TITLE: Where's Your H.A.L.O.?
Chapter 2: This is Where You Are
AUTHOR: Mnemosyne

For Disclaimer and other notes, see chapter one




Most people thought Natalie Cook was an airhead when they first met her, and Alex Munday was willing to admit she had been no different. It was only after spending a few hours in the bubbly blonde's presence that her intelligence, tenderness and strength became evident. Sadly, most people wrote Nat off as a "dumb blonde" without taking the time to get to know the beautiful woman, and that was their loss. If any of them had ever bothered to get to know her as more than a bimbo with breasts, they wouldn't have been at all surprised to see her crawling around on Dylan's living room floor, tush in the air, sniffing the carpet.

"Lincoln Shoe Polish," she tossed over her shoulder to Alex, crawling a little farther forward. Sunlight was streaming through the sliding door that led to Dylan's balcony, making the eerily clean room seem all the more antiseptic. "Manufactured in Sunnyvale, California, using ingredients from across the globe." She sniffed again. "A faint trace of Bubble Yum Ballistic Berry." Sniff. "And sea salt." She pushed up onto her knees and looked Alex square in the eye. "Whoever it was, I bet they were spying on us at the beach yesterday."

Alex nodded as she toyed with the shattered remains of Dylan's cell phone. "It would make sense. Verify Dylan's whereabouts, then come back here and wait for her to get home. Perfect plan for an ambush. " She paused, casting a knowing eye over the other Angel's apartment. "Whoever it was must have been a pro. Even taken by surprise, Dylan wouldn't have gone without a fight, but it doesn't look like she got more than a couple of hits off."

"Maybe she knew him, her or it."

Alex nodded slowly. Dylan's taste in men was… dodgy at best. Saying she always falls for the bad guy was like saying the sun is shiny: obvious to the point of idiocy. The auburn Angel was drawn to danger like an unwitting moth to the blue light of a Bug Zapper; it was in her nature. So it was certainly a possibility that one of her recent beaus might have stolen her away.

God help him if that were the case, because Alex and Natalie were going to skin him alive.

Nat's cell phone rang, and Alex looked up as the beautiful blonde plucked it off her belt and brought it to her ear. "Hello? Hi, Bos… Nope, she's not here… It doesn't look like there was much of a fight. Alex and I think she might have been taken by someone she knew… She didn't' tell us she was seeing anyone, but Dylan can be kinda hush hush about things like that, you know? Like with Chad." She looked up at Alex. "Hey, Alex, do you think it was Chad?"

The thought of the goofy seafarer kidnapping Dylan was enough to make Alex laugh. She fought the urge, due to the severity of the situation. "I don't think so. I doubt he uses shoe polish on his waders."

Natalie nodded. "Right." She turned her attention back to the phone. "Tell Charlie we're going to keep looking for her, Bos. We'll have her home by tonight, you wait and see. All righty. By, Bos!"

"I hate to rain on your parade, Nat, but we don't have one solid clue as to her whereabouts, or who took her," Alex said as Natalie clipped the phone back to her belt. "Where do we start?"

Natalie stood up, dusted the knees of her form-fitting low riders, and beamed at Alex. "Backtrack," she said simply.

"The beach," Alex supplied with a nod.

"Right on." Nat glanced at a slip of paper in Alex's hand. "What's that?"

"Something I found in the wastebasket," Alex answered, folding the note carefully in a napkin she'd nabbed off Dylan's table. It read No phones on one side, and Yes on the other. "Maybe it'll cough up some prints." She nodded to the door. "Let's go. I bet wherever Dylan is right now, she's going nuts waiting for us to find her."

**********************

Dylan moaned as the blackness faded away and the world swam back into hazy focus. She was lying on something soft and comfortable, and her hands were free, so she decided she wasn't a prisoner. A brief glance around the room - very brief, because too much eye movement made her nauseous - revealed that she was in a sparsely furnished, minimalist bedroom. Aside from the narrow bed with it's cream-painted metal headboard, there was a tall, glossy dresser, a boxy nightstand, and a hardwood wardrobe, all crafted out of the same dark mahogany. They looked extremely out of place set against the spare white walls and hardwood floors, as though they'd been brought into the room due to necessity, rather than desire. There were no pictures, no knick-knacks, no novelties of any kind. This was a room for living in, not enjoying, and it showed. Cheerful sunlight poured through the four-paned window beside the bed, making the white walls blindingly bright, so that Dylan had to squint against the glare.

