Jeffrey had said to let it go. Oops. In Skye's defense, the yelling was an accident. She lost her temper.

Mr. Penderwick returned with Jane, Rosalind, and Churchie. Evidently, they had hunted down a vending machine. Nick and Tommy were nowhere to be found; likely they were still at said vending machine.

Skye got to her feet and crossed her arms. "Let's talk about what you said."

Mr. Penderwick's smile fell from his face. "Skye, I know you're upset with me, but before you get angry, I want you to know that I am equally upset with myself."

Too late. She was angry. There was no stopping that.

"That wasn't everything, was it?" she accused. "You said something worse, I can feel it."

Mr. Penderwick glanced nervously between Skye and Jeffrey's parents. He didn't deny it. Alec puffed out his cheeks and exhaled, looking like he was dreading what was coming next. Skye was already too far gone to stop herself.

"What was it, then?" She wasn't shouting yet, but her voice was already attempting to rise. She fought that while she could. "Dexter should have just killed him and been done with it? Or that I should have let him die? How dare Jeffrey put me in danger, right? Were you hoping Dexter was too busy torturing him to hurt me?"

Mr. Penderwick flinched. Skye wasn't proud of it, but that satisfied her.

"You're my daughter," said Mr. Penderwick. "All I wanted was to get you back."

"Well here I am, but congratulations. Now I hate you," Skye snarled. "I fucking hate you."

Mr. Penderwick looked like she'd slapped him. She might as well have.

Jane took Mr. Penderwick's hand. "Leave him alone, Skye. I've already done this."

Skye turned her glare on Jane, surprised that her sister had the guts to challenge her at a time like this. She was fuming, but she was also a little grateful to Jane. It was comforting to know she couldn't get away with everything just because she was a victim.

"So have I," said Iantha, backing up Jane. "He didn't have to apologize to you or to Jeffrey, but he wanted to because he feels terrible. Don't punish him for that."

"Be quiet, I'm not done," Skye snapped. Yikes, she was so out of control. "Do not fucking stick up for him."

"Skye, stop swearing," said Rosalind. "We're in a hospital."

"And I am going to fucking swear!" Skye shouted. A couple of nurses glanced over uncomfortably, then busied themselves with their work. She was making a scene. Whatever. "Dexter was killing him, and you were, what? Hoping for that? That's disgusting. I don't even know you."

Mr. Penderwick's eyes were full of tears, but Skye felt no guilt.

"I was scared, I thought I might lose you," he said. His face was full of pain, he pleaded with her to forgive him. "I never meant it. I love Jeffrey, you know that."

"Not enough," Skye spat. "You didn't have to see what he did to him. You don't get how bad it was and how fucked up it makes you."

"I know. I was ignorant and a fool," said Mr. Penderwick miserably. "I will never forgive myself."

"Good. You don't deserve to."

"Skye!" said Jane. She wrapped herself around Mr. Penderwick's waist. She was crying. Skye wanted to hit her.

"He saw what I saw," said Alec. "What Dexter sent me. Skye, he was so upset. Almost as much as I was."

Was no one on her side? She wasn't being unreasonable. Even Mrs. Tifton, who Skye had been certain would feel the same way she did, was infuriatingly silent. Her face was deadly blank. Unreadable.

Skye rounded on Alec. "Really, you too? Are you serious?"

Alec raised his hands in surrender and backed down.

Skye turned back to her father. "Did you ever consider that maybe Jeffrey was protecting me? The amount of times he told Dexter to kill him. What the fuck is wrong with you? You make me sick. I will never—"

Skye was cut off when the door flew open behind her. She whirled around and her stomach flipped. Jeffrey was out of bed. Batty was under his arm to support him. He fell away from her and into the doorframe. He clenched it until his knuckles turned white. He could hardly hold himself up.

"Skye." He panted heavily. The short trip across the hospital room had strained him like a 100 meter dash. "I told you to let it go."

Skye gaped at him. What was he thinking? What was Batty thinking? She chose to focus on that. "He can't walk, Batty! Are you out of your mind?"

Batty hid behind Jeffrey. He blocked her from Skye's sight.

