A/N: Special thanks to Chim for the beta. And no, I honestly don't know if this takes me off hiatus. I just know that yesterday I got this very nice review here from phi4858 and suddenly I knew how to finish this part. 18 pages of which has been written since last year. Anyway, it all came together and now here it is. I think there's one part left. I haven't started that part yet. But, deep breath. Here is part 8. I'm so sorry if I'm out of practice at this fic. And again, I warn, there are disturbing events, though not as bad as last chapter I don't think. Thanks everyone for the reviews!

And anyone who's still out there. Thanks!

Part 8: In the fires of pain…

Three Hours Earlier

She heard footsteps approaching and she closed her eyes. O'Reilly had always done that. She shivered slightly at the thought of her former cellmate.

It was always best to feign sleep when they came. Otherwise they entered the room feeling the need to show force. They were almost always calmer when they found her sleeping. They liked to move over to the bed as quietly as possible, hoping to truly startle her when they dragged her from it.

She wasn't looking forward to seeing Anton again, so for a moment she was almost pleased that they didn't take the route that would take them to the familiar torture room with the double doors. Instead, it was down several floors in the elevator and behind a single stone door. She swallowed, realizing this wasn't better.

Dr. Romanov stood in the room. He gestured towards his chair that she was immediately shackled to, including straps to hold her neck and forehead in place. He waved them away and swabbed the crook of her elbow before giving her a quick injection.

He stepped back and watched her. She didn't know what he was expecting. She didn't feel any different.

"Do you remember where we left off?" Romanov questioned.

She gave him a defiant look. "You were rambling off some Syndicate propaganda. Didn't seem all that important."

Dr. Romanov didn't look annoyed or displeased in any way. He silently began placing electrodes on her head, connecting the wires gently, as if he were calmly putting together a puzzle. "If there is nothing you recall, I will have to start the entire process over," he stated upon finishing.

"What a shame," she responded.

He shook his head, forcing an object into her mouth and calmly flipping the switch of a machine at his side.

An electric current charged through her as her entire body convulsed against the chair. She was trapped inside herself, unable to do anything to control the movements from her own limbs. She wanted to scream but was denied even the ability to do that.

As soon as her body ceased seizing, he moved just in front of her face again. "You will tell me what you've learned here. Now." He yanked the rubber piece from her mouth.

Quivering, she could barely focus her eyes to look at him. Her teeth knocked into each other; her tongue felt clumsy and oversized in her mouth. But Romanov's hand lingered near the switch of the machine, daring her not to answer him.

"Followers of Rambaldi..." She inhaled and exhaled heavily every few words. "...seek destruction. Redemption in blood...Death...to the order."

Satisfied, he brought his hand back from the machine. "Again."

She turned her head to look at him, trying to control her breathing. "It won't matter if I get this right, will it?" She swallowed pointlessly. Her mouth was dry. She let her eyes lose focus again as tears came. "You'll kill me anyway...eventually. You aren't going to ever let me leave here."

Romanov watched her. "Those are not my decisions. I can only report when I feel you are ready to move on from the very strict existence you have now."

"Move on," she stated, emotionlessly, her eyes fluttering open and closed. After all this, she doubted moving on could mean anything but death.

Romanov flipped through some paperwork beside him. "There is room for many in the Syndicate, especially ones like you, with as strong importance in the Rambaldi circles."

She held her eyes open and tried to catch his face. "You want...me...to be a symbol?"

He adjusted the settings on the machine. "Enough questions."

She shook her head. "You think if you get me working for you, it will draw Rambaldi followers to your side." She almost laughed then fixed furious brown eyes on him. "I will never work for--" Her words ended in a shriek as her body convulsed again.

"How is she?"

Sydney's eyes opened and she focused her vision on her nearly closed bedroom door. She could hear Francie sigh. "I still can't get her to eat anything. I think she's finally sleeping now."

"I can't believe that this is happening to her again," Will responded. "First, Danny, now Vaughn."

Francie shook her head. "The way she told me, they'd never even dated."

"No, they didn't, but...he was really important to her."

"Then I hope they get the guy that killed him," Francie said, exasperatedly.

Will's voice sunk to an even lower whisper. "The CIA...they haven't really been able to find any leads."

Sydney held her breath, trying to listen more closely.

"How is that possible?" Francie questioned.

"Didn't make any more sense to Sydney, though I don't see how resigning was supposed to help," Will answered.

"She did what she needed to do. And she's not in any state to be going working right now, Will. If you were here more, you'd see that!"

Sydney winced, not wanting her friends to fight about her.

"I do see it!" Will countered, loudly. "And I just can't stand to be here with her like this. I can't do anything for her here. She won't talk to me, she won't talk to you. She won't talk to anyone. At least there, I feel like I'm doing something to help."

"I wish there was more I could do," Francie admitted.

There was silence and Sydney realized they'd moved away from her door to go talk elsewhere. She sat up in her bed, feeling dizzy. She weakly stood up, but sunk back into a sitting position. She rested her face in her hands, trying to work up the energy to move again. She reached over and grabbed a small calendar off the table beside her bed. Francie marked off the days. She knew it was suppose to motivate her.

