Freddie woke to the sound of humming. He tried to recognize the sound, but he failed miserably. He quickly realized there was a bright light overhead, making his eyes ache even though they were closed. For a moment, he thought he or Hadley had forgotten to turn off the light before going to bed, but that was ridiculous. Neither of them would forget something like that. The air smelled alcoholic, and his nose ached. Suddenly all the memories of before came back. He had come over to Chris' for a demanded date to get him out of his hair, and the bastard strangled him.

Freddie jolted and realized he was tied to a chair in the center of a room. There were symbols and candles all over a table in front of him as well as another chair. He would kill that bloody little prick when he got out. There were no windows, and he realized that he was likely to be tortured. That thought frightened him, and he felt his hands tremble. He recalled Rio suddenly and the flashbacks started. Christ, no...not again. Freddie tried to focus. He was an adult man, so he should keep his wits about him. He needed to think and get out of the situation!

Minutes passed...perhaps even hours. Freddie started to think about Hadley and Edgar and wondered if they'd noticed he was missing yet. He felt his heart contract painfully at the thought of leaving Hadley heartbroken again. He loved her, he missed her warm touch, and he wanted to hear her soothing words. He wanted to feel her arms around his neck so that he could smell her long, brown hair.

Suddenly, Chris entered the room. "Sorry to keep you waiting," Chris said with a smile. "I was just buying you something," he said, lighting a lighter under a spoon.

Freddie's eyes narrowed.

Freddie swallowed heavily while a dozen questions flooded his mind. As Chris sat and put the fluid in a fresh syringe, Freddie felt something tugging in his chest roughly like someone was using him like a pinball machine. Then he doubled over and started coughing. Pain flooded through Freddie and tore at him viciously unlike anything else. It felt just like when he had first started to wake up. Suddenly, he lost control, and his body started to shake. Then there was only black.

Freddie groaned when he next felt consciousness begin to pull at him. He was surrounded by warmth, and something very soft was brushing against his bare skin. Freddie tried to roll over when he felt and heard something unfamiliar: handcuffs. He tensed and opened his eyes then to look up; he was cuffed to the headboard of a bed. He looked around the room and instantly remembered he was last in Chris' company, and when he turned, he found none other than the bastard himself. There was a problem though. He was naked. Freddie was naked. Christ...what happened while he was out?

Suddenly, Chris purred deep in his chest and pulled Freddie into him. He could feel the bastard's dick against his leg; he thought he would be sick. "Get off me you sick fuck!" Freddie snarled sharply. He used as much force as he could muster and socked him in the mouth. Chris grunted and rolled away as Freddie continued to beat and wail into him until Chris finally pinned him down.

"Tommy, baby, you're alright."

"No," he protested with newfound strength. He hit Chris in the face, but as he moved to do so again, he grabbed his hand. "I'm not Tommy! I'm Freddie! Freddie!"

A moment passed where nothing happened before Chris just pinned Freddie to him and went back to sleep. He needed to get out before something godawful really happened to him. When the beefy git rolled away, Freddie sat up and looked at his hand. His old pal in the RAF told him a way to get out of handcuffs; Freddie would have to dislocate and then relocate his own thumb. Grimacing he held his thumb and sat his weight on the joint. There was a dull pop, and stars filled Freddie's vision from the pain. Shuddering, he pulled his hand free and re popped it, so it was back in place. It still hurt like a bitch.

As he crept down the hall, he tripped over a pill bottle, and it rattled as it rolled across the floor. Fear moved like a claw around his heart, gripping it tightly and crushing it. What if Chris heard him? He reminded himself to breathe: In and out. In and out. He could do this. When he decided the coast was clear, he continued until he got to the kitchen. The front door was right there, and he could see his bike outside.

"What are you doing?" Chris' voice asked with a strained and edgy voice.

Shit. Freddie wasn't breathing anymore. He could hear Chris coming towards him; Freddie's muscles tensed. Before Chris could grab him, Freddie took a wine bottle and swung at Chris' head, the impact causing it to shatter. Chris cried out in pain, drops of blood trickling down the side of his face. Freddie went to run but he was abruptly stopped. "You are mine, do you understand?" Chris screamed as he strangled Freddie. "When will you accept that?"

Freddie jerked away and ran for the living room where he kept a small gun collection in a glass case. Without thinking, Freddie used his body weight to break through and grab the first thing his fingers brushed against. Turning, he faced a bloody-faced Chris, huffing and panting much like himself. Chris held up his empty paws in surrender. "O-Okay, Tommy, you win this. Go ahead. Leave. I won't follow."

Freddie paused. Was it really that easy? No. It wasn't. "No."

"What?"

Freddie never wished to use a gun on someone, but he had no other choice. He needed to make himself...his family safe. Was this what he had come to though? Being forced to use an actual weapon? He couldn't think about it for long. Desperate times called for desperate measures. "Ever since I first looked at you, I hated you," Freddie spat. "You hurt a family and an innocent woman for your own selfish reasons."

Chris paled. "Y-You'll get caught."

"Hadley's a coroner."

Chris swallowed heavily.

Freddie charged and kicked his feet out from under him, pinning him like he pinned Freddie upstairs. There were tears in his electric blue eyes. Good. Freddie's fingers coiled around the cold metal of the gun. He inhaled deeply, and counted down from ten out loud.

…Three. Two. One.

He pulled the trigger.