"Stop," Jeffrey wheezed. He'd barely gotten the word out before his knee buckled. His hand slipped from the doorframe. Batty tried to catch him, but she wasn't strong enough. She stumbled, and Jeffrey fell from her arms. She'd slowed his fall, but he still hit the ground hard. He groaned and attempted to sit up, then clutched at his ribs. His cry thundered in Skye's ears. She dropped to her knees beside him.

"Alec, get the nurse!" said Mrs. Tifton urgently. She started forward but stopped when Jeffrey waved her back. He smiled momentarily at Churchie, then fell back and closed his eyes, like blocking his sight would stop the pain too.

"Are you okay?" Skye asked, her voice dangerously squeaky and high. Jeffrey weakly nodded, breathing hard like a triathlon athlete. Skye scowled at Batty. "Do you see what you did?"

Jeffrey put his hand on Skye's leg. "Stop it," he repeated, placid yet authoritative.

"But—" Skye started to protest.

He didn't give her the chance. "No, Skye. I don't want this from you."

"But he said—"

"I don't care. It doesn't bother me." He gripped her arm. "But this? This bothers me."

Tears pricked behind her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

He gave her a sad smile. He pulled her arm, so she leaned down. He whispered in her ear, "It's not me you should be apologizing to."

Skye glanced at Mr. Penderwick. No. She wasn't sorry. She shook her head at Jeffrey. When her voice failed her, she mouthed, "I can't."

"Okay," he said quietly. A strand of her hair had worked its way into her mouth. Jeffrey brushed it back with his little finger. "But stop."

A flood of silent tears broke through Skye's defensive barrier. She stood to tell her father to leave her alone for a while. She needed to cool off. She turned and smacked into Mr. Penderwick's chest. With nothing else to do, she hugged him. She cried harder.

"I hate you," she sobbed. She hugged him tighter and balled his shirt in her fists.

"I know, honey," Mr. Penderwick murmured. He stroked the back of her head. "I know."

Skye was so angry with him that she despised him with her entire soul. Yet somehow, she knew with absolute certainty that she loved her father more than she ever had. She couldn't make sense of that. She sobbed until her tear ducts shriveled and dried out. Mr. Penderwick rubbed her back to soothe her.

"I'm so proud of you," he said. He kissed her head.

How could he be? She'd been so cruel to him. Her father understood everything. It made her furious. She wanted to scream at him, but she couldn't leave the comfort of his arms.

She only did when Jeffrey's nurse came running. Skye knelt beside him again, feeling protective, despite knowing that the nurse would only help.

"What are you doing? What happened?" the nurse demanded, somewhat frantic.

"I'm fine," said Jeffrey. He tried for a smile.

"Why are you out of bed? Did you fall?"

"A little," Jeffrey admitted. "But really, I'm fine. Can you check on me later, please?"

The nurse hesitated.

"Please," he said. "Not now."

Sometimes, it was against the laws of the universe to tell Jeffrey Tifton no. It was like divine intervention, outside forces just would not allow it. The nurse exhaled and nodded. She stood back only a few feet, refusing to let him out of her sight until he was safely in his room.

Mr. Penderwick took a tentative step closer. "Jeffrey, I—"

"Don't say it, sir," said Jeffrey. "You don't have to be sorry for being a good dad."

Mr. Penderwick complied. He said nothing.

"Because you are. One of the best. I'll knock some sense into her, I promise." Jeffrey flicked Skye's forehead. She swatted his hand away, but she almost laughed.

Mr. Penderwick shook his head. "Where did you two come from?" He looked at Jeffrey's parents. "Certainly not us."

"We're a mess," Mrs. Tifton agreed. She wiped away remnants of tears.

"The messiest of messes," said Mr. Penderwick.

"An absolute disaster," said Alec.

Jeffrey laughed. He slid himself back into his room without getting up from the floor. He tugged at Skye's hand. "Come on. Let's talk."

When Skye shut the door to give them privacy, Jeffrey said, "What happened to back in five minutes?"

"I got a little heated," said Skye.

"I'll say," said Jeffrey. "Help me up?"

Skye wrapped his arm over her shoulders and together they limped back to the bed. It was difficult to get him back on the mattress. Skye carefully lifted his broken leg like it was made of crumbling sand, and still Jeffrey grit his teeth and fought back a shout. He grabbed at his jaw again.

"I think I need dental surgery," he said. "He knocked out a tooth."

