How ever much she worked at the ropes, Kateri could not get free, even with her blood acting as a lubricant, and there was simply not enough slack to just pull herself free. Finally, she was forced to admit defeat and try to find the most comfortable position possible to wait.

Wait for what remained to be seen. She prayed her teammates would find her soon, before exposure took its toll—she was already so very cold—or her kidnapper returned. She was not afraid to die, but she would much rather go down fighting or at least face death on her feet, not trussed up like a chicken.

The cold began to grow worse, and her shivers grew worse, too, until they wracked her body and made her feel like she had the palsy. Her teeth chattered so much she hoped that she would not crack a tooth.

Please come find me, guys. Please be alright, Kenny. Those two thoughts ran through her mind like a refrain, as drowsiness set in and trying to stay awake grew progressively harder and harder.

Eventually, the urge to sleep became overpowering, and she fell into a doze. Her dreams were dark, full of horrors and shadowed figures. When some hours later noises outside her prison began to rouse her, the line between dreams and reality became blurred, and she shrunk back, still lost in her dream world, forgetting that her back was already, literally, up against a wall.

The touch of two fingers on the pulse point of her neck jolted her to full awakening, and she tried to draw back with a shriek, which she suddenly realized came from her own throat.

Gentle hands with familiar callouses caught her shoulders and then moved to her face. Her partner's voice—Clinton's voice—filled her ears, his words a soothing refrain. "I've got you, kid. I've got you. You're alright. You're safe now. I've got you. You're okay."

The blindfold was removed, and finally she could see where she was—a small room, like a storage room or a tack room in a barn. Through the open door she could see that it was pitch dark. Her partner was kneeling just in front of her, the look on his face one of utter, heart-felt relief.

Clinton put one hand to his ear, keeping the other on her shoulder, grounding her, "I've got Kateri. She's alive."

Her partner lifted her far enough out from the wall—she was so stiff and cold that she could barely move on her own—so he could draw his knife and cut the ropes and duct tape binding her wrists and ankles. When he drew her into a tight but gentle hug, Kateri burst into tears. One arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand on the back of her neck, he rocked her as if she was his daughter and not his partner. "I've got you. You're okay. You're okay. Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so," Kateri replied when she got enough control over her emotions to be able to speak. "Is Kenny okay?" she asked frantically through chattering teeth.

"Crosby's fine," Clinton replied, "Just worried sick about you. He's been beating himself up all day about what happened."

"Not his fault. I got jumped."

Hana's voice suddenly appeared from the direction of the doorway, her body hidden from Kateri's sight by her partner's body. "EMS is in the drive, but they can't get the gurney all the way over here. Ground's too bad."

Surprised by the sudden voice, Kateri flinched violently in Clinton's arms, and he tightened his hold enough to ground her but not so much that it would trigger her claustrophobia. He was the resident expert at "Kat Whispering," as Kenny had termed it, i.e., helping her when she occasionally had panic attacks in the jet or on the job. He knew how to help her during the worst of panic attacks (coupled with the occasional flashbacks), and though she had once decried the usefulness of working with a team, she would know longer give up her team, her partner for the world. Clinton was her partner, her best friend, and—she had never told him this—the closest thing she had had to a father in over twenty years.

"Thanks, Hana," Clinton replied. "Can you walk, kid?" His voice was low and gentle.

Kateri shook her head.

"How far to the drive, Hana?"

Footsteps, a long pause, and then Hana replied, "About 40 yards-ish."

Kateri had guessed what her partner was about to do when he asked Hana that question, and she was right. Clinton released her from the hug, long enough to shift his grip so that one arm was around her back and the other under her knees. With a grunt of effort, he lifted her from the ground, cradling her in his arms, and she instinctively wrapped one arm around his neck to make the job easier. The movements made her head start pounding again, and she closed her eyes and put her head down on his shoulder.

The first person Kateri heard once they got outside was Kenny, and she had never been so glad to hear his voice in all her life.

