This one is a very short chapter, so I'm posting it early as compensation for its length. I hope you don't mind.

Steve didn't know how long it'd been since he'd been put in solitary. There was no telling the time in that tiny concrete block. Locked inside for twenty-four hours a day, until now, with no human contact other than an occasional opening of the flap to get the food slid through, he lost all the sense of time.

He felt like a dead man walking as two guards herded him to the shower room. No one had talked to him, let alone touch him, for what felt like days. But he could feel the tension in the guards and had a doubt that this particular trip was once again deliberately set up for an altogether different purpose than a shower.

When in the room, he expected Savage to show up in the doorway, but no one came. He stood there, readying himself for another fight anyway. The guards kept looking left and right anxiously, and checking their watch once in a while, as if waiting for someone, which only raised Steve's suspicion further.

"What are you waiting for?" one of the guards yelled. "Strip and get inside."

They both stood watch as Steve followed the order, stripping his clothes, slowly and cautiously. The jumpsuit was stained with dried blood that had soaked into the fabric, and as he peeled it off, he revealed the recent bruises that covered most of his body, perfectly in sync with a few months old, deep, barely healed scars marring his tanned skin. He kept his eyes on the doorway as he took it off, looking for any hint of attack. A weapon maybe. But there was nothing.

"You've got two minutes," the guard announced and threw him a bar of soap, while the other one checked the corridor outside the door. They exchanged a few whispered words which Steve couldn't hear, but could only assume it was nothing good.

Almost letting himself hope this time he really would have an opportunity to wash properly, Steve caught the soap and turned the rusty tap.

But not long after he stepped into a stream of cold water, relishing in the feeling of it on his hurt skin, he heard steps at the door and sensed movement behind him soon after that. He knew what was coming. He'd been prepared for it. In his current state, the odds were heavily against him, but Steve's natural reaction was to counter and fight anyway.

He spun around and fended off the first attack, sending a wide hook onto the jaw of the inmate who had burst forward. Steve recognized him. It was one of the men that provoked the fight in the canteen the first morning after his incarceration.

But he wasn't alone. There was Savage, too, and another five prisoners around him ready to grapple. Plus two guards. Rather than being there to keep order, the guards were no doubt there to maintain the balance of the already unfair fight against Steve.

In the end, it was the guards, together with their batons, who made the difference. Three of the inmates were down and bleeding within seconds, but one of the guards pulled Steve into a headlock, his baton tight up against Steve's neck. With Steve busy fighting the choke hold, the other men managed to subdue him, pinning his limbs and his torso.

The men moved forward in unison as Steve sputtered and gasped for air and fought for some control over his body. Above him, water was gushing onto the tiled floor from the dangling showerhead. The baton around Steve's neck was whipped away and he was shoved hard in the back causing him to stumble forward.

He didn't have a chance to resume the fight. He was immediately grabbed, shoved, and pulled at. He lost his footing on the slippery surface and crashed down onto the tiles head first. The skin above Steve's right eye split and soon his vision was tinted red as blood mixed with the water pooling on the floor.

Steve fought back with everything he had but the other inmates crowded around and over him, pinning him down, each of his limbs held outwards and firmly in place by the strength of a man. There was a weight on his back too, and a knee or possibly a baton pushing down on his neck. Steve squirmed and fought, and tried to gain some leverage, anything that might give him a chance of fending the men off.

But there were seven of them and they didn't give Steve a chance to fight back.

Steve stared across the floor, fighting sudden nausea and dizziness, spluttering and blinking furiously against the water cascading down in front of him. Two feet moved into his field of sight. The man crouched down so Steve could just see his eyes. Savage. He was smiling but his eyes were piercing and beady, and his features were hard, his look confident and arrogant. Everything about him was even more sinister and unforgiving than before.

"You thought we wouldn't get to you, pig, didn't you?" Savage said, his voice deep, almost a hiss. "That you're safe."

Steve tried again to buck but there was no moving the men who were holding him. Today there would be no fighting back, and he guessed it was exactly what Savage wanted.

"But you were wrong," Savage continued, shaking his head.

His head was suddenly jerked backward, one of the men holding a fistful of Steve's hair, and he felt something cold and sharp on his neck. A knife? A shiv? Whatever it was, it cut through his skin and drew a warm streak of blood as the man pressed it against Steve's throat.

"I've had enough of you," Savage continued, watching Steve's struggling with contentment. "That haole wants you alive, and he pays good money for keeping you that way, but I don't care. I don't need more money. What I want is to see you bleed out right here. I'll tell him it was an accident."

Savage nodded at someone behind Steve.

Steve felt the blade digging deeper into his throat almost immediately. He tensed his muscles, keeping his face as stoic as possible, not saying anything. He was just bracing himself, taking his mind away from what he knew lay ahead. It wasn't how he had imagined he would die, and it definitely wasn't what he wanted for Jamba.

But life wasn't always about what he wanted. Why death should be any different?

It was Thursday night.

Three days since Danny watched the small group of people seal the office and confiscate everything in it. Three days full of despair and worry for Steve's future and life. Three days of desperately trying to find out anything more about their suspect, which was practically impossible for a bunch of unemployed cops. Three days of wiping off one little sad boy's tears, ushering the empty promises to the kid, that was more like a wish.

With Rachel being back at her house and watching the kids, it was just him and his thoughts at his empty house. He stole a glance at his phone. It was too late for not keeping his hopes up. That call he'd been expecting was his only chance now. Steve's only chance. Because even without a job, he hadn't given up on his friend. There was nothing… nothing in this world that would stop him from trying to prove Steve's innocence. He would do anything to free him.

Even if it meant contacting the one person who had hurt his best friend times and times again.

He was pretty certain Roederer had his fingers in this. Finding him and getting his confession somehow was his only plan right now. But he needed help. Someone with experience in tracking people down. With skills and equipment needed to do so.

Reaching Catherine proved to be an almost impossible task. Almost, but not quite. The concern in her voice when Danny explained the situation was hard to miss, and it was no surprise she had promised to look into this and let him know. But that was three days ago, and Danny couldn't reach her since then.

He sank a little deeper into the armchair, exhaled a long, exhausted sigh, and rubbed his face with the heels of his palms. It took a huge amount of effort not to shut his eyes close and drift off into a nightmares-riddled sleep.

It was a loud knock on the door that sharpened his senses and forced him to stand up. It came again as he walked toward the door, this time even louder and more urgent.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he said, not picking up the pace.

It was Adam who stood in the doorway, wearing a way too serious grimace on his face.

"Adam? What are you doing here this late?"

Adam sucked in a breath before speaking up, holding Danny's gaze. "I just spoke to Duke," he said. "Steve's been attacked."

*to be continued*

Sorry, I had to go there. I've missed some kind of a cliffhanger in this story.

If you guys don't like Catherine and Steve together, that's fine. I'm not going in that direction, just using her connections and skills to help the team.

If you find a moment to share your thoughts, I would really appreciate it.