"Bitch," Skye hissed. She shoved away thoughts of Jeffery being turned into a punching bag.

"What happened out there, Skye?" Jeffrey asked. "I thought everything was okay. Didn't you hear me tell your father it wasn't a problem?"

"Yes," Skye grumbled. "But it still was for me. I only wanted to talk to him, I swear. I didn't know I would get that mad about it."

"You should have," said Jeffrey. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Why don't you ever listen to me?"

Skye wished that she could have. Letting it go would have been so much easier. It hadn't been possible. Anger had stewed inside of her, heating up with each passing minute until it was white hot. She felt better now that she had expelled it. Her temper was her biggest crutch. She shouldn't have had to hurt her father. She hated herself for that as much as she, shamefully, still hated him.

"I can't stand that he said those things," she said.

"I appreciate you," said Jeffrey. "But how about you take a break from defending me for a while?"

Skye kissed him. "I'm always going to defend you."

"Hey, I'm not entirely incapable of it myself, okay?"

She sometimes thought he was. He was so gracious and trusting, she'd often feared he would allow himself to be taken advantage of, particularly by the woman he married. His ex-girlfriend hasn't been any comfort. Skye still wasn't sure she'd liked Jeffrey as much as she'd like his millionaire mom. He'd taken too long to figure that out. She used to be terrified that he would end up with someone exactly like his mother, statistically that was likely. She didn't want him to be miserable, or to end up like Alec – alone, with only his music. He deserved so much more than that. Now, Skye was confident that she would one day be the woman lucky enough to marry Jeffrey. It was a ridiculous thought. It was so soon, and they were so young, but she honestly believed that to be true. The relationship they were starting would end when they died. After all they had been through, there was nothing either of them could do that would be worth breaking it. She felt better knowing that; it gave her one less thing to worry about. Jeffrey was different with her. He called her out on all of her crap. Like telling her father he disgusted her. With her anger fading, she knew that she would later find it in herself to apologize for that.

"I'm not sure you can," she teased him. "You're way too nice."

"You're too aggressive. Calm down, don't you get tired?"

One thousand percent, yes. "Can't do it," she said. "Not having a temper, what's that like?"

"Serene," said Jeffrey. He rubbed at his shoulder, then recoiled and lay his sprained wrist flat on the bed.

"You okay?" Skye asked.

"Yeah, it's nothing."

No it wasn't. Skye abruptly remembered how Dexter had hung Jeffrey from the ceiling when he'd dragged her out to supposedly die. She hadn't given any thought to how sore that must have made him.

"Sit up," she said. She wanted to help, but she didn't know where to grab him without hurting him.

Jeffrey listened, though she could tell it was a struggle for him. His fall had not made things any better. Skye climbed behind him and fit him between her knees. She lay her hands over his shoulders, gently working her fingers to massage out the tension.

Jeffrey reflexively hunched his shoulders, then relaxed. He grazed her hand. "Thank you."

Skye bent to kiss his cheek. His muscles were hard like cement. She dug her thumb in deeper. The knot was stubborn. Jeffrey groaned.

"Sorry," said Skye.

"It's a good pain." He tensed again. "I think."

Skye eased up the pressure. Admittedly, she had no idea what she was doing. "Did he ever let you down?" She asked as she started pushing her fingers harder into his skin.

"No. He did not," said Jeffrey once he had reaccustomed himself to Skye's massaging enough to speak.

Skye's hands stopped moving. She didn't know why she had expected a different answer. "That was three days."

"That feels about right," Jeffrey muttered. He leaned back into Skye's chest. She draped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek a second time.

Jeffrey was learning fast that physical touch was Skye's love language. He could handle that just fine. It was strange for her to be so tender with him. He hoped he never got used to it. It made his heart flutter with welcomed nerves. He liked that.

There was a small part of him that worried that given time, once he was healed and everything was back to normal (rather, once the new normal had been established – he wasn't so foolish to hope that things would ever be quite the same), Skye would decide she'd gotten her emotions mixed up and she didn't feel for him the way she'd thought she did. She'd realize she wasn't the relationship type, just as she'd always thought. Another part of him found those insecurities amusing. He trusted Skye. He would give her his heart and let her break it, if that's what it came down to.

"What are you thinking about?" Skye asked.