Her head was throbbing, and a hand to the back of her skull revealed a lump the size of a small lemon where the Thin Man had struck her. That gave her a jolt - the Thin Man. For a moment she'd forgotten about him, but now it all came flooding back to her in a wave of memory. His ambush at her apartment, their one-sided conversation, the sound outside her door, and the final crushing blow to the back of her head which had apparently knocked her unconscious for the rest of the night and at least part of the subsequent day.

"At least I still have some hair left," she managed to croak, rubbing the bump on the back of her head as she struggled into a sitting position. The room spun sickeningly for a moment and she sat still until it stopped moving. Her stomach still felt like it was mounted on a gimbal, but at least her head was clear, and she could move her eyes enough to find the door. It was painted white, like the walls, with a chipped, heavy knob. She couldn't tell if it was locked, but she didn't think she could make it to the threshold without collapsing anyway.

As she stared at it, the doorknob turned and the door swung inwards. Dylan's muscles tightened as the Thin Man stepped into the room, carrying a breakfast tray. "Good morning, Sunshine," she grumbled as he crossed to the bed. The door swung shut behind him, closing with a heavy THUMP. "You know, clubbing women over the head went out with the caveman. Where did you learn your people skills, Alcatraz?"

The Thin Man ignored her, setting the breakfast tray on the boxy nightstand. He had brought her a turkey sandwich on white bread, a glass of milk, and an apple. Looking at the spread, Dylan had the eerie feeling that she was back in grade school. She almost reached for her lunch money.

The Thin Man stood back and stared down at her, obviously expecting her to eat the food. Dylan glanced from the sandwich to his face and back to the sandwich. Figuring if he was going to kill her, he would have done it already, she shrugged and reached for the tray. "Thank you," she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes as she settled the tray over her lap.

He gave her a terse nod, and kept staring.

Dylan took a bite of the sandwich, trying to ignore the piercing intensity of his stare. The sandwich was fairly plain - a few slices of processed turkey, some wilted lettuce, and American cheese - but she was famished, and soon found herself wolfing it down. The milk was skim milk, but it tasted like heavy cream to her as she gulped it down in four mouthfuls. The apple was sweet and crunchy, and the slightly waxy texture of the skin was comforting. It was something so normal in a strange new world.

She crunched on a mouthful of apple and looked around the room again. The food had helped steady her stomach and ease the spinning in her head, and now she could pay closer attention to her surroundings. She discovered her initial inspection had been correct - the room looked like a monk's cloister. "I bet you're just the life of every party, huh?" she quipped, feeling remarkably lighthearted for someone who'd been knocked unconscious and ostensibly kidnapped less than twenty-four hours earlier. "You know, a little color would really give this place personality. You oughta spring for a Warhol or two, cheer up the walls." She looked up at his expressionless face again. "This IS your home, right?"

He tilted his head in birdlike fashion, watching her watch him. In the full light of day, his eyes were an even paler shade of blue than they were at night. Dylan squinted, trying to define the border where his iris met the white of his eye; she couldn't make it out. "None of this is normal," she said, still squinting at him. "You know that, right?" Her eyes cleared and she let her focus backtrack so that she was looking into his eyes rather than at them. "A normal person would have taken that ring to the police, or at least let me take it to the Agency. A normal person wouldn't have kidnapped me and locked me up in their room like something out of a V.C. Andrews novel." She sighed. "I don't suppose I get an explanation about any of this, huh?"

He'd obviously been expecting this question, because with a deft motion, a note appeared in his hand, which he extended to her. Dylan took it with a curious frown.

No.

Dylan sighed. "Fine. Be that way." And she flung herself at him

She had the advantage of surprise, so he stumbled backwards to collide with the wardrobe as she slammed into his upper body. The Thin Man recovered quickly and pushed her away with a mighty heave. Dylan staggered back towards the bed but managed to keep her feet, despite the wave of dizziness that chose that moment to hit her like a load of bricks. Her knees felt like water, and she knew the blood was draining from her face, leaving her pale as a ghost. //Bet I look like him now,// she thought wryly, dropping into a defensive crouch. "Get out of the way, Creepy," she warned as he positioned himself in front of the door. "You've been decent enough, in your freaky way, but if I have to go through you, I will. I owe you a bump on the head, after all." She gestured to her own lump before going back to her pose. "Now move."

