AN: I'm glad everyone is enjoying it so far. I do hope this chapter doesn't kill that.

By the time the guards came for him again, the Scot was unconscious. He was roused and dragged out of his little holding room. To the chagrin of the guards, they couldn't get Billy to hold his own weight. After a few brutal attempts to convince him to stand on his own two feet, they decided he wasn't just purposefully making things difficult for them. So, instead, they resorted to dragging him down the hallway.

He must have blacked out on the way through the halls, or maybe one of the guards had knocked him out, because the next thing he knew, he was waking to find himself bound to that chair again. Unlike the first, this time he could not only see his captor but his surroundings. They hadn't bothered to replace his blindfold. He took in the room. It was a spacious room, void of furnishings save a table and a few chairs. There were crude light fixtures hanging from the ceiling that appeared to have been haphazardly thrown together and jury-rigged into place. There were two windows off to his left. One of which was cracked clear from one side to the other. The second was boarded up to keep the sand out. He noted that the visible window was completely submerged in sand. They'd known half of the building was hidden under a mountain of sand, but it seemed it hadn't started completely that way. Not if the rooms further back were designed without windows, yet this room seemed to have become a casualty of the ever-shifting tides of sand.

"Señor Collins, why are jou really here?" The man's voice matched his first interrogator. A quick study of his face told Billy exactly what he needed to know. This was Andre Estrada. The man he was supposed to get to know so well and keep occupied with false information until the rest of his team and the military could storm the base and finally take this guy down.

"He's former Cuban militia with ties to Soviet Russia back in the day. He's got a penchant for locating and capturing undercover operatives for information and a quick buck for their return." He remembered Casey saying.

"But he never handles with care, and he's never sent an operative back alive, or in stable enough condition to survive." Michael had added

"Señor Collins…" Andre urged, waving to one of the men stationed at the door to come closer. The man walked up and kicked the leg of Billy's chair, jarring his body to get his attention.

"I came here t' give you information on British affairs—"

"I'm not interested in information that's nearly a decade old. I'm not interested in jour cover story. I am interested in the CIA." Andre's tone was smooth as silk, speaking as if they were dining together over expensive food, discussing a business deal.

"The CIA? Why would I have anythin' t' do with the CIA? I don' know if you've no'iced, bu' I'm no' exactly American, now am I, mate?" The retort had less indignation than he'd actually meant to put into his voice. This earned him a fist to his gut, courtesy of the brute to his right.

The Cuban held up a manila folder before flipping it open and holding up four files that he splayed out like cards. Billy could easily read four names and see four pictures. His blood ran cold, but he didn't show an inkling of recognition on his face. The names read, William Collins, Casey Malick, Michael Dorset, and Rick Martinez. When Billy shook his head and shrugged, as if he didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at, the man spoke up.

"Jou are still going to deny jour affiliation with the United States CIA and a team of spies jou work with closely?" His eyes narrowed on Billy, daring him to deny it again.

"Did you stop t' think tha' maybe I'm bein' se' up? I came here t' do business with you t' ge' back a' the agency tha' disgraced me!" Billy wasn't sure how much longer he could put up the angry front. As long as they were focused on him, they weren't focused on Casey and the team that should be infiltrating soon. So, putting up a convincing performance was key. However, he was also pushing his limit without water. During that rigorous trip across the desert left him sufficiently dehydrated. He was finding it difficult to do what came naturally to him.

Estrada stood from his chair silently, walked around the table to stare closely at Billy before brushing past him. He spoke something in Arabic to the guard and left the room. As the man approached him full on, Billy knew this would not be pleasant.

OoOoO

He wasn't sure how long he'd been kindly persuaded not to lie by Mister Muscles with no sense of humor, but when his polite reminder left him with several bruises, cuts, a split lip and possibly a few bruised ribs, the head honcho returned. The man was suddenly flashing a surveillance picture of himself with the rest of his team in what looked like the mission in France a few months ago, he winced. Well, this made things more difficult, didn't it?

Billy put on his best grin in his current state. "Now tha's a handsome devil." He drawled before his world went black in an explosion of pain. Unfortunately, he wasn't out long. They were dragging him out of the room once again, likely to return him to his cell, still without a drop of water to wet his lips.

In the back of his mind, Billy heard shuffling and soon found the floor greeting him in a warm, sandy embrace. When he finally managed to pry his eyes open, he took note that the two guards were on the ground and a third man was locking their wrists behind their backs with zip-ties. Then hands were on his arms and he found his wrists freed of their own restraints.

"Billy. Come back to me, Billy." He knew that voice.

Blue eyes fluttered open to meet Casey's face.

"'lo ma'e…" Billy slurred and tried to focus. He was disoriented and weak. Shaky. He felt Casey press a hand to his forehead and watched his expression turn grim.