That was a personal question – also very unlike her. It was interesting how much she'd changed in only a few days. He supposed torture could do that to a person. He liked this version of Skye; he wasn't yet sure he would like how he'd been changed. That thought terrified him, but he wasn't alone. Skye would have her own demons to battle. He would never wish that on her, but he did find comfort in that fact. Miraculously, they'd made it this far. Together, they could survive the second step. Recovery was its own bitter war.

"You," Jeffrey admitted. "This." He aligned his palm with Skye's and curled his fingers through hers. "I can't wrap my head around it."

"Because I was so pissed at you for asking me out before?"

"That'll be why, yeah."

Skye rested her chin on his shoulder. It felt better. Both his shoulders had loosened up so that he felt less like there were rocks embedded into his flesh. He could feel her jaw moving as she spoke.

"I got over that. I'll call you my boyfriend and everything."

Jeffrey's heart did another somersault. "That sounds so weird it almost makes me uncomfortable."

He felt her smiling. "It was weird to say. We'll have to practice," she said. "Although, I do have a few ground rules."

Jeffrey patted Skye's arm. "I bet I know them."

"Let's hear it then, wise guy."

"Alright." He'd thought a lot about what would make Skye happy. Truth be told, he'd figured it out years ago. "No pet names. I'm not going to call you "babe" or "Skye Blue."

"A strong beginning," Skye approved. "Say that once and this is over."

"Duly noted," said Jeffrey. A grin spread across his face. "No flowers, ever. No anniversaries either, and Valentine's Day is not a holiday. I'll stay away from candlelit dinners and all that romantic stuff. You know what, if it's Jane-approved, it's not happening. That will cover it." He laughed. There was something oddly intimate about this anti-intimacy conversation. "No couple costumes, no couple anything actually. And no cheesy compliments. I'll never say you're the light of my life or any of that crap."

"Pretty good," said Skye. "Anything else?"

"No good morning texts. Oh, and your contact in my phone? Staying Skye Penderwick. Really not much is changing except now I get to kiss you."

"Yep, that's the deal."

"I can live with that." He wanted to twist around to kiss her, but it hurt to rotate his spine. Later.

"You really are the perfect guy."

"Well, I have known you for a while." Jeffrey looped his arms around Skye's legs and wrapped his fingers under her knees. He could feel her pulse. A new upsurge of relief rippled inside him. That happened every few minutes. He had been so convinced Skye had been murdered. He hadn't allowed himself to hope otherwise – another thing Dexter could be proud of. That one didn't bother Jeffrey. It was the only thing Dexter had done that didn't humiliate him when he thought about it. He didn't care that he'd been duped, that Dexter had relished in causing him a mountain of unnecessary pain. All that mattered was he had been wrong, and Skye still had a living, beating heart.

Jeffrey glanced at the TV hanging the upper right corner of the room. Instantly, he wished he hadn't. He didn't like seeing his and Skye's faces plastered on the screen, but now that he was looking, he couldn't stop. It was national news. George Stephanopoulos was reporting their story. There was something Jeffrey never thought he'd see.

"That is unreal," he said, flicking his finger at the TV.

"Get used to it, we're everywhere," said Skye. "I had four people outside tell me they were happy that I'm back safe. Everyone else just stares."

"Fun," said Jeffrey. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume, intrigued as much as he was uncomfortable. Breaking News: Missing 17 Year Old Jeffrey Tifton Found Alive, Suspect Arrested was written in bold lettering at the bottom of the screen. Another thing he never thought he'd see.

George Stephanopoulos was saying, "Tonight, missing teen Jeffrey Tifton is alive and safe. Five days after he disappeared, Jeffrey turned up 65 miles from the Massachusetts home where he and Skye Penderwick were taken."

This was without a doubt one of the strangest things Jeffrey had ever experienced. He was beginning to realize that the news had always seemed more like fiction than reality. You watch it, maybe you feel bad for the people in the story, but you don't really understand the gravity or longevity of their suffering until you are the one the newscasters are talking about. Even now, watching his own story, it seemed more like someone else's experience, despite all the memories he had corroborating what was said on TV. The Jeffrey Tifton they were talking about felt like an entirely different human being.

"We really got kidnapped," said Jeffrey, watching as a police officer publicly commended him for his bravery. "That happened."