He didn't budge.

"All right, buddy," she growled. "You asked for it. HIIIIII-YAH!" She launched herself at him with a flying somersaulting kick.

He caught her.

How the hell did he CATCH her?

"Let me GO!" she yowled as he wrestled her over his shoulder and carried her back towards the bed. She began kicking her feet and pounding his back with her fists. She knew it had to hurt him, but he didn't seem to notice. "Dammit! You can't keep me here! Let me GO!"

He flung her down on the bed as though she weighed little more than a rag doll. Adding insult to injury, Dylan felt the familiar steel bite of a pair of handcuffs snapping around first her right wrist, then threading through the metal headboard to close around her left. "Hey! Stop that! Unlock me!" she protested, struggling against her bonds. They rattled and clanked against the metal pistons of the headboard, but there was no give. She wasn't getting out of here that way.

The Thin Man reached out with the speed of a python and covered her mouth with one hand, pressing her head back into the pillow. Dylan stilled, staring up at him with furious eyes. He only meant to quiet her, but she could feel the untapped strength in that wiry forearm; knew that he could snap her neck in a heartbeat, if he really wanted to. She would have leveled a kick at him, if she wasn't absolutely certain he could dodge it without batting an eye.

When he seemed sure she wasn't going to start screaming at him again, the Thin Man took his hand away from her mouth. Dylan wanted to snap at his thumb with her teeth but fought the urge. "When I get out of these cuffs," she growled through gritted teeth, "and I WILL get out of these cuffs, I'm going to shackle you to a chalkboard and make you write I shall not pinion Angels ten thousand times. Backward. With a squeaky piece of chalk!"

If she didn't know any better, Dylan would have sworn he looked amused. Before she could verify her suspicions, he had taken the tri-folded handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around her mouth as a very effective gag. Dylan bucked and howled and tried to wrench her head away from his strangely delicate hands, but he ignored her struggles and gagged her anyway. When he was done, he turned away from the bed and went to the door

"Mm mmm MMM mmmm mm!" Dylan bellowed through her gag, though what she was trying to say was I'll get out of here! "Mmm mmm mmmm mm mmmm!" You can't keep me here!

The Thin Man left the room without looking back. She might have been a forgotten childhood tea party, for all the attention he gave her.

Dylan stared after him in fury. "M MMM MMMMMM M MMM M MMMMM MM MMM!" she howled after the door had closed.

I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAD A THING FOR YOU!

If he heard her, he didn't come back to respond.

******************

"So we were there," Natalie said, gesturing across the jeweled sands of the beach to where she, Alex and Dylan had been tanning the day before. "What would be a good vantage point for a Peeping Tom?"

She joined Alex in swiveling her head around, searching for the ideal hiding place for a spy. The sound of the ocean crashing in the background was soothing. Any other day she might have given Pete a call and asked if he could get out of work long enough to come down to the shore for a quick dip and an ice cream cone; but today, that wasn't an option. Their missing Angel hadn't left any feather's behind as clues for them to follow, and Natalie was worried. She had no doubt they'd find Dylan - that was never even a question. She was far more afraid that, when they found the other woman, perhaps Dylan wouldn't want to come home.

"Hey Alex?" she asked.

"Yeah?" The pretty Asian-American woman was staring hard at a cluster of ice cream stands about twenty feet away, as if daring a beach bum with well-polished shoes to emerge and lead them to their missing friend.

"Do you..." Natalie trailed off, biting her lip nervously.

Alex looked at her. "Do I what, Nat?" she asked in her usual neutral tone. Early in their friendship, Nat had assumed Alex hated her, because she so rarely used inflection in her speech. It wasn't until they'd known each other for a week that Nat discovered Alex was like that to everyone, and that if she hated you, you KNEW it.

Still, she didn't feel right talking about Dylan behind the other woman's back. It made her feel dirty and low; like a bad friend. That was the worst thing in the world. "I was just... thinking about Dylan," she said cagily.

"What about her?"

"Oh... Nothing, I guess."

Alex turned to face her head on. "You're wondering if maybe she wasn't kidnapped at all, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

Natalie blinked. "Yeah," she said, a little awestruck. "How did you know?"

