The creak of the door that leads into his bedroom-turned-cell is the only thing that alerts Mac that someone is coming for him. Still, he struggles to his feet, determined to meet his captors standing.

After all, that's what he's been doing. Wouldn't do to stop it after all this time. This time being a relative statement, Mac decides. He has no idea how long he's been Bianchi's captive, although he suspects it's somewhere around three days.

In a way, not knowing how long it has been is one of the worst things about the entire situation. He can take the pain, has taken it before, but he has always, always known how long it had been. He knows how long it normally takes the DXS to put together a rescue team- and they are looking, he knows they are- and he has no idea if that time has been passed yet or not.

He keeps losing time, too. He's been beaten or drugged into unconsciousness multiple times, and he'd wake days- hours- minutes- seconds later, and he had no idea which it was.

(He doubts, sometimes, that anyone is looking for him, and then he remembers that Jack's out there somewhere, and he knows that Jack won't stop looking for him until there's nothing left of him to find, and even then he won't stop until that's been uncovered

Sometimes he worries that there won't be anything left of him to find.)

The floor outside creaks again. Muffled sobs sound. Mac wavers on his feet, fear forcing the air from his chest like a fist to the gut. He refuses to show fear, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it.

It's going to be a long time before he can put his head fully underwater again.

Finally, the door opens. Mac prepares himself to be led away, but instead, a girl's shoved into the room and a furious man enters after her. He's huge, built like Jack and a foot taller, and his face is one that Mac's become sadly acquainted with after the past however-long-it's-been, as it seems that this man is Bianchi's chief information gatherer.

Instinctively, Mac crouches down to help the girl, pulling her back from the other while he keeps his eyes fixed on his captor's face, reluctant to look away from the imminent danger. The man sneers down at the girl, before transferring his gaze to Mac. "I'll be back for you later."

With that he turns his back and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The click of the lock echoes through the sudden silence.

Once he's gone, Mac looks at the girl. She's in a fairly expensive dress, and one of the straps of her dress is torn- nothing's been exposed yet, but it's only a matter of time before the girl's modesty is compromised. Without hesitation, Mac strips the jacket from his shoulders- a flimsy thing, one they'd given him after it became clear that Mac would become severely sick without some form of warmth in the cold, damp basement- and hands it to the girl.

She's sitting against the wall now, and her cries have died down. She flinches when Mac steps towards her, and he immediately drops into a crouch, holding up his hands to show that he doesn't have anything except his jacket. Then, carefully, slowly, he shuffles forward, extending the jacket to the girl- woman, really. She looks like she's twenty-three or twenty-four.

She takes the jacket slowly and drapes it over her shoulders, relief flashing through her eyes as she sinks into the warmth left behind by Mac. She sniffles once, then laughs shakily, raising her eyes to meet Mac's gaze. "I didn't expect to find such a gentleman down here."

Mac recognizes it as the humor that comes from the only options being either laughing or breaking down. He's experienced it himself more than once. He grins and says, "I try."

She sits up a little more, her gaze flitting around the room. "How long have you been here?"

Mac shrugs, sitting down across from her, still keeping his movements slow. "Not sure. Long enough for them to do this, though."

He gestures to his face. He hasn't seen himself in a mirror since this whole thing started- the tiny toilet and sink that's sitting in the right corner of his cell didn't come with a mirror- but he knows he's taken enough hits that he doesn't look anywhere near his best.

The woman looks at him for a moment, seeming to just realize why Mac's covered in bruises and cuts. "Oh my- they did that to you?"

Mac nods, suddenly regretting his decision to bring it up. The woman looks like she's on the edge of hysterics as she pulls at the edges of her black hair. He hesitates, then speaks. "Why did they bring you here?"

The woman shrugs. "I'm afraid I don't know. They simply grabbed me off the street and knocked me out, and the next thing I knew, I was here."

She looks up at Mac, studying his face. "You seem familiar. Do I know you?"

Mac shakes his head. "I don't think so."

The woman continues to stare at him. "I think I've seen you before. You work for Francis Colombo, do you not?" Mac hesitates, and the woman laughs. "Don't worry, he is my father. I do not think that he will be upset with you for telling me that you work for him."