"The house is clear. How is she?"

Kateri dragged her eyes open—she felt so tired … and cold—and turned her head enough to see Kenny. "I'm all right," she whispered around chattering teeth before her partner could answer for her.

"Sure you are," Kenny replied, a stricken look in his eyes, falling into line beside Clinton and touching her shoulder gently. "I'm so sorry, Kat."

"Not your fault. I got jumped. Never even had a chance to scream."

Compared to the darkness of the shed/barn/room/place, especially under the blindfold, the lights of the ambulance were almost overpoweringly bright, and Kateri slammed her eyes shut, as the lights seared into her brain. The pain drew a low moan from her lips. Her partner set her down lightly, and she heard him giving an update to the paramedics. The sudden realization that she would have to ride to the hospital in an ambulance—a small enclosed box—nearly sent her in the throes of another panic attack, and she distantly heard one of the paramedics—a woman—trying to get her to calm down.

"She's extremely claustrophobic," Kateri heard Clinton snap, "and just got freed from being locked in a tack room."

To one of the others, he said, "I'm going to the hospital with her. Tell Jess."

The sound of the sirens was thankfully somewhat muffled inside as they got underway, and Kateri cautiously opened her eyes to slits so that, hopefully, she could still see what was going on without the light overwhelming her. A female paramedic was sitting beside her, preparing to start an IV, which meant that the hand on her shoulder was from Clinton at her head. Kateri let her eyes drift closed again. She was so tired, but the shivers that wracked her body kept her from sleeping.

"Kateri." It was Clinton's voice, and the hand on her shoulder squeezed gently just enough to get her attention. "The paramedic wants to know if anything hurts." I must have zoned out.

She dragged her eyes open again and met the eyes of the paramedic, who having finished the IV—I never felt the pinch—was starting to systematically check her over for injuries. She thought for a moment. "I'm cold and stiff and sore. My wrists hurt,"—she refused to look at them, knowing they were almost certainly a mess after her attempts to free herself from the ropes—"and my head a little bit, too, but nothin's terrible."

"Well," the paramedic replied, "your body temperature is just above 92 degrees, so you're mildly hypothermic. I've started you on warm saline, and I'll get you a blanket in a few minutes. Your partner saw a needle mark on your neck. Do you have any idea what you might have been drugged with?"

"Ketamine, probably," Kateri replied. "Took me down right quick." Her eyes drifted shut again.

Clinton tapped her cheek gently, "I need you to stay awake, kid." He had apparently been delegated to getting responses out of her when necessary, as she always responded better to voices she knew when she was hurt.

"Okay," she responded and dragged her eyes open. "Is it still Saturday?"

"For another 15 minutes or so." I was missing for over 12 hours.

"You get him yet?" Kateri asked, thinking of the fugitive they had been tasked to catch. Finishing her examination, the paramedic pulled a blanket from one of the storage shelves and carefully tucked it around her patient and then pulled out gauze to start wrapping Kateri's wrists.

"May, not yet," her partner replied, a strange note to his voice, "Another team got reassigned to deal with him, when you got taken. We got Carter late this afternoon."

Was Carter the one who took me? Kateri muzzily wondered. She knew the feeling of muzzy headedness was due to the hypothermia. What took you so long to find me?

"There were … some implications…" Clinton began, before his voice failed him for one of the rare times in his life.

"That I was dead?"

"Or worse."

Kateri internally gulped at that. She could make some educated guesses at what Carter had implied and preferred not to think of it at all. She reached up her right arm, which did not have the IV in it and had already been bandaged, and she felt Clinton take her hand gently for a moment and squeeze it. His words helped explain why he was treating her if she were made of spun glass. She couldn't imagine what the team had gone through that day.

It was a long ride to the hospital. Apparently wherever Carter had stashed her was some distance from habitation. When they arrived, she and Clinton were separated—which was somewhat nerve-wracking considering her horrible mess of a day—and there was a succession of doctors, rooms, and tests, exhausting what little strength Kateri had left. Eventually, she was settled in a room, the doctor stating that she would probably be able to be released later that day once her body temperature had risen back to normal levels and they were sure the drugs were fully out of her system.

