A/N: I'd like to thank the readers that have continued to stay with this story through its very looooong rest period, and for the ongoing encouragement and lovely requests to finish this journey. The offer of bribes is most appreciated! :)

As with you, readers, I find that Mitchell, Annie, George, Carl, and oh, who's that other arrogant, insistent - oh yes, Wyndam, will not let go of this. They too, are most...displeased...that their story is taking so long to tell. But rest assured, it will be finished. Apparently, Wyndam won't allow for anything less (I, for one, don't want to argue with him). But just what has he created?

CHAPTER 14: Tide est in rebus humanis

Wyndam stopped in front of a closed door, and turned to Annie, fixing her with an icy stare.

"You will not try to free him. You will not help him escape. You will not do or say anything to help him leave here. Do you understand?"

Annie felt the shiver run down the length of her. Her fingers curled into fists, and she struggled against the pull. It drew her to Wyndam, demanding she surrender to the commands. She fought to remain rigid and in control. His stare was compelling and she could not look away. The ice burned through her chest, and finally ripped her will from her.

"Fine," she hissed through clenched teeth. Wyndam raised an eyebrow. She let out a breath, and forced herself to relax. "Fine," she repeated, her voice calm and controlled.

Wyndam held her with his eyes for several long moments. She tried not to blink. Finally, he nodded once, and turned away from her, walking back down the hall.

"Open the door," he called, looking up at the camera that monitored the hall.

Annie heard a click and the door cracked open an inch. Slowly pushing it open, she peered inside, and then rushed into the room to the figure lying on the only cot.

"Tom!" She knelt down and leaned over him. "Tom! Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

"Course I can hear you, I'm not deaf!" Tom croaked, opening his eyes. He didn't sit up.

ooooo

Mitchell rubbed his wrists where the rope had bitten into his skin.

"I have one more condition before I go with you," he told Carl. "I want to see Paidraig. Not that I don't trust you…" Mitchell's lip turned up at the corner.

"I've told you he's fine. I have no interest in killing him."

Mitchell raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," Carl shrugged. "I'll show him to you, but you can't speak with him." Carl picked up a small duffel bag from the table and started for the door.

"Why not?"

"Because he's still sedated." Carl turned his back on Mitchell and walked out of the room, leaving the door open. Walking down the hallway, he reached into the duffel bag, his fingers curling around the wooden stake. After a moment, he heard Mitchell following him. Tensing, Carl continued down the hall, waiting for the attack.

Stopping before a closed door with a small covered observation panel, he turned and faced Mitchell. Neither spoke. Carl knocked on the door twice. A moment later, the panel slid open and blue eyes peered out.

"How is he?" Carl asked.

"Still out," George answered.

"Mitchell's agreed to two days, but wants to see him."

"Carl…"

"George, we've been over this," Carl interrupted. "Mitchell has agreed to give me two days. He won't go back on his word. Step back, let him see."

George glared at Carl for a moment before his eyes flickered over to Mitchell. Defiance and hatred flowed from him, hitting Mitchell like a heat wave. Mitchell remained silent, holding George's stare, but his fingers curled into fists. Carl tightened his hold on the wooden stake still hidden in the duffel. Finally, George exhaled and slammed the panel shut. A lock clicked, and the door opened a few inches.

"You are not coming in," George ground out.

Mitchell stepped closer and deliberately pushed the door open with one finger. Looking past George, he saw Padraig lying on a cot. On the table next to the bed was a vial of clear liquid, and a needle.

"Padraig! Wake up!" Mitchell called. There was no response. Mitchell turned to Carl. "How do I know he'll remain alive?"

"You have my word."

"Wake him up."

"No!" George shouted. "He's stays out or I stake him!" Brandishing a stake, he glared at Mitchell.

"I've nothing to gain by killing him, Mitchell." Carl put a hand on Mitchell's arm. "I've not lied to you, and will not. Padraig is alive. He'll remain so until we return, I give you my word."

Mitchell was silent, then gave a curt nod before turning to George.

"If he's harmed in any way, I'll hold you responsible."

"Yeah, well, I hold you responsible for the hell our lives have become, so fuck off!" George slammed the door closed.

"You sure you can control him?" Mitchell asked Carl.

"Let's go."

oooooo