He was vaguely aware of daylight, and sitting in a rather cramped position. His head hurt, a sharp, angry pain, and he felt slightly nauseated. He tried to lift a hand to touch it, but his arm refused to move from its awkward angle. Very gradually, Steve became aware of the touch of metal on his wrists, both of which were jammed behind him. The nausea threatened again, and he subdued it with an effort, then creaked first one and then the other eye open. He was in an SUV, the deputy's, he surmised, apparently somewhere in the thriving metropolis of Destiny. He frowned at the lack of any noticeable connection to the twenty-first century, and winced as the movement pulled, reminding the pain of its existence. His awareness of his surroundings growing, Steve suddenly realized with a tinge of dismay that he was alone in the vehicle, that his best friend was nowhere to be seen. Where was Jesse, he wondered urgently, staring out of the window at the antiquated buildings in bemusement.

The car door opened suddenly, and he voiced the thought aloud. "What have you done with my friend?" he growled, and choked on the question as a fist bloodied his mouth.

"We'll ask the questions," announced the voice of his prior acquaintance. He reached in, undid the seat belt, and yanked Steve out with fairly little visible effort. Steve stumbled, and was rewarded with a shove which drove him back against the side of the SUV, awakening the residual soreness in his left shoulder. Then the deputy took his arm, pushing him toward a building boasting "Sheriff" painted on it.

Steve blinked at the dilapidated sign and shrugged mentally. Whatever was necessary to get them out of this nineteenth-century throwback; he didn't care if the sheriff turned out to be Wyatt Earp. He straightened slightly, so that he could walk more freely, forcing the deputy to shift his grip to one with less leverage, and moved towards the worn door, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his head. The sheriff's office was empty, but he saw Jesse's face behind the far bars once they entered the other room. Relief at locating his partner was immediately replaced by alarm. "Why is he locked up?" he demanded, coughing as the same fist drove into his stomach this time.

"I told you. We do the asking," the deputy rumbled. He speedily emptied the contents of Steve's pockets onto the table, then pushed him toward the cell next to Jesse's. A final shove sent Steve careening inside, and the door closed behind him with the same ominous noise Jesse had experienced earlier.

Jesse absorbed the sight of Steve's restrained wrists with barely concealed fury. "He could have taken those off," he snarled, heading for the cell door.

"Jess --" His voice came out just slightly above a wheeze, and he staggered as dizziness rippled through him.

Jesse stopped in his tracks. "Steve -- there's a cot over by the back wall on this side."

Steve glanced toward his friend, his gaze falling on a bench in the corner, which apparently was masquerading as a cot by virtue of the motheaten blanket lying on top of it, and pointed himself in that direction. Jesse headed for his corresponding corner and thrust his hands through the bars. "Let me see your head."

His voice sounded better this time. "Jesse, leave it. At least it's stopped bleeding." He sagged back against the wall, ignoring his friend's muttering, which seemed to involve the word hospital. "Any sign of the sheriff, or has Dudley Do-Right there been it?"

Jesse settled on the cot in his own cell. "Not yet. This guy told me to follow him into town, then he tossed me in here." He slid a glance sideways. "There's something weird about this place, Steve."

Steve shifted, trying to ease the strain in his shoulders. "You noticed that, huh, Jess?"

Jesse ignored the sarcasm. "No, really, Steve. This town looks like --"

"Like it never made it into the twentieth century, much less this one," Steve finished.

"There's more." Jesse pulled his legs up onto the cot and wrapped his arms around his knees. Quickly, he filled Steve in on what he had seen on the drive into town.

Steve looked distracted. "No other cars -- why am I getting the feeling it's going to be hard to find an ATM?" He sat up at a sudden thought. "Wait a minute. You drove my truck? Jess, if there's --"

"Hold on, Steve!" Jesse exclaimed, laughing. "I treated it with kid gloves, trust me." He raised his hands defensively as Steve's eyebrows lowered threateningly. "Honest, Steve. You can't hit me, so why would I lie to you?"

They grinned at each other companionably. Then both heads turned towards the outer corridor as faint voices approached.

"Clocked him at sixty in the slow zone, sir," their initial acquaintance said.

A new voice responded. "And then he tried to jump you, John?"

"Yessir. Assault on a police officer and resisting arrest."

Jesse bolted up. "Hey! That's a lie! He didn't --" He broke off at the look on his partner's face. "Steve? -- Steve, buddy, are you all right?"