The blankets were warm; the lights were low; and the bed was soft and comforting after the hardness of the shed floor, and soon Kateri fell asleep, the steady sound of the heart monitor ringing in her ears. When she awoke several hours later, a female nurse with a nice smile had come in to check on her, and Kenny was sitting sprawled in a chair by her bed, his hands crossed over his stomach and his chin sunk all the way to his chest. He was snoring like a chainsaw, which usually drove Kateri crazy if they ended up in the same hotel room and he fell asleep first, but for one night she appreciated the familiar noise. The nurse gave her a thumbs up and readjusted the blankets and then departed as quietly as she had come, and Kateri soon drifted off again into a dreamless sleep.

Dim light was filtering in through the drawn curtains when she awoke for the second time. The clock on the wall said it was almost 8am. She was alone in the room, and Kateri took a minute to consider how she felt.

(1) The idea of being in a car no longer felt panic-inducing.

(2) She was finally warm again and no longer felt like she had fallen asleep in a walk-in freezer.

(3) Her hands and feet no longer felt like icy, achy, near useless lumps.

She finally glanced down at her wrists. They were wrapped neatly in gauze, and she could move her fingers without pain. That could also be due to pain meds,

Nothing was blue, black, or otherwise multi-colored, except for the gauze wrapped around her palms and a couple of her fingers. Those had a tiny spot or two of blood.

(4) Her head no longer felt like she had a hangover, and her thoughts were no longer muddled.

(5) However, she still felt tired, despite the sleep, and somewhat weak. Her body had been through an ordeal, and those things were to be expected, she concluded.

Progress. Definitely progress. Now, when can I get out of here?

Kateri did not try to move yet but started to look around a little and quickly caught sight of her partner out in the hall, his back to the door, talking on his cellphone. A doctor entered before Clinton returned. After a quick examination, the doctor informed her that she would be released as soon as she had eaten breakfast and the discharge paperwork had been completed. Breakfast was plain, but with Clinton updating her on the case, she didn't care much or taste much of what she was eating. Soon after she had finished eating, her partner went off to check on the paperwork, just after Barnes arrived carrying a familiar duffle.

"I come bearing real clothes," she announced as she entered the room.

"Hurray," Kateri replied, sitting up. The only thing she despised more about hospitals than being in one was being in hospital clothes. They were scratchy and uncomfortable and not anywhere near warm enough.

"How are you feeling?" Barnes set the duffle down on the end of the bed, as soon as Kateri had pulled her feet away.

"Better. Less like I'm an icicle and spent the day trussed up like a chicken."

"That's good," Barnes replied with a smile. "You gave us all quite a scare."

"I gave myself a scare … and a panic attack. That was … not … a good day."

Barnes snorted and stopped pulling out clothes long enough to quickly squeeze Kateri's shoulder. "If you need to talk, Kat, we're all happy to listen."

"Thanks."

Dressed in an extra flannel shirt and pair of cargo pants and ensconced within a fuzzy jacket, Kateri was finally released about 10am. Much to her discomfiture and embarrassment, she had to suffer the indignity of being wheeled outside to the waiting cars in a wheel chair. All of her team was waiting there, except for Barnes who had helped her dress and then had appointed herself wheelchair-pusher. There were hugs and back slaps all around, all her teammates relieved to see Kateri safe and in one piece and feeling well enough to complain about the wheelchair.

Her partner helped her get settled in their car, and then they were finally on their way home.

After today I'm just glad to be able to go home.

I wonder how long it will be before Clinton lets me out of sight in the field again.

I don't think I'll be getting re-partnered anytime soon.

I should talk to Kenny soon, make sure he stops beating himself up. Wasn't his fault.

With these and other thoughts circulating in her mind, Kateri eventually fell asleep.