Alex gave her a small smile. "Because I was thinking the same thing. But I don't think we have to worry. First off, Dylan would NEVER destroy her cell phone; she loved that phone. It was like a puppy to her." Natalie giggled a little at that, and Alex smiled a bit more. "Second, there WERE signs of a struggle; we can't discount those. Dylan left a hell of a dent in her door when she kicked it shut, so she was obviously striking out pretty hard, and I doubt that was an accident. And the note, of course. Then thirdly, she uses Kiwi shoe polish, not Lincoln. She swears by it."

"That's true," Natalie agreed, nodding thoughtfully. A sudden thought struck her, and she couldn't resist a grin. "You know what we should be doing, right? We should be asking everyone up and down the beach if they saw a man standing around yesterday wearing high-polished shoes. Someone like that is bound to stick out like a sore thumb."

Alex chuckled. "You're right. Hey!" she called out to a buxom blonde waxing her surfboard a dozen feet away. "May we ask you a question?"

The blonde tossed her hair over her bronzed shoulder as she looked up at them with brilliant green eyes. "Yeah, all right," she replied, sounding bored to tears by the suggestion. "What do you want?"

"Real simple question," Alex answered, moving to stand in front of the woman. "Did you see a man or woman hanging around here yesterday wearing freshly polished shoes?"

"Sure."

That was a bit of a surprise. They hadn't been expecting an answer so quickly. "Where?" Natalie pressed, moving in to join Alex.

The blonde shrugged and nodded towards a swimsuit changing station halfway up the beach. "Over there. He was hanging around the changing booths like he was waiting for someone. Kinda cute; really amazing eyes. They were this crazy shade of blue."

Alex and Natalie shared a look. "Can you describe him?" Alex asked.

"Yeah. Tall, lanky. Really intense. You know the kind I mean? Had these serial killer eyes that were just mrowr." The blonde grinned, unconsciously fluffing her hair. "I tried to get his number but he ignored me." She sounded affronted by the fact. She obviously didn't get ignored often.

"What was he wearing?" Natalie asked, feeling a cold sweat start to roll down her spine.

"Well, the shoes. I thought that was weird, since this is the beach and all. Figured they'd get sandy. I don't think he was here for the water though, 'cause he was wearing this real dark suit."

"Did he have a cane?" Natalie asked quietly. She saw Alex shoot her a look that shared her own anxiety.

"Yeah, now that you mention it. Real nice, too. Looked expensive. Not much good on the sand, though." The blonde glanced at the water, then back to Nat and Alex. "Look, are we done here? I said I'd answer one question, not fifty. Who is this guy anyway? Your pimp or something?"

Natalie ignored the gibe. "My brother. He's got a memory condition. He wandered off yesterday and we're trying to find him."

"Oh. Well, whatever. We done now?"

Alex nodded and waved her off, and she leaned in close to Natalie as the surfer girl jogged off towards the water. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she whispered.

"But... You saw him fall," Natalie protested. "Both you and Dylan SAW him fall. He was stabbed and everything! No one could survive that. Could they?"

Alex shrugged. "No one should be able to survive an exploding castle, but he managed that."

"But..." She trailed off. But nothing. The man the blonde had just described was already proven to have an unusual obsession with Dylan, and it would explain the note Alex found in the other Angel's wastebasket. Serial killer eyes. The blonde had no idea how close to the truth she had come.

"I think it's time to pay the nuns another visit," she heard Alex say, as if from a great distance. "Maybe little Anthony is due back for a haircut." Her voice was ice cold and hard as stone. This, Natalie decided, was what Alex Munday sounded like when she hated somebody. She was extremely grateful she'd never heard that tone pointed in her direction.

If the Thin Man knew what was good for him, he'd be feeling very, VERY afraid right now.

**********************

The sun was starting to set by the time the Thin Man returned to Dylan's room. She never thought she'd be so thankful to see him, but spending hours alone with nothing to keep her occupied had just about driven her mad with boredom. There were only so many times she could count the boards in the floor, or try to see cloudlike patterns in the cottage cheese texture of the ceiling. Her wrists were rubbed raw from where she'd struggled in a futile effort to dislodge the cuffs. The Thin Man had obviously been careful to strip the room of any item that might be used as a lock pick. He'd even taken Dylan's belt while she was unconscious.

He entered the room much as he had earlier in the day, carrying a breakfast tray. This time, instead of a turkey sandwich, the tray was loaded down with a plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and broccoli, with a glass of water. There were no utensils, and she wondered for a minute if he expected her to eat like a dog; especially the potatoes.