Steve looked like he'd seen a ghost. "It can't be," he breathed.

The voices outside had stopped. Jesse stared at Steve in bewilderment. "Can't be what?"

Steve wore an abstracted look. "Nah. That'd just be too unlikely." He glanced towards the door. "The second guy's voice just reminded me of someone, that's all."

Jesse was about to probe further when the footsteps came nearer, and both men stared towards the hall, waiting tensely. After a seemingly interminable interval, Steve's cell door opened, and the deputy, along with an individual who was obviously the sheriff, strolled in.

Surprising himself, Jesse leapt to his feet. "What's going on here? My friend should be in a hospital!"

"I'll be damned," said the sheriff, ignoring Jesse completely.

Steve stiffened. "Roger Hill," he remarked, not especially pleasantly. "What a surprise. Can't say it's a welcome one."

Jesse glanced from one hostile male to the other. "You know the sheriff, Steve?"

His eyes still on the newcomer's face, Steve nodded. "Knew him well at one time, Jess. Or thought I did." He shrugged one shoulder. "Until I found myself knowing more than I wanted to about him."

Hill flushed darkly. "You still talking too much, eh, Sloan?"

Steve shook his head. "Apparently not enough, since these people hired you."

"I don't understand," Jesse said, noting the virtually identical antipathy in both expressions.

Steve leaned back, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles casually. "Roger used to be a real cop once upon a time, until he went on the take -- more profitable, if less honorable."

"As I said, Sloan," Hill snarled, "You still don't know when to shut up."

Jesse's face registered comprehension. "You turned him in, didn't you, Steve?"

"He didn't leave me much choice," Steve said shortly. "I tried to talk him into giving himself up, but --"

"But all you were interested in was looking good to the brass," Hill interrupted. "You didn't give a damn about my wife, my kid, my pension, my life --"

"And your trying to kill me was just an accident, I suppose," Steve retorted. "What the hell did you expect, Hill? I spent the better part of a month in the hospital -- if I hadn't pressed charges, my father certainly would have."

Hill's eyes acquired a strangely dreamy look. "There isn't any hospital in Destiny."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jesse yelped.

The sheriff flicked him a scornful glance. "If you're smart, Little Joe, you'll keep your mouth shut. Your friend and I have some unfinished business." He slid one hand into his pocket, and pulled out something which gleamed when he slipped it onto his hand.

Steve saw the glint, and laughed humorlessly. "Some things never change. Still using your toy of choice, I see." He glanced at Jesse, who looked like he was about to explode. "Jess -- stay out of this, okay?"

Jesse stared at him in shock. "You can't be serious."

Steve sighed. "Jess, Hill isn't interested in you," he said patiently. "Just me."

"But -- you're --" Jesse stammered, still unwilling to accept the situation.

Hill laughed nastily. "It's not going to make any difference." He treated Jesse to another scornful look. "I don't care if you yell your head off, Junior. John, take Sloan's handcuffs off. We have some catching up to do."

Jesse looked at Steve, irresolute. "Steve --" he began.

Steve got up and moved close to their shared bars, out of the officers' hearing. "Jess. Listen to me here. Hill doesn't want to do anything to you -- yet. All he wants is a piece of me. Don't give him an excuse."

"But --"

Steve exhaled, a long, impatient sound. "Jess, he's got a score to settle. With me. Only me. And I doubt he's going to try to do more than seriously rough me up with witnesses present. So maybe if we get on with it, we can get out of this miserable place."

Jesse started to protest more, then came to a screeching halt as Steve shook his head. "All right, Steve. But I don't like this. And you're acting directly against medical advice."

Deputy Howard ambled over. "Turn around, Sloan," he ordered, reaching to remove the handcuffs.

Steve rubbed his wrists and sneered at Hill. "Take your best shot, Roger," he invited, flexing his hands experimentally. He gave a fairly good account of himself for a while; forcing the inevitable conclusion to the confrontation did not necessarily equate with allowing himself to be beaten to a pulp without a fight.

Both men were bloody and breathing heavily when Hill signaled Howard. "Get Flynn in here, John. We've played around long enough."

Here it came. Steve dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and blinked at the streak of blood it had acquired. He raised one eyebrow as Howard returned with another equally brawny deputy. "Don't tell me a little law-abiding town like Destiny actually needs the attention of three whole full-time law enforcement professionals," he taunted.