"I know. What the fuck, right?"

Jeffrey bristled. He hated that word. The way Dexter had used it effectively ruined it for him forever. He wouldn't ask her not to say it, but Jeffrey had a good feeling he never would again. Dexter had washed his mouth out, but it wasn't the soap that had done it. It was when he'd talked about Skye. He had a better understanding of why it was considered a "dirty" word. It was. It was vile.

"Police say Jeffrey and Skye were alone in Arundel Hall, the Tifton's home in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, when this man—" Dexter's mugshot lit up the screen. Jeffrey couldn't ascertain what that made him feel. Fear, disgust, further embarrassment? All of the above? Who knew? He certainly didn't. "Thirty-nine year old Dexter Dupree broke inside. Kitchen surveillance cameras captured the whole thing."

Skye sat up straighter. Jeffrey slid from her chest and was forced to reposition himself. "They're not going to show—okay. Yeah, they are," said Skye.

Jeffrey didn't watch beyond when he knelt in front of Dexter, whose knife was at Skye's throat. Out of all that had happened – everything that had absolutely terrified him – that one made top three. By then, he'd already accepted death.

"You are watching every parent's worst nightmare play out in real time. Seventeen year old Jeffrey Tifton, taken from his home, kidnapped and abused for five grueling days. Tonight, the suspect is behind bars."

Jeffrey looked back at the TV. A second anchor who he did not recognize asked George Stephanopoulos if they knew anything more about the suspect.

George said, "Well, we do know that the suspect is confirmed to be Jeffrey's stepfather. According to police, last month Brenda Tifton filed for divorce from Dupree, citing cruel and abusive treatment as grounds for separation. He had remained estranged from the family prior to this attack."

"He had to be watching the house," said Jeffrey as a commercial began. "I was thinking about that earlier. My mother hovered a lot after he attacked me, the first time I mean. I hadn't been alone in the house before Friday. I was always with her or Churchie. I never even went anywhere by myself. Except for Batty's birthday, and that was so soon after I don't think he was…" Jeffrey wasn't sure how to finish that thought.

"Ready for you yet?" Skye offered.

"Uh huh." It made Jeffrey nauseous. Dexter had been out buying tools and chains to torture him with, and he'd been living his life like normal, worrying about girl-problems and thinking getting shoved down the stairs once would be the extent of his experience with violence. "How did he even find that place?"

"I had nothing to do while you were in surgery," said Skye. "I found it on Zillow. It's been for sale for 234 days."

"So the trailer wasn't his then," said Jeffrey. "I had so many questions about how he got that thing in the middle of the woods."

"I still have questions," said Skye. "They had to have planted trees around it. There's no other explanation."

"That's suspicious. Maybe they're freaks too."

"Maybe Dexter posted something saying 'hey, I'm a prospective kidnapper, anyone know a secluded spot?' And they were like 'we've got the perfect place for you. Come check it out.'"

Jeffrey breathed a short laugh. He liked how he could joke about it with Skye. It was almost certainly unhealthy, but making light of the situation made it easier to handle. It gave him a brief, relieving moment of freedom from adversity. Of course, when the moment passed and his trauma returned, it hit him that much harder. That was probably the unhealthy part.

Rousing music signaled the return of the news program. George was back, saying, "We're learning about the dramatic rescue of a 17 year old boy in Connecticut after a harrowing kidnapping right out of a home." He turned excitedly to his fellow anchor. "Take a look at this video, it says it all – Jeffrey Tifton, held captive for five days, reunited with fellow abductee Skye Penderwick after days of separation following her safe return early Tuesday morning. You don't want to miss this."

"Oh god," Skye groaned.

This time, when the station put up the video of them, Jeffrey didn't look away.

"A newly released video shows federal agents breaking into a locked shipping container. Inside, agents found Jeffrey Tifton and carried him outside where Skye Penderwick was waiting."

On cue with the voiceover, Jeffrey watched himself being practically dragged from the trailer. His jaw fell open. The footage was dark and grainy, but it didn't hide much. "I look like a zombie. Do I still?"

"Kind of," said Skye.

Jeffrey shuddered. He feared the moment when he would finally get a look at his reflection. He soon stopped worrying about that. On screen, Skye was sprinting at him, tackling him and kissing him. Reliving that made him forget how to breathe. It had been the highlight of his whole life. There were no words to describe what it meant to him.