It had been a month. A month since that horrible day when she had watched them wheel away Vaughn in a body bag. She had gone to the CIA every day for the first two weeks. There'd been questioning and briefings. There had been raids and suspects. There'd been mysteries. But there had been no answers.

She pulled open a drawer and pulled out a tattered but thick folder. She flipped through the pages. Tracking reports. Banking information. Flight manifests. Vaughn had been running a private investigation. Something he hadn't told her or anyone else about. It was the only lead she had on why anyone could have possibly wanted him dead. She looked at the pieces of information he'd collected. Nothing looked enough to be killed over. What she had were the pieces of a search. But he hadn't found anything. Or if he had, it wasn't in this folder.

Sydney took a deep breath and stood up. She changed her clothes and brushed her hair. She opened her closet, pulled out a suitcase, packed it full and placed the folder inside. She could hear Francie and Will in the kitchen. She slipped out of the house through a side door into the cool night air. It'd be hours before Francie and Will checked on her again. She couldn't have them trying to talk her out of this. Someone had to have answers. She'd come back when she found them.

Romanov turned to the guards. "Take her. I won't be ready for her again for about an hour."

Two Weeks Earlier

She lifted her head slightly slowly and blinked her eyes open.

She looked around her and realized she was in her cell. She was hunched in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest. She felt exhausted. Her vision was obscured by strands of her hair. Wet hair. Soaking wet. She was wet. And cold. And shivering. She ran a hand up and down her arm futilely for warmth. Her clothes, only slightly damp, bunched on her uncomfortably. Her skin was raw, in spite of it. Reddened. Irritated by friction. She realized she smelled of soap. She looked over her hands carefully, realizing there was no dirt under her finger nails, or grayish tint to her skin.

She'd had a bath. She blinked, taking a calming breath. She had no idea why she didn't remember it. It wasn't a comfortable experience to be scrubbed down by guards but it had never caused her enough pain to black out. She got up slowly. Her eyes suddenly focused on the baby, lying on the floor beside the door.

She hobbled across the room and touched him carefully. He was limp but warm to the touch. She pulled him into her arms slowly. His pulse and breathing were slow but even. Still, after the scare he'd given her, she wanted him to look her in the eye so she'd know he was alright. She tapped his shoulder and the bottoms of his feet. He didn't flinch, didn't moan, and didn't resituate himself. She frowned and shook him a little, tapped him a little harder. He didn't move. She moved over to the cot and looked him over. He smelled of soap. But his skin didn't look irritated. There was a dappling of bruises on his arms and one kneecap, but no bleeding cuts. No bumps or bruises on his head or neck.

She rocked him in her arms and whispered in his ear. "Wake up, please."

Tears wet her face as she slowly stroked his soft cheek with one finger. She stayed in that position, just watching him breathe. Fearing that if she looked away, he would stop. She called his name every so often. His nicknames. She even sang songs. He didn't respond to anything.

The door opened. Bronson stepped inside and he had a bottle in hand. He stopped when he saw the child in her arms. He turned to leave without leaving the bottle. She stood up, her legs aching as she unbent them so quickly to rise. "Wait, please."

He paused. He gave her an aggravated look.

She hesitated but swallowed and asked. "How long has he been like this?"

Bronson shrugged. "Few hours."

"But you expected him to be awake by now," she said, eyeing the bottle in his hand.

Bronson glanced at the bottle but said nothing.

"Why?" she breathed. "Why did they do this to him?"

"For the same reason as last time. They warned you."

She blinked. Her head hurt. "Last time?" They'd done this before? Why didn't she remember that? "Warned me about what?"

"You know," Bronson answered, uninterestedly.

"Well, how long before they wake him up?" she demanded.

Bronson quirked an eyebrow at her. "He'll wake up on his own," he said in a tone that obviously meant she was supposed to know that too.

She'd sat with him for ages already. She'd found him like this. How long had he been this way before she'd...woken up? She sighed. "What did I do?"

Bronson crossed the room quickly. He reached a hand towards her and she forced herself not to flinch. He grabbed her chin and turned her head upwards to look at him. He looked at her eyes as if looking for a sign of a concussion or drugs. He frowned slightly and let her go. He turned towards the door.

"No, wait." She turned her head quickly to look at him, and immediately felt dizzy. She resituated the baby and rubbed her head with one hand.

"Just tell me if it's normal for him to be out this long," she demanded.

Bronson put the bottle down by the wall, then exited the room without a word.

She sat down on the cot slowly, hugging the baby to her and rocking slightly. She couldn't remember what she'd done. She couldn't remember upsetting them. She buried her face in the top of his head, breathing in his hair. Even as she knew it shouldn't surprise her, she hated knowing her memory was unreliable. She feared finding out what she might have forgotten. Feared that she might be missing something important. A clue to tell her how long she'd been here. Something that might have helped her plan an escape. It made her feel more helpless than anything else. In spite of all that had happened, she wasn't used to being helpless. Even when Vaughn had…. She swallowed. She at least hadn't had to ifeel/i helpless.

"Don't move!"

"Sydney," Sloane responded, far more congenially than Sydney had expected for a man with a knife to his carotid artery. "When my guards informed me that there'd seemed to have been a momentary blip in the security feed, I told them to