Thanks a lot for all the reviews and support, I'm glad you like this story despite its difficulty to read at times.

If you know my stories you know I can be really mean to the boys, especially Steve, but in the end, I (kind of) fix what I broke. It won't be any different this time.

They've left him alone since he'd lost consciousness after the waterboarding. Steve's guess was it had something to do with at least some recovery before they would drag him to that room again. Unfortunately, that didn't mean Richardson and Lynch wouldn't be further interrogated, no matter how hard Steve tried to take the attention off them. There was nothing he could do for his teammates and he wanted to scream in frustration when he watched them being taken away one by one. He could only sit and wait as the minutes and hours ticked by. To worry and pray he'd see them again. Every second crept by until they were brought back in a terrible condition, but alive. For how long that would be the case, Steve didn't know. Their only chance of surviving this was a speedy escape or rescue and he was well aware of it.

Waiting for a miracle, he tried not to focus on what was happening to his comrades, nor what had happened to others. It was just too painful to think about it. Instead, he directed his focus on physical pain. That he could handle.

His head throbbed, and the sounds other than silent whispers seemed to make it even worse. Every breath was a struggle. His phlegm-filled lungs were desperate for oxygen, but his body didn't cooperate. A string of harsh cough shook his pale and fragile form every now and then, leaving him weaker than he had thought possible. The breaths he took were not only painful, but too fast and shallow to be considered normal, which only worsened his overall condition. The intensity of the stabbing pain in his legs seemed to increase as well, and Steve couldn't help but wonder if he'd be able to walk again once he got out.

He was exhausted to the core, and honestly couldn't remember when he'd felt so weak. The constant battle with pain and lack of nourishment had taken its toll too. On the basic food he was being given, he had limited fuel that was just enough to survive, so he had no choice but to lie there and take it as his body slowly wasted away before him.

What started as a glossy sheen of sweat, turned into beaded as he lay on the floor. It was cold. Colder than before. Steve would swear that when a violent shiver took control of his broken body and wouldn't stop.

His mind was in a daze too, and the border between reality and dreams was becoming more and more blurred each minute of his miserable existence.

It was a click of a key in the lock that forced him to push his aching hands into the floor and lift his torso off the floor. And his heart jumped when he recognized the face of the man walking down the corridor toward his cell.

The guard with a phone.

Steve shook his mind into clarity, willing his body to fight and his mind to work harder. He'd been waiting for this guy for days, hoping he'd show up with their best chance of calling for help. And there it was, in his left pocket, attracting Steve's attention much more than food and water on the tray in his hands.

With the adrenaline rushing into his body, he held onto the bars as he scrambled up to his bare feet, his wounded legs trembling with effort, stabbing pain erupting in them with his weight on them.

"Hey, you!" Steve called out, still unsure how he'd play this. But he knew he wasn't about to let their only opportunity pass. "Hey. You understand me?"

The guard looked at him with an angry snarl on his face. "La tatakalam!" he shouted.

Steve had learned it meant to shut up a long time ago, but he wasn't about to comply. "I guess not, then," Steve said, holding the guard's gaze. "Of course they wouldn't send you down here with food if you were smart enough to learn the language, would they?"

"I said, shut up!" the guard said with a strong accent, but English nonetheless. "No talking."

Steve might've struck a nerve. But he wasn't done yet. "I don't give a shit about what you've said," he kept going. "You're not in a position to demand anything, are you? They didn't even give you a gun, let alone give any orders. Do they not trust a dumbass like you? Maybe they're afraid you'd shoot your foot or something."

He was right. The man really wasn't the smartest one around. He'd proven it by taking two steps closer to the bars, his face turning red with anger. He leaned forward a little bit more to say something to Steve, but he never got the chance. Coming close enough within Steve's reach with no backup nor a weapon had turned out to be a fatal mistake.

Reaching deep inside for the last remaining strength, Steve sprang into action. He grabbed the guard by the robe and pulled hard, crashing his head into the metal bars. By the time the tray he'd been holding clattered to the floor, Steve had the guard turned around with back to the bars and his right arm snaked tightly around the man's neck. The effort nearly made him collapse, but the loud cheers of his men in the cells next door made him push himself for a little bit longer. He fought for them. For freedom. He pulled harder, ignoring the man's growing panic and flailing limbs coming at him as the guard struggled to draw some air into his lungs. Soon enough, the futile attempts became weaker and weaker until they stopped and the guard's body went limp.