"Actually," said Skye. "I think I love that."

That summed up Jeffrey's opinion pretty well. "Me too. I want it."

Skye snorted. "Google yourself. It'll be the first thing that pops up."

The less famous anchor next to George said, "That video is incredible – the resilience of those two teenagers. Wow. So great to see them happy and together."

George said, "Absolutely. A heartwarming conclusion to an otherwise tragic story. So rarely do we hear about such an outcome, this is wonderful."

Jeffrey stopped paying attention. "They're going to make true crime documentaries about us, aren't they?"

Skye made a face. "That's how you know you've hit rock bottom."

Jeffrey imagined trending on Netflix and his vision blurred in a panic. The last thing he wanted was to find himself in front of cameras, describing to the world what he had been through. He hoped that would never happen, but he knew that eventually, it probably would. News stations and production companies wouldn't stop calling. One day he might change his mind. He might want to tell his story. Presently, he couldn't even fathom telling it to his parents. That knowledge would curse them. He didn't want to see the looks on their faces.

"Five days," he said. "It's what, Thursday?"

Skye nodded.

"And you left Tuesday?"

"Monday," she corrected. "I got to Arundel on Tuesday."

Jeffrey was floored. "You were only with me for two days? It felt so much longer." To be fair, he'd been unconscious for probably half the time she was gone. Time doesn't really exist when you're a prisoner.

"Like I said, you were alone for three." Her tone was rich with bitterness.

"Can you do me a favor?" said Jeffrey softly. "Get it in your head that you didn't abandon me."

Skye sighed deeply. "I think I have."

"Good." Jeffrey focused on her breathing, her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin under his touch – everything that signaled that she was alive. "Because if I'd known you were safe, that would have changed everything for me."

Skye said nothing. She shifted out from behind him and stretched out on the mattress. One of her legs hung off the side. She pulled the bedsheet up to cover them both. They huddled together in melancholy silence. Jeffrey was in constant pain; it was impossible for him to reach actual comfort, but this was closest he'd gotten since Friday night. He kissed Skye's temple. It was still puffy and bruised.

Try as he might to control his thoughts, his mind drifted back to what Dexter had said about her. Nothing worse could be said about a person. Jeffrey would never tell Skye what Dexter had called her or what he'd fantasized about doing with her. He wouldn't forget it either. Ever. He would bare that burden alone. He wondered if there would be a time when he could look at her without his heart breaking.

A soft knock jarred him back to the present. He was grateful, he'd been making himself angry. He didn't want to be, but it could not be helped. He was furious and revolted, nonstop.

Churchie entered the room. Finally. He'd longed to see her, but he was tempted to pull the sheet over his head to prevent her from looking at him. He was glad at least that it covered most of his body. She could only see his face. Not that it mattered of course, he'd displayed himself openly for her earlier, collapsing just to demonstrate how fragile and wrecked he was.

It didn't take long for her to cry. He wished people would stop sobbing the literal second they saw him. It made him self-conscious. Churchie's arms were laden with a variety of light snacks, but she dropped them all as she surged toward him.

"Oh Jeffrey," she cried. Her tears were cold against his neck. There had been an awful lot of hugging going around, but even so, Jeffrey found himself startled by every fresh, affectionate touch. He was so used to being battered; his body expected any contact to be an assault. "You incredible, valiant boy. I love you, dear. So, so much."

Similarly, every time someone told him that, he had to wade through momentary confusion, like he'd forgotten what it meant. He still needed to be reminded that not everyone thought that he was worthless. George Stephanopoulos had said that communities across multiple New England states had joined together to search for him. He had a hard time understanding that. He wasn't special, just monstrously unlucky, and thousands of complete strangers supported him for it. That was more incredible than he was.

Churchie pulled Skye into the hug, sandwiching Jeffrey between them. "Both of you," she said. "I love you both."

The second hand circled around the clock eight times before Churchie let go. She wasn't done crying. Jeffrey didn't want to. He had spent so much time crying recently that he couldn't distinguish happy tears from those of despair and pain. They were caused by opposite sides of the same, horrible thing. They felt no different.

"Have you eaten anything? Did he feed you?"

Leave it to Churchie to be concerned about his diet. "Depends, do you count dirt?"