It's all very convincing- the way she peeks out from behind her hair, the way she looks desperate for some source of comfort- but something's still off, and Mac hasn't survived this long by ignoring his gut. He shakes his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The woman frowns. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Her voice has gone very, very soft. It sounds like the growl of a tiger before it pounces on its prey. Mac's hands clench involuntarily behind his back. "I'm sure."

The woman laughs, then. It is not a nice laugh. She stands, goes to the door, and raps three times. A guard opens the door and the woman turns to look at Mac. "Bring him upstairs."

Mac is pulled to his feet by the first guard and another, who joined them moments after the door was opened. His hands are yanked behind his back and restrained with zip ties- multiple, all of which cut into his skin. He's shoved out the door, and all he can think is that this might be the end, because it's obvious that these people don't believe him.

They are back in the same room he woke up in when he was first brought here. The walk passed too quickly.

Bianchi sits on the couch, the picture of serenity, the woman beside him, Mac's jacket on the floor by her feet. At the sight of it, Mac is suddenly aware of just how cold it actually is in the room.

Bianchi clears his throat, and Mac's forced to his knees. He tries to stare defiantly at the older man, but suspects that it comes out a bit weak. In any case, Bianchi begins to speak before Mac can dwell on it for too long. "Mr. MacGyver, you do not seem to understand your situation. Your stay here has been unpleasant, but it does not need to continue to be so."

Mac scoffs before he can stop himself, blurting out, "Is that why you sent your friend over there to me? To try and figure out how badly off I am?"

Bianchi shakes his head. "No, my friend, you have it all wrong. Miss Colombo here was sent as a way to trick you. It seems you learn quickly, though."

Mac's head shoots up at that. Bianchi laughs. "Yes, she is actually Colombo's daughter. After a falling out over the family business with her dear father, however, she is my right-hand man- or, well, woman. The entire thing was her idea."

Mac nods. "Good- to know." He has to force the words out between gritted teeth as he tries to ignore the pain in his side from being held in this position for so long. Bianchi raises an eyebrow, stands, and begins to pace. "I think we are tiring you, Mr. MacGyver. Let me cut to the chase."

Mac shakes his head. It takes more effort than he would like to think about. "Still- not gonna- work for you."

The pain in his side is almost unbearable, and the world suddenly goes white for a moment as a foot digs into his ribs with painful force and a fist comes out of nowhere to knock him to the ground. When Mac's able to see again, Bianchi is looming over him.

He tastes blood.

Bianchi's face twists in a cruel sneer as he looks down at the man slumped at his feet. "Look," he says, his voice dripping with condescension, "I can- and will- kill you if you do not tell me what I want to know. It is in everyone's best interests to tell me, yes?"

Mac bares his teeth in a bloody grin as he's hauled back to his knees by the guards behind him. "I don't think you were told 'no' enough as a kid, because you don't seem to understand the meaning of the word."

Bianchi snarls, then brings his hand up in a swift, harsh motion and slams the palm into the side of the blond's head in a heavy, open-handed slap. The blond teeters to the side, knocked off balance by the force of the blow. Bianchi nods to himself. "Very well. If you will not cooperate, then I have another use for you."

Mac, dazed and disoriented from the blow, can barely process Bianchi's next words. "Make him hurt. Do not kill him, not yet, but make him hurt."

Mac's dragged back towards the basement, and all he can think about as the ground passes under his feet in a nauseating blur, is how cold it will be in the basement without his jacket.

One thought springs up as he's pulled back into the darkness.

Please, Jack.


I hope you all enjoyed that!

This will, unfortunately, be my last chapter up before the new year. I will be insanely busy over the next month, and also, I think, need a break from this story before I dive into the resolution. So, this longer-than-normal-chapter will hopefully tide you over until then.

I want to give a special thank you to everyone who's reviewed- it really motivates me to continue this story.

Tamuril2, I did find a way to work Mac being a gentleman into the story. ;).

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone, as well as any other holidays you may celebrate!