Hill's eyes flickered. "Laugh while you still can, Sloan. I'm gonna wipe that smartass smirk off of your face shortly." He jerked his head towards the prisoner. "Hold him."

Horrified, Jesse clung to the bars, shouting and yelling, unable to tear his eyes from the brutal scene in the adjoining cell, wincing as dull thuds of blows were followed by barely suppressed sounds of pain. Hill had an uncanny ability to measure the severity of his punches so as to deliver the greatest degree of pain without letting his victim lose consciousness. And, Jesse realized bitterly, there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help his best friend except scream and pound at the bars like a lunatic.

A vicious blow to the abdomen, finally sending Steve to his knees, and an equally vicious kick to the injured man's ribs, and Jesse jammed his fist against his mouth to keep from crying out, from begging Hill to stop, knowing his distress would simply incite additional sadism. Steve, I'm so sorry, he thought miserably, forgive me, I can't stop him. And this is all my fault, my stupid idea. Frantically, he scrabbled for control, convincing himself he wouldn't help the situation by becoming hysterical. He squeezed suspiciously blurred eyes shut momentarily, then reopened them, praying for calm.

The scene had not improved particularly substantially. Hill stood over Steve's prone body, one foot swinging idly. "Had enough, Sloan?"

Jesse couldn't make out the answer, but it apparently displeased the sheriff, because the booted foot continued its now not so idle swing and rammed into Steve's side hard enough to roll him onto his back, a involuntary moan escaping him. Hill laughed shortly and delivered another vicious kick, watching his victim's body convulse, the same dreamy look as before on his face.

He had to stop this madman, Jesse thought desperately, before this went any further. "Sheriff! Listen to me!"

Amazingly, Hill turned his head. His intent look was frightening in its single-mindedness. "What do you want, kid?"

I'm not a kid, Jesse wanted to yell, with increasing sympathy for Steve's desire to get in a few punches. "I'm a doctor. Unless you're planning on killing him pretty soon, you'd better stop before you hurt him any more."

Hill's grin altered into an oddly measuring look. "Doctor, eh?"

There was an irate muttering from the man on the floor; Hill kicked him carelessly, without bothering to look, concentrating on Jesse. Who grabbed his nerves with both mental hands. "Yes. I'm on staff at Community General Hospital in L.A. We were on a camping trip." He reddened as the sheriff gave him the familiar look of disbelief.

"Camping. Well, maybe as long as you let Sloan do everything. He's such a boy scout anyway." Again the foot, and a choked-off yelp as it caught Steve by surprise. Hill laughed again and returned his attention to Jesse. "So what are you trying to tell me, Doctor Junior?"

Jesse ached to plant his fist in the man's smirking face, but he held his peace. "I'm telling you that you've taken him about as far as you can if you expect to get any kind of response from him. At this point, you might as well kick around a bale of hay -- you'd get the same amount of satisfaction." He tried not to flinch as Steve rolled a malevolent eye in his direction, and made a mental note to cook up a really effective explanation for his friend -- later.

Hill was still considering Jesse's declaration. "Doctor, eh?" he repeated musingly. When Jesse nodded wordlessly, the sheriff nodded himself, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "All right, Junior. I presume you're also gonna suggest I should let you in here to see to him?"

Despite his resolve to stay calm, Jesse couldn't control the tone of his voice any longer. "That's a good presumption," he snapped. Angry eyes met amused ones; then the sheriff grinned.

"All right, Junior. You'll get your wish. I'll even have Flynn fetch the first aid kit." He glanced downwards; Steve had slid into semi-consciousness, barely semi at that. "Not sure how much good it will do, but I'd be surprised if a brainy lad like you can't come up with something." As Jesse stared at him in amazement, he added, "After that, son, you and I are going to have a little conversation about your doctoring skills."

He prodded the unconscious man with his foot, but got no reaction, and shrugged. "You're right about one thing. It's a hell of a lot more fun when he's awake." He motioned to Flynn. "You heard me. First aid kit, then deposit Junior in here with his pal."

It was silly, but Jesse's self respect required the attempt. "That's Doctor Travis to you," he snapped again, with as much bravado as he could muster.

Hill stared at him, then grinned widely. "All right. Doctor Travis. Your patient's waiting." He bent down and grabbed Steve's head from behind. "Be good, Sloan. We'll finish this later." The dreamy look once more in evidence, he let go his grip, smiling as Steve's head hit the floor, and walked out.