Steve grabbed the phone and let the man's dead weight crash onto the floor, right between his and Richardson's cell. His legs gave out just a second later, and Steve slumped onto the floor too, his vision blurred by pain.

"You've made it," Lynch said, not hiding the excitement in his voice. "I can't believe it."

Steve didn't want to lose time and began to dial the number of the operating base. But he could already hear the noise and sound of footsteps from behind the door. The noise had obviously attracted unwanted attention. His heart thudded in his chest like crazy, adrenaline still rushing in his veins. He didn't have much time.

It only rang twice before Steve could hear a sound of a voice on the other side of the line. "The Naval operations base. Sergeant Miller. What can I do for you?"

"This is Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett," he spilled as fast as he could. "Me and two of my men had been captured by Kaseem al-Asmar's men. We're held at an unknown location and need some help. You need to speak to Commander Mike Turner."

"Can you repeat?" came the answer.

"Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett," he tried again, louder and more desperate. "We've been captured by-"

"I can't understand a word, please repeat."

Steve's heart sank. After all the trouble it was the bad signal what would make the difference between life and death of his men? No. He wasn't giving up. He opened his mouth to repeat it once again, but the man on the other side of the line cut him off.

"Hello? Hello? You still there?"

Steve's desperation was growing up, and the sound of footsteps was now even closer, making it impossible to make the call on time. He tried anyway. "This is Steven McGarrett, do you copy?"

Nothing.

"Do you copy?"

A rustling of the line was the only answer, though, and then it went dead, burying Steve's hope for the rescue.

"Don't tell me it was all for nothing," Richardson said, just as the door opened and the narrow corridor filled with the guards.

Steve shoved the phone into the pocket of his cargo pants, silently praying they wouldn't see it. It wasn't all lost. As long as he had it, he could try again later.

They surrounded the cells with their rifles at the ready, studying the dead man on the floor. Steve wondered what would happen next, but he was sure he wouldn't like it. A few seconds later, Major Haddad appeared with Kaseem al-Asmar himself. A wave of emotions washed over their faces. In seconds they both went from shock and surprise to anger and rage as their eyes grew to the size of melons.

"What the hell had happened in here?" Haddad asked through his clenched teeth.

Steve's brain was whirring with thoughts, but he didn't see any reply that wouldn't end up in more violence, so he kept his mouth shut as he stared at the group of armed men and their boss. Lynch followed suit, but Richardson obviously couldn't help himself. "Your guy came in and dropped dead," he said. Steve knew he was just riling Haddad up, but now wasn't a good time. It was bad enough already.

"I've made myself clear when I said what would happen if you cause trouble," Haddad said after a moment, his usual calm manner creeping back into his voice.

Al-Asmar held a palm of his hand up to signal Haddad to stop talking, and at that moment Steve knew he decided to take things into his own hands. He looked at the body and then he shifted his gaze between Steve and Richardson, whose cells were the closest to the corpse. "I expect the responsible come forward, otherwise I'll have to resort to extreme measures," he said. "You have fifteen seconds to comply."

Steve could only imagine what extreme measures would mean, but it couldn't be anything good for sure. Not with al-Asmar. He tried his best to think about the response that would help them out in the situation, but couldn't come up with anything no matter how hard he thought.

The seconds ticked by. Al-Asmar looked at his watch.

"Very well," al-Asmar said. He gave an order to his men in Arabic.

The guards spread and moved toward their cells, unlocking the door swiftly. Two of them barged in and hauled Steve up, ignoring his injured legs, and dragged him out of the cell into the corridor, where they forced him to his knees. He winced as his aching joints crashed onto the hard floor.

Lynch and Richardson were soon dragged out of their cells too, forced to the same position. Steve realized this was the first time he could see them without the hood on, and their beaten up faces formed the bubbles of rage under his skin. They were a picture of what Steve thought he might see if he looked into a mirror. Weak, broken bodies in filthy and bloodied reminders of the clothes, but there was still fire in their eyes. They all exchanged a quick look, probably wondering what would be the consequences.

