Bad Day

by Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay

Disclaimer: neither Roswell nor the Bourne series of movies is mine to own.

Genre: Crossover

Summary: Treadstone training has it's bad days.

Rating: MATURE language, violence, torturous training

Pairing: Liz/David Webb (pre Jason Bourne)

A/N: Spoilers for Roswell and some of the Bourne movies. This one's for darkmoon since I've been holding it as a promise for a fic and I haven't delivered yet, so here it is. Also, if some things concerning the Bourne movies aren't correct, please don't hurt me. It's just been a while and I'm running off memory of JB's flashbacks so don't hold me too accountable, be easy. Just remember David Webb is who Jason Bourne was before he took of the mantle of Bourne, the assassin.

Captain David Webb, US Army Ranger, gave a deep breath of much needed air, the burn of liquid running down his sinus' even as great splatters of water shook from the hood covering his face reminded him of when you'd go swimming and get water up your nose, only he didn't know when his next breath would be and he took in that one breath just as he felt himself propelled forward and down, once again being submerged against his will in a grated vat of water to keep him from coming up before They let him.

Finally, after what seemed like ages and eons to David, he was roughly pulled back up and carted off. Embarrassing, at almost six feet two inches he was hauled off like some drunk being taken out by two burly bouncers, and Webb felt every bump and jar of his journey as his handlers purposely ran him into every wall and sharp corner they possibly could, and tripped him to watch him fall just for fun.

After being tripped for the third time in as many minutes, Webb felt his ribs give as a swift kick was his punishment for 'misbehaving'. He still wore the hood, making breathing difficult, and his arms were still bound behind his back. His ears picked up the sound of a cell door opening and even though he tried to prepare himself, he couldn't quite stop himself as he slammed into the wall, and slid down to floor on his injured side. Still bound and blinded by the hood, Webb waited tense moments to make sure there would be no 'punishing' kick or punch while he was down, and he could just make out the sound of their boots clomping away after the ominous clang of the door slaming shut and locking.

It was only when he thought he was alone did he allow his body to react, and he didn't stop himself as his body shook and shuddered with pain and grief, wondering what the hell he'd done to deserve this. Oh, yeah, he did the stupid thing every veteran of the military warned against, what he himself warned against; he volunteered. Cursing his luck for volunteering for something that he wasn't even sure was properly sanctioned, he froze when he heard a scurrying sound.

Rats? Did they put him in with the rats again?

Webb couldn't help the shudder of fear that gripped him at that thought. Normally he wouldn't have cared about the rats, but after being put in a room with a bunch of starving rats and being doused with grease and fat from a pork roast, he never wanted to hear that particular scritching of tiny clawed feet and sibilant squeaks of malevolence ever again.

On the off chance, the hope, the desperation, that it wasn't rats, Webb found his voice.

"He- uh, hello?"

He waited anxiously and heard that noise again, but this time there was something almost...clothlike about it. The sound of bare skin moving against the concrete that made up the walls and floor of this hellhole.

"He, hello?" a voice hoarse from unuse -or screaming- replied, as if its owner had to remember how to speak.

"Who's there?" Webb tried to scoot himself away, at least to sit up, but it was taking more effort than he was used to. Not that he was surprised. This past week had been an unending exercise in sleep and food deprivation, not to mention that damned water tank and the rats, and the lovely escort to this cell.

There was more silence, and then Webb felt a presence come toward him, but oddly enough, he didn't feel too threatened aside from the fact that he was still bound and hooded. He felt the body heat before he felt the actual touch on his face, so he didn't jerk as he felt small, delicate hands reach out and touch him. He did stiffen in wariness, but those soft hands just went about their business, and then he felt the wonderful chill of fresh air as his hood was taken off and tossed across the room.

Webb inhaled deeply, eyes closed, loving the feel of the cool air brushing against his exposed face, sucking in deep lungfuls of air untainted by his own breathing in that confined hood. He opened his eyes when his rescuer felt around his shoulders, and down his arms to feel about his arms and wrists where he was bound. Those small, clever fingers made short work of the zip tie and that too joined the dratted hood in the far corner of the cell.

Webb got a good look at the one who freed him, and he was surprised to say the least. A petite waif of a girl knelt nearby, she was about one of her arm lengths away from him, close enough to free him but still keeping some distance. Not that he couldn't still easily reach her, but it was the way she held herself, with a tense wariness mixed in with a quiet dignity that caught his attention.

"Who are you?" he repeated, and those dry cracked lips twisted upward in wry smile.

"Liz Parker. Elizabeth Claudia Parker. That's who I was...before..."

Her hair was raggedly cut, long in some places, short in others and Webb realized that it had been cut that way on purpose. Probably another one of the mental games that their 'trainers' were so fond of, and the dim lighting wasn't good enough to see the color clearly, but he thought it would be a dark brown, if not black in better light. Her skin had a sallow, pale look that proved she hadn't seen the outside in years probably, though there was a dark tinge so she must have some exotic flavor to her to keep that tint despite her not having been sun-side in forever. Her bones were clearly seen against that unusual skin, some bones pulling and tightening the skin about them, while others just seemed to hang the skin like a blanket between a clothes line.

"Who...who are you?" she asked, and despite the husky unused quality Webb decided he liked it. It was the first friendly voice he'd heard in a long time.

"Webb, David Webb, Captain of the United States Army Rangers, attached to the 101st Airborne."

Webb could see one delicate eyebrow wing upward and a slight twist of her lips though no sound came forth, but Webb still got the impression he was being laughed at...and honestly, he felt like laughing at himself. He could see her mouth the words of his name, David Webb, and still no sound emerged, but Webb just shrugged it off.

"Yeah, fancy titles don't mean jack down here, huh?" he asked, leaning his head back against the wall as he settled more comfortably now that he wasn't bound, and his companion simply shook her head in agreement, still watching carefully.

After several long moments of quiet, in which Webb had closed his eyes, pretending to rest and ignore the neutral regard of Elizabeth, he found his patience was rewarded as a small but remarkably limber and strong body came closer to his, seeking out his body heat as the temperature gradually dropped. Webb smiled, just like a little bird to come into his trap, but he was careful not to spook her.

"Why you here?" she finally asked, as her head came to lay on his shoulder, curling up next to him as if she had the choice of burrowing deep inside him, she would.

"Oh, just had a bad day I guess," he shrugged, and a choked, wheezing giggle rumbled against his chest, bringing the first true smile to his face.

"Yeah...bad day," she agreed, and the two gradually drifted off into an uneasy sleep.