He set the tray on the nightstand, then turned to her, studying her face with interest. Dylan figured he was gauging her expression, trying to decide if she was going to try to bite him if he took the gag off so she could eat. She tried to put on a scowl, but the smell of the fried chicken had reached her by then, and her stomach growled loudly. //Thanks a lot,// she thought morosely, glaring down at her belly. //Traitor.//

Her attention was drawn up again when the Thin Man's hands snaked around behind her head to untie the gag. She spat it out as he drew back, and moved her dry tongue around in her equally dry mouth. "Thanks," she shot sarcastically, voice hoarse from lack of moisture. She swallowed a couple of times to try and moisten her throat, but it did no good. She glanced briefly at the water on the tray, then quickly looked away again.

The Thin Man must have noticed, because a moment later, he was touching the rim of the glass to her lips. Dylan glared at him; he stared back with his usual distant expression. Deciding it would be easier to hurl insults at him if she could actually talk, Dylan grudgingly opened her mouth and allowed him to tip a measured mouthful of water into her mouth. It tasted sweet, and she gulped it down greedily. When he took the glass away, she let out an unconscious cry of protest. He ignored her.

Recovering herself quickly, Dylan watched the Thin Man set about preparing her dinner. He rearranged the food gingerly, using only his fingertips and quickly wiping his hands on one of a small pile of napkins that flanked the dinner plate, opposite the water glass. He was extremely meticulous, making sure that none of the food was touching - the chicken was carefully moved away from the broccoli and potatoes, and the broccoli was stacked into a neat pile, like a miniature forest of felled trees. The potatoes themselves had been served using an ice cream scoop - Dylan was once again reminded of a grade school cafeteria.

Her stomach growled again. "You want to let me out of these so I can eat?" she asked testily, rattling her cuffed wrists. "Or it might be a bit difficult."

The Thin Man ignored her - he did that a lot, she decided angrily - and reached into his breast pocket. When he took his hand away, Dylan saw that he was holding a knife and fork. Picking up the tray and setting it over her lap, he sat down on the edge of the bed, stabbed a piece of broccoli with the fork and brought up to her mouth.

God this was embarrassing. No one had fed Dylan Sanders since she was three years old and still went by Helen Zaas. Even her boyfriends over the years had never fallen into the sugary-sweet trap of trying to FEED her anything. Oh, she might eat out of their hands now and then, but only on rare occasions, and only when it was perfectly clear that SHE was the one in control of the situation. This was entirely different. Not only did she have no control whatsoever, she was also desperate for the food he was offering her. It was amazing how hungry a person could get after doing nothing all day.

Finally, after a protracted stare contest that didn't leave either of them a winner, Dylan opened her mouth and let him feed her the broccoli. She chewed and swallowed hurriedly, determined not to enjoy the food. But when he offered her a forkful of mashed potatoes, she was slightly more inclined to open her mouth.

"You know," she finally broke the silence as she watched him struggle at cutting a cube of meat off a fried chicken leg, "you're the first guy who ever managed to handcuff me to the bed on the first date. Kudos to you. I know a few guys who'd wonder what your secret is."

He glanced up at her, then back to the chicken.

Dylan watched for a few more seconds, then rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Pete's sake. What are you, from Pluto? It's a chicken leg. Pick it up, for God's sake." She opened her mouth and gave him a look that said she'd brook no argument.

The Thin Man looked at her like she'd just grown a second and third head. The thought of touching a piece of cooked chicken was obviously repellant to him. But when Dylan cocked an impatient eyebrow, he unwillingly picked up three napkins and, using them as a barrier between his fingers and the chicken, picked up the leg and held it to her mouth.

Dylan got as much of the chicken between her teeth as she could fit and ripped it off the bone, luxuriating in the taste and texture of the mouthful. "Guh bye," she garbled around the bite, meaning Good boy, and hoping he got the message. The Thin Man didn't seem to care one way or the other.

"See?" she said after swallowing and licking her lips. "That wasn't so bad, right?" The Thin Man didn't look convinced. "Why are you such a clean freak?" she wondered aloud, cocking her head as she considered him. "Have you always been this way?"

He fed her another piece of broccoli before she could ask anymore questions.