"No. No. Heavens, no," said Churchie, white and acrimonious.

"Then he didn't." Not since before Skye had left, and then he'd eaten so little he hardly counted it.

"Are you hungry? I brought things for you."

Jeffrey wasn't the slightest bit hungry, a side effect of starving to death. He did need to eat something, but the idea made him queasy. Churchie gathered up her snacks. Jeffrey accepted a bag of trail mix from her and reluctantly tore it open. He nibbled on that for a while so as not to disappoint her. His appetite seemed to be lost forever. He took the Gatorade she offered him with a much greater enthusiasm. His throat still burned and prickled from sock threads lodged in his esophagus.

Out of nowhere a sharp pain shot up Jeffrey's spine and he collapsed back on the bed, gasping. It faded as quickly as it had come. Maybe he shouldn't have sat up so frequently. How pathetic that he wasn't even ready for that.

"What about painkillers? They have given you some, haven't they?" Churchie fussed.

"Uh, no. I told the nurse I didn't want them." Jeffrey admitted. She was going to admonish him for that.

"What, why?" said Skye.

"Jeffrey! You must take them," said Churchie.

"I'm alright," Jeffrey promised. He really didn't mind any of the steady pain he was in. It kept him awake. His eyes were throbbing from exhaustion, but he would not submit to sleep until he physically had no choice. He would dream of Dexter. He already thought of him enough. No thanks. As long as no one was purposefully hurting him, he had nothing to complain about.

"Besides, OxyContin?" he added. "I'm not risking addiction on top of this. I have enough to recover from, I don't need a drug problem."

"This is what it's made for, you won't get addicted," Skye argued.

"Still." It was enough of a painkiller to have Skye in the bed with him.

"Please honey, take some Tylenol at least," said Churchie.

The nurse chose that moment to come to check on him. She assessed his vitals and frowned. "Do you know what your resting heart rate is on average?"

"80 something, probably," said Jeffrey.

"Right now it's 157," said the nurse. "Concerningly high. Do you know why that is?"

Jeffrey shrugged.

"You're dehydrated. I'm putting the IV back in. Don't pull it out again, okay? Do not."

Jeffrey was tempted to laugh, but the look on the nurse's face made him force it back. The nurse fit a tourniquet over his second arm and palpated for the vein.

"You hate me, don't you?" he said as she swiped alcohol over his elbow and readied the needle.

"I am worried about you," said the nurse. Jeffrey watched the needle slide into his vein, unphased. "More than you are, apparently."

"Sorry. I feel safe now, so it's hard for me to care about this part."

The nurse popped off the tourniquet and taped the tube to his arm. "Does that feel okay?"

Jeffrey nodded.

"You are safe here, but you're not in the clear yet. No one is hurting you anymore, so don't hurt yourself, please."

"You've done that enough," Skye muttered in his ear. Jeffrey smiled a little, hiding the way that comment made his heart ache. He'd had plenty of reason to.

But now he didn't, so he supposed he could take the nurse's advice. "I'll behave, promise."

"Thank you," said the nurse. "And don't get up again. If I have to, I'm not above tying you down."

Jeffrey raised his eyebrows. "I'm pretty used to being tied to things."

The nurse blanched and covered her mouth. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, hon. I forgot. That was so stupid."

Jeffrey wasn't bothered. "No, sorry. That was a really bad joke. I like that you forgot."

The nurse decided to awkwardly move on. "Has anything been bothering you? Hurting a little extra, maybe?"

He asked for Tylenol to appease Churchie, then told her about his sudden spinal pain. The nurse promised she had a back brace ready for him once he had successfully been administered two bags of saline. Apparently he had fractured part of his back, as if he needed more broken bones to heal from. He was so not looking forward to that.

It was his wrists that upset him the most. He had played it down in front of Batty, but he was devastated by that particular break. Many piano players did come back from broken wrists, but just as many of them never quite returned to their full potential. He didn't know what he'd do if that happened to him. He needed music to get through this. Without it, he just might, as long last, lose his mind.

A/N: I watched like an hour's worth of actual abduction news coverage and just tweaked the wording to fit this story because I am so not a journalist. I think I'm going to hell for that.

Also I'm just gonna be completely honest, love Churchie but I have forgotten about her like four times