1. Let's Hang Out Sometime (Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging)

Waking up was much more disorienting than usual.

The first thing that hit Adam wasn't the sounds or even the blurry sights. It was the fact that his limbs were completely immobile. The world was stifled and hazy, a swirl of gray shades and indistinct sounds. Feeling dizzy, he closed his eyes again to get his bearings. He couldn't tell where he was. Didn't know what was happening. But he knew for certain that he couldn't move.

Alarmed by the lack of movement, he pulled and pushed with his arms, trying to investigate the source of his paralysis. His hearing was starting to clear, coming in sharper. Neater. There were some muffled, angry voices somewhere next door, as well as obvious signs of minor constructions upstairs.

Still confused, Adam sluggishly peeled open his eyes, squinting against the dim, gray light of a basement. Ahead of him was a dirty window, set high on the wall. The grimy glass cut the daylight considerably, but it wasn't hard to tell it was the height of the day outside from the constantly passing shadows of passersby.

Blearily, he looked down at his arms, grimacing at the ropes tied tightly around each limb. He felt similar lines of pressure on his shins and ankles. In angry panic, he pulled harder against his bonds, dismayed by the solid imprisonment to a simple, metal chair.

Blinking away the cobwebs, he tried to remember how he got here. But all that welcomed him was a throbbing headache and a lingering haze. Had he been drugged? It was hard to tell.

He jumped when the door slammed open, revealing the shadowy figures of his captors. The two of them filed in, postures dangerous. He knew that body language. That stance.

Adam wasn't coming out of this unscathed.

The man at the front was the first to start yelling. Adam strained to hear him, but it was a language he wasn't entirely fluent in. All he could do was pick up stray words here and there.

"—where—you—man—"

Were they looking for someone? From the scattered vocabulary he could understand, it sounded like they were searching for a specific person. A man. But he couldn't pick out the name among unfamiliar words.

Was Adam's team hiding someone? Protecting them, maybe? He couldn't remember. But even if he could, he knew what he was expected to do in a situation like this.

Stay silent.

So he did.

The yelling grew louder. Angrier. The tension in the room doubled, then tripled. Adam couldn't help but feel an electric anxiousness in his bones. He watched his captors with tense interest, seeing all the signs as the frustration bubbled over.

And he was struck in the face.

The rough knuckles connected squarely with his jaw, the full fist snapping his head to the side. Adam was stunned into stillness as he let the painful pulses register in his face. The yelling resumed, and he slowly turned back to the two men.

The tension spiked again, hotter and more chaotic than before.

Another heavy fist smashed into Adam's right cheek. Then another strike came from the left. The right. The left. Each blow was unbridled and furious. They weren't meant to bruise. They were meant to break.

Every hit seemed to build on the last, leaving a deep, tearing pain behind. Blood dribbled into Adam's eye while more leaked from a split his lip. His brain was rattled and overwhelmed. But still, he wouldn't talk. His thoughts were starting to slosh much more clumsily now, and he was having a difficult time focusing. Realizing they were jostling Adam's brain far too much to get coherent answers, the men switched focus.

Adam hadn't entirely expected the wild blow to the ribs.

Though he wasn't surprised by the small, muffled crack in his chest. Nor the fiery pain that followed. He didn't have enough breath to actually cry out, so he could only settle for a silent, agonizing struggle for air. He could barely hear the shouting over the sudden ringing in his ears.

And part of him just shut off, hoping—praying—it would be over soon. If this was how he died, he'd be okay with that. As long as it was quick. He didn't want to feel every sharp puncture of pain against his bones.

So he checked out. Emotionally and mentally. Retreating into a numb cocoon of disconnection. He could feel the muffled hits to his chest and abdomen, the pain half as sharp as he wearily let his breathing stutter and pause.

He just had to hold out until he was either rescued . . .

Or dead.

Adam had retreated so far into the thoughtless abyss of his mind that he didn't hear the gunshots. The panicked yelling in the stairwell outside the door.

He didn't notice when the hits stopped. Didn't see the fear in his captors' eyes.

He didn't even see Jaz and Amir barging into the room.

Adam hid in his mental haven as shots tore through the room, splattering him with the blood of his enemies. It wasn't until Jaz was tapping his face that the situation even registered.

When her small hands moved to cup his face, it was like a switch had been flipped. He blinked back into awareness, and all the feeling came back. Every cracked rib. Every tear in his skin. Every bruise. It hit him with furious clarity, and he couldn't stop the hitched, gaspy wheezing as his lungs stretched his battered bones and flesh.

"Top, you with me?"

He winced harshly, nodded slowly as his vision spun and bobbed.

She let out a quick sigh of relief, and a gloved hand swiped at his brow bone, wiping away something wet and lukewarm. Blood? "Damn, they did a number on you."

Suddenly exhausted, he closed his eyes, his chin dipping further toward his aching chest.

"Hey, don't check out on me again," she urged with a hiss. "McG's on his way, okay?"

Adam wearily lifted his head to meet her brown eyes.

He was struck by how afraid those eyes were. Had he put that fear there?

There was someone else to his left, but he didn't dare look away from Jaz's gaze. The rope around his arm was loosening, sliding off like a fleeing snake. And somehow, the rest of the ropes were untangled from his limbs, freeing him from the horrid chair.

He couldn't quite remember when he started to fade after that. At some point, McG was there. Then Preach. There was lots of creaky pain. Swearing. Someone was swearing.

Then nothing.

When Adam woke up again, it took a minute for everything to register.

He felt stiff. But on the mend.

And the silence that met him was comforting. Familiar.

Opening his eyes, his gaze fell on a recognizable scene. He was back on base. Home. It was dark outside, and light from the kitchen was illuminating odd shapes on the walls. It was . . . comforting.

A shape moved across his vision, then stopped right on the edge.

"Well, hey there, Sleeping Beauty."

Adam attempted to shift a little, but instead released a pathetic whimper at the unexpected bolts of agony in his chest. The figure crouched down with jerky, alarmed movements.

"Take it easy, man. You took one hell of a beating."

The figure's face came into view, and Adam blinked past fresh haze to pick out the features and shapes.

"McG?"

The medic smiled. Sadly. "Yeah, it's me."

"Wha' . . ." Adam swallowed his sore, unused throat. "Wha' happ'ned?"

"We were on a protection detail," McG supplied. "You were doing a quick patrol of the area, and you disappeared." The dark-haired man grimaced at the memory. "Went to your last known location and found some chloroformed rag."

Adam squinted against the new information, trying to quell the steady throbbing in his head. "Don' 'member it."

"Not surprised. Chloroform plus a few hard hits to the noggin will do that," the medic answered, a humorless smile flitting across his lips. "Only took us a few hours to track down your abductors, but by then, they'd worked you over pretty good."

Adam took in the information with a patient silence as his brain steadily pieced the details together. "Wha's the damage?"

A small frown brushed over McG's mouth. "Mostly bruises. Some cracked ribs and a decent head injury. Nothing bad enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. But, uh, I would avoid mirrors for a little while."

Adam couldn't help the twist of a smile on his own face. "Tha's reassurin'."

Adam's chest still ached. Breathing was still painful. He could feel the deep, stinging lines of where the ropes had been.

But he was healing. He could feel it.

"Thanks, McG," he mumbled sleepily.

At least he was home.

Safe.

Fin.