"Michael, any way you can speed up your extraction?" He asked over the radio and looked down at the Scot with concern. He propped him against the wall and squatted next to him. Malick pulled one of the canteens off his belt and unscrewed the cap, handing it to Billy. "Drink slowly. Very slowly. Despite how badly you want to suck it all down, you need to sip and take your time or you'll just make yourself sick." He ordered sternly.

"We're moving as quickly as we can. What's your status?" Michael's voice chimed over the com.

"Billy's showing signs of severe dehydration. He's disoriented, weak, most notably, he's not sweating in this unforgiving heat. His forehead's bone dry." Casey examined the bruises coloring the Scotsman's face, looking over the few cuts where the hits broke the skin. "Blood loss will attribute to his dehydration and all I've got with me is water—Slowly, Billy!" Casey cut himself off and grabbed at Billy's wrist, tilting the canteen away from his mouth for a moment. After another moment, he jerked the earwig out of his ear and shoved it in his pocket. He didn't need Billy's wire echoing his own words back in his ear, and right now, he was too irritated to deal with it.

There was a long silence over the radio before finally Michael replied, "We'll see what we can do." Was his vague reply.

"Can you walk?" Casey asked, studying Billy's expression carefully.

"Y'mean you're actually givin' me a choice?" Billy slurred his words just a bit, looking up at the shorter operative with a lopsided grin.

"No." Casey stood, pulling Billy with him and pulled one of the Scot's arms over his shoulders, wrapping his other around Billy's waist. "I trust if I have to let go quickly to defend us, you will at least try not to fall to the floor like a string puppet?"

"No promises." Billy groaned, earning him an annoyed grunt in reply from his companion.

It was nearly impossible to perform such a clumsy extraction flawlessly. Even with Casey heading said extraction. The biggest problem was the operative he was extracting. The man could hardly walk on his own and was quickly becoming dead weight. It wasn't entirely Billy's fault, Malick understood that. That didn't make it any less annoying to nearly carry the taller man through the halls in an enemy compound without much of anything to defend themselves.

"Billy, you have got to help me." Casey insisted, giving the man a very mild shake in an attempt to rouse him. He knew it was more than dehydration. His electrolytes were low, a result of profuse perspiration. The man just didn't have the energy to put forth an effort.

"'m slowin' ya doon…" Billy's drawl was worsening, even with the fluids he drank. Casey stopped and turned Billy in his hold, pressing him up against the nearest wall for support. With his free hand, he sifted through his pockets until he found his flashlight.

"Look at me, Collins." Casey snapped, earning the desired result. When those glassy blue eyes were lifted to acknowledge him, he shined the light into one of them, then away. Billy didn't even flinch, but his pupil contracted and dilated as it should. He repeated with the other eye with the same outcome. That ruled out the little nagging concern he'd had when he spotted those head injuries. But it also made the situation that much graver. If Billy's dehydration or hypovolemia was severe enough that he was this far gone, simple oral hydration wasn't an option.

The sound of shoes grinding sand into concrete at a steady rhythm filled the hallway and Casey looked between Billy, the location of the sound, and the nearest door. "Stay put." He hissed as he lowered the Scot to the ground, propped against the wall. Immediately after, Casey disappeared through one of the doors and waited. They wouldn't shoot Billy, not as pathetic as he was right now, and that would be the perfect distraction he needed. He waited until he heard voices shouting orders in that foreign language before he threw the door open and ambushed the five guards, taking them out swiftly, before they even knew what hit them.

After zip-tying their wrists—he was beginning to run low on zip-tie handcuffs at this point—he returned to Collins' side and hefted him back to his feet. "You still with me?" But Billy's reply was obscured by an explosion. The building shook and the power cut. Last time they were briefed, he never recalled hearing anything about actually attacking the compound. Especially while there were friendlies inside!

"Casey, what's your status?" Michael's voice crackled through the radio mixed with static.

"What the hell was that?" Malick shot back.

"The Anti-aircraft system fired, Malick! You disabled the hydraulics, but they were still armed and tried to fire when we approached. Without the targeting mechanics, they backfired right down into the compound. You need to get out!"

"Working on it, but without power, that's a bit of a setback." Casey rolled his eyes and began lugging Billy forward again. Not that they would be able to get out. The first door they'd reach would be mechanically locked. And without power, they were stuck.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. The compound is crumbling. If another missile fires, it could either cave in on top of you, or your compartment will flood with sand and you'll suffocate."

Casey was silent, contemplating their situation. "Then don't come any closer in that helicopter of yours, Michael."

"We landed. It's the military you have to worry about. Their ETA is roughly ten minutes from now, and they won't stop for anything now that we've got the defenses down."

"Casey, go." Billy's voice nearly made the other operative jump. Well, nothing quite that severe. A slight lapse in concentration and the silence from the usually chatty operative allowed the man to temporarily forget one Billy Collins was still at his side. "I'll slow y' down, and it sounds t' me like time is of the essence. I'll hold the fort here. Come back for me when it's all said and done."

TBC

AN: Thank you, Lena for catching my stupid mistake. I should not be allowed to write past four in the morning. xD