"One more chance," al-Asmar said, looking each of them into the eyes.

Steve fought the mist clouding his mind, preventing him from coming up with something solid. To no avail.

"No one? All right." One of the guards holding Lynch down raised the machete and Steve's heart nearly stopped beating. Steve tried to stand up, but he was quickly shown his place with a painful kick to his hurt legs. Richardson struggled too, desperately trying to help his friend, but was too weak for it to make a difference. Lynch flopped over to his side, trying to get away, but they lifted him back up. He kicked at them, cursing. It took the guards a few moments, but they finally got him back on his knees.

"Don't," Steve pleaded, unable to keep it going for any longer. "Stop!"

But they didn't listen and Lynch wouldn't hold still, so one of the guards grabbed his hair, holding his head straight up. Then the other one raised the machete.

"Stop!" Steve shouted again, as loud as he could. "Stop" I did it! It was me!"

Al-Asmar stared at him. "You?"

"Me," Steve said.

"You, with injured legs, barely standing, unable to walk, killed one of my men?"

"I did." Steve noticed the wild stares of his comrades, pleading him to shut up. But he wasn't going to let any of them suffer for his actions.

"I don't believe you."

Steve shrugged. "I can't help you if you don't believe me. But it's the truth."

"Why did you do it?" Haddad chimed in. "He brought you food and water and this is what he got for the kindness."

He couldn't tell them the real reason. Couldn't give away their only chance of getting out of here. "I hoped he had the keys from the cells," he lied. "Wanted out of this place."

Al-Asmar stared him up and down, studying him. Then he reached behind his back, raised his arm with a handgun in his hand, aimed at Richardson's head. "Maybe if I kill him, you will tell me the truth."

For a moment Steve saw Joe's face in his mind. He was telling him to stay strong. To stand up. Steve owed it to him to try.

"No, you won't."

"What?" Al-Asmar seemed startled. "Why would you think I would not?"

"You may think I'm lying. But you aren't going to kill anyone. You already made your point about how tough you are. So you're going to take me instead."

"Take you?" Al-Asmar looked at him, confused.

"Yes. You're going to take me to that room and 'interrogate' me. Do whatever it is you need to do. That's how you'll set your example. Because you know I won't tell you anything more. Neither will any of my men."

Al-Asmar looked puzzled. Why was he being wexed by a lowly American prisoner? The question was practically written across his face.

"I could kill all of you. No one would care," he declared.

"I think a lot of people would care," Steve said. "So go ahead, kill all of us. The US military isn't going to take kindly to you butchering the American sailors."

"Your military?" Al-Asmar threw back his head and laughed. "No one knows we have you and it'll stay that way until I decide to change my mind."

Steve refused to back up. "Yes, our military. You know they will be looking for us. They won't stop. So your best option is to take me and do what you have to do to prove you're in charge."

Al-Asmar stared at him before shifting his gaze to Richardson and Lynch. "You two look at your commander," he said. "He's weak. A coward and a liar. He'll be taken for interrogation and I assure you we will break him. I suggest you behave if you don't want to be next. "

"It wasn't him," Richardson said all of a sudden. "It was me. I killed that man."

"No, I did it," Lynch joined him, despite the fact that the distance of the body from his cell hardly made him a believable accomplice. "Take me."

Steve threw them a pleading look. What the hell were they doing? He was supposed to protect them and he'd do so at all costs. But they were only making his work harder if they were willing to put their lives on the line for him.

Al-Asmar's face grew red. His eyes were wide and full of anger. He growled an order in Arabic, presumably to take Steve away, pointing at him.

Two guards hauled him up by the arms and led him towards the door, ignoring the struggles and loud protests of the other two prisoners. As they dragged Steve along, he pretended to be unfazed by the fact he was pretty much a dead man already. Because he knew for sure that he wouldn't make it through another round of torture. Not in his current state.

*to be continued*

I know I know... but help is on the way! I promise.

I needed this chapter because I think Steve would make an attempt at freeing himself and his men, no matter how small chance of success. I had this scene in my head ever since I've started writing this story so it'd be a shame to skip it now.

I'll be grateful for all your reviews if you find a minute to share one.