that he didn't feel the need to say anything other than that single utterance.

Phillip nodded and smiled slightly. "I know I'm the last person you want to see right now, but I had to be the one to get you out."

Jack stared at him sceptically, Cheng's last remembered words spinning through his mind. 'Business partners.' Was that a ploy by Cheng to make him resist his father when he was released? Or was it a double bluff, designed to make him break?

"You're in the prison hospital," Phillip said, and for the first time Jack allowed his vision to drift to the room that held him. Four walls, a bolted heavy door, a light, barred window and minimal medical equipment. He was still in China.

"The doctor said you would need to spend a few days on antibiotics before you can be released from his care. There are also a few issues that need to be resolved, but I will be taking you home." His voice was void of emotion other than the tiredness which was evident through the bags under his eyes and seemed to express itself in its softly spoken voice. Jack would have mistrusted him if he sounded emotional - Philip Bauer didn't get upset.

"I know you're probably confused," he said, and paused as a sudden rattle indicated the door was being unbolted. A doctor let himself into the room and began to fiddle with the drip bag without speaking a word to patent or visitor. "I told them you wouldn't want me here, and in all honesty it was an inconvenience for me too, but your friends pushed Washington and they pressured me into coming. Said only I could go."

Jack's eyes began to close despite his urge to keep them open and he realised the doctor had added something to make him sleepy. Was it to help him rest and recover, or was this all some elaborate ploy? Was this even his father, or some crazy dream?

"I'll be back in a little while Jack," Phillip said, "I have full access to you." Jack nodded and watched as his father left the room without a backwards glance or a goodbye. Although he was certain he couldn't trust his judgement, whoever or whatever he had just seen certainly acted like Phillip.