They went on in that way for a few more minutes - piece of broccoli, mouthful of potato, bite of chicken - until the plate was empty. Dylan chewed thoughtfully on her last bit of crunchy chicken skin as she watched the Thin Man neatly fold the napkins he'd use to pick up the chicken leg and set them square in the center of the dirty plate. He wiped his hands on a fresh napkin, folded it, and added it to the trash pile. Then he picked up yet another napkin, turned to her, and held it to her lips. And waited.

Dylan finished chewing her bit of chicken, swallowed, and stared at him. His eyes were locked on hers, and she was struck by their sudden closeness. He'd been sitting next to her for the entire feeding process, but only now was Dylan aware of how close they were. His hip was touching her leg, and she could feel how warm his skin was, even through his suit pants and her raggedy denims. Part of her wanted him to take the initiative and pat her lips with the napkin, though she knew he wouldn't do it; but childish as it sounded, she wanted it done.

Keeping her eyes on his, she leaned forward the few necessary centimeters and touched her lips to the napkin. He held it steady as she touched her lips once, then twice against the fine quality, clothlike paper. His head tilted a fraction of a degree to the right as he watched her. Feeling like a fish in a fishbowl, Dylan leaned in again, a little farther this time, and closed her eyes, pressing her lips firmly against the napkin and pushing it against the palm of his hand through the layers of paper. She stayed that way for a few seconds before feeling his other hand come up to slide into her hair. Her body tensed slightly, readying for the sharp pain as he pulled out a clump of her hair; but it didn't come. His fingers tightened in her auburn tresses, but did no more. His thumb, meanwhile, caressed the bare skin behind her ear, making Dylan shiver with pleasure.

Finally, she sat back, moving slowly so as not to jostle his hand from her head. She told herself it was so he wouldn't get spooked and yank out a handful of her hair; but there was no denying she was enjoying his thumb's caresses behind her ear. When her lashes at last fluttered open, Dylan saw that his eyes were focused intently on her lips, as though he'd never seen them before.

//Maybe he's remembering...//

Dylan shook off that train of thought. She was still cuffed to the bed, and he still didn't show any sign of letting her go. This was no time for sentimentality. "May I have some water?" she asked quietly, determined not to scare him away with any ultimatums.

The Thin Man looked up from his study of her lips and found her eyes again. After a moment, he slid his hand from her hair - Dylan forced herself not to bite her lip as he did so - and reached for the glass of water. Bringing it to her mouth, he held it steady as she took a few deep swallows, then tilted it back and set it down on the tray again. They sat in silence after that, while Dylan tried frantically to choose a course of action that would get her out of the cuffs.

"Is there a bathroom around here?" she finally asked, for lack of anything else to say.

The Thin Man stood up. For a second, she was afraid he was going to leave entirely before she'd even gotten a CHANCE to woo him into taking off the cuffs. But instead of going to the door, he strode purposefully across the room to where the wardrobe stood against the wall opposite her bed. Taking hold of the edge of the wardrobe, he pulled. It swung away from the wall easily - it must have been mounted on wheels or gliding hinges - to reveal a small, white, immaculately clean bathroom hidden behind it.

"Neat," Dylan said, honestly impressed. Then, after a pause, "Uh... May I use it? The milk and water and all..."

He squinted at her, and she knew he was trying to decide if she was working on an escape attempt. Dylan tried her hardest to look innocent; being an Angel had taught her how to be angelic, after all. She'd never have Natalie's skill, but few people did. Nat was in a class of her own.

The Thin Man finally gave a quick nod and crossed back to the bed. Dylan forced herself not to sigh with relief as he carefully unlocked first her left wrist, then her right. Biding her time, Dylan let him help her off the bed - MAN, it felt good to stretch her legs and back - and then let herself be guided to the hidden bathroom. The Thin Man was keeping his hands on her upper arms at all times, holding her tightly while at the same time ensuring she couldn't tense her muscles for an attack without him knowing instantly. He was a professional, no doubt about it.

He gave her a little shove into the bathroom, and quickly swung the "door" closed behind her. Dylan tried to protest, but the door/wall was already shut, so it was a waste of effort. Turning back into the main body of the room, she looked around, trying to find any kind of escape route: an air vent, a heating duct, anything.

Nothing presented itself. The tiny tiled bathroom might as well have been Fort Knox. Unless she wanted to pull the toilet out of the floor and crawl down through the plumbing, she wasn't getting out this way. When she emerged a few minutes later, she was no closer to an escape than she had been when she went in.

