a/n: I figure I would break with my normal routine of one at a time and give you an extra chapter. ENJOY!

Chapter 11

Deeks woke to bone-numbing cold; his body shivered, reminding him of his injuries, and he groaned. Wanting to sit up, he instead found his joints stiff and unwilling to move. His mouth dry, he worked his tongue, trying to produce even a small amount of saliva. His left eye refused to open, and the entire left side of his face pulsated with heat. Through his right eye, he could only see blackness.

Groping around himself with his fingers, he felt everything within reach, trying to find a clue to where he was. The ground and walls around him were rough and wet. He grumbled and, pushing back the stiffness, he began to sit up. But, when he had only gotten about a foot high, his head made contact with a hard surface. His hand instantly went to the object in his way. He began to panic when he realised it surrounded him; there was no opening, no way out that he could sense. His deep, panicked breaths burned in his chest, a whimper escaping his tightening throat.

"I won. I did what you wanted." The whimper became a sob, the sound echoing within his tomb.

Fatigue gripped him and thrust him from his panic into semi consciousness; his thoughts filled with dark shadows. His teammates didn't come and offer him support or hope. His heart dropped, his will to live beginning to slip away. They had left him. When he needed them the most, they had left him alone.

The constant sound of water dripping pulled him from his dark musings. He looked around. The noise was coming from ahead of him. His feet started moving first, kicking and wiggling. His body moving slowly back and forth, he inched toward the sound of the water. His body didn't give up; something deep inside him wanted to live.

As he got closer to the sound of the dripping water, dull light filtered down from a crack above his head and illuminated his tomb, giving him the chance to take a look around. It wasn't a tomb but a narrow shaft. His heart caught in his throat; his breath hitched. This was different from the hole. It wasn't hot or on an angle, nor did he lie on a trolley.

He began to push faster, moving toward the dripping water. What had they done to him? He wondered, fist slapping against the stone. He'd won the fight, and she'd promised him freedom.

Water dripped against his forehead, making him stop. He touched the roof of the shaft, his fingers running across cracks. The water dripping on his face was cold; it felt good and eerie at the same time. He touched his fingers to his mouth. He was so thirsty. Gagging, he spit out the cool water, it was salty. He was close to the ocean. He pushed his hands against the walls, feeling the dripping water. Maybe this was another test; maybe this was a final cruel joke. He had to find his freedom himself or die trying.

The walls gave his exploring fingers no signs of fatigue that he could use to his advantage. Pausing, his fingers traced down a jagged crack. Rolling onto his side, he explored the marks more closely. Running his finger over them, he determined that they were not cracks. He wished he had more light so that he could see what had piqued his interest. Something caught his palm as his hand dropped to the ground. Hissing, his fingers moved to pull out the object of his discomfort. It was small, oval and, for the most part, smooth. He gripped it and rolled it back toward the dim light. He stared, bringing the thing closer to his face. A nail. It was a human nail. His body convulsed, he cried out throwing the nail as far from himself as he could in the confined space.

His hands slapped against the walls. His cries burned his throat, but he didn't care. They had given him his freedom but in a way that virtually ensured he would never live to see any of his friends again. He silenced his fear. He needed to think. They got him in, which meant there had to be a way out. He peered at the cracks, feeling the moisture against his skin, thinking about the building he had been in.

"What are you planning?" he whispered to himself. He moved around, his hands splashing in the water now pooled around him from the drips. His heart jumped, his breath trembled. "The tide. The tide is coming in," he groaned. In pushing himself downward, he had moved toward his own death. The water would come in and fill the shaft. He would drown, and his body would eventually float out somewhere. He groaned. That was her plan. He would see his friends again. He laughed dryly; they would be the ones to find him.

Wiggling his way back was much easier, the water raised him just enough that he could move faster. He stopped to rest, only to be reminded when the water rose higher that it wouldn't give him the chance to rest for long, not if he wanted to live. He had to move at a steady pace. His head constantly smacked against the roof of the shaft as he tried to see something in the darkness. A growing headache made it harder to navigate his way through the shaft. His limbs began to go numb from the cold, making it harder to move, harder to push.

The water rose higher, forcing him to press his nose against the top of the shaft; he couldn't tell if he was making any headway now. His body numbed by the water; his vision lost to the darkness. He pressed his hands to the roof and walked them one over the other, muttering to himself to keep moving, to keep going.

As he dragged himself along, his left hand suddenly hit a void, causing him to lose his forward momentum and sink under the water. Cold, salty water filled his throat; as he pushed himself up again, his head bounced off the roof. His hand moved to an opening, a ledge. He wiggled himself just a little further, and then raised his body. Holding onto the ledge, he couldn't make out anything except a dim blue light a few feet above him. He tried to lift himself up, but found lying was less stressful on his aching body.

The water rose past his chest, and continued to rise until he felt it against his cheek. His one useful eye flickered as the water lapped his cheek. Exhausted, he relaxed. He had made it this far. He was proud he hadn't just let himself drown.

He shivered as the water continued to rise and lap against his body. His hand slapped against the water. He did love the water. He again looked at the circle of blue light above him. Just a moment to rest and he would find a way to get to the light. He was, after all, rather tired and needed just a few moment's rest.

"Call 911!" a male voice shouted, jolting Deeks from his reverie; he didn't want to see the face that the voice belonged to. He didn't want to find The Madame standing over him, her sickening smile reminding him she had won again. "Maddy, for Christ's sake, call 911!"

Oversized hands clutched his underarms lifting him up; his back ran across something smooth and equally cold. The hands let go of him letting his body rest, something warm draped over his shaking body, Deek's teeth chattered. He convinced himself to open his good eye to look at who every found him. Praying it wasn't the Madame. He stared back at a set of dark brown eyes and a face covered in a heavy black beard. He didn't know the face, he didn't know the man. He began to panic, pushing at the hands at the man touching him, pushing them away. He fought with every bit of energy he could find within himself. The man's hands wrapped around his wrists, the terror that echoed through his battered body was instant. He needed to get away for him; he slipped backward, his body tumbling into the opening. His head struck something solid before launching him into darkness.

TBC