The instant she stepped into the bedroom, she felt the cold steel of a cuff close around her right wrist, and groaned. "Can't we give the shackles a rest?" she complained as the Thin Man pulled her back towards the bed. "We're on the same side, right? I mean, if you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it already, and if you had to turn me over to somebody, you wouldn't have bothered feeding me. I'm not stupid, you know. I've been in my share of hostage situations, and this is not one of them."

The Thin Man coolly threaded her cuffs through the headboard once again and fastened them tightly around her wrists. "Look, I can help!" she vented in frustration as he checked to make sure the cuffs would hold. "Whatever is up with the H.A.L.O. ring, I can help you." She decided to try another tack. "I've got a vested interest in those rings, you know. They're more than pretty baubles to me." When that didn't work, she decided to try yet another angle. "Or would you rather I just stay here, cuffed to the bed, and wait for the O'Grady's to find me? Because they will, you know. Once those rings are out in the open, they're going to track me down and make sure I'm good and dead. The O'Grady Clan doesn't take kindly to their favorite sons getting killed, and they're bound to find out I'm the one who did the killing."

This line of thought appeared to have struck a nerve. The Thin Man sat back and stared into her face, looking unsure for the first time since she'd met him.

"I'm an Angel," she pressed, leaning forward. "That means I'm more than a pretty face with good fashion sense. I can kick ass and take names with the best of them. And speaking from experience, wherever that ring is, ass-kicking and name-taking are never far behind." She tilted her head to the side, hoping her eyes were as sincere as she felt. "You got hurt because of those rings once already. Protecting me, no less. I'd really rather not have that on my conscience again. Okay?"

He wavered for a moment. Dylan could see him weighing his options, turning them over in his head like a flapjack flipper at an IHOP. She bit her tongue, not wanting to disrupt his concentration and possibly ruin her chances.

When he stood up and started gathering the tray, she wanted to scream with frustration. "Let me go!" she cried instead, shaking her chains. "You can't keep me here like your pet! You have to let me go!"

He carried the tray to the door, turning his back on her.

"All right then!" she called after him. "When I DO get out of here, I'm not sticking around! I'm heading back to the Agency, getting the girls and bringing them back here to smack you around a bit before we cart you off to jail. Get me? Then we're going to take that ring and PERSONALLY hand it to Roger Wixon, and make sure no one - not you, not the O'Grady's, not another rogue frigging Angel - can get near it ever again. Get me?" No answer. "DO YOU GET ME?"

He stopped. He turned. He stared at her.

Dylan stared back, letting all her fury boil to the surface. She'd never liked being caged; it was one of the few things that had almost kept her from joining the Townshend Agency. The thought of having her day dictated through a schedule set down by a faceless millionaire was not something that thrilled her. Thankfully, being an Angel had given her more freedom than she'd even had during her delinquent days.

But sitting here, bound and virtually helpless, that same Caged Tiger mentality was bubbling over. No one bound Dylan Sanders and got away with it. No one.

When he set down the tray and came back to the bed, reaching for his pocket, she reared away from him, expecting another gag. But instead of a handkerchief, he took a pen from his pocket, and scribbled a note on a clean napkin he'd taken from the tray. He held it up for her to read.

Don't leave.

She read it, then looked over the top of the napkin at him. "Unlock me and I won't," she said firmly.

Another quick note: Promise.

"Pinky swear," Dylan grumbled. When he shook the note in her face, she glared at him. "Fine, fine! I promise!"

He stared at her for a moment, then dropped the note, fished the key from his trouser pocket and unlocked her hands. Dylan immediately began rubbing her wrists as he tucked the cuffs into his pocket with the key. "Thank you," she said honestly, curling up on the bed and looking up at him.

He didn't look at her, but turned away and went back to the door. Picking up the tray again, he opened the door with one hand and slipped out into the hall. As Dylan worked at restoring the circulation to her hands, she heard the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock, and cast the door a sharp look. It hadn't made that sound before.

"Fine," she muttered, cracking her knuckles and twisting her wrists, "I guess we're going to have to take this trust thing in baby steps."


TBC...


Author's Notes: Hello again, everyone! Sorry this update was so long in coming. I just wanted to say thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! They mean so much to me - I can't thank you enough! I'm a huge fan of all the CA fic here at ff.net (especially the Dylan/Thin Man entries ;)), so getting such great feedback from so many talented people is just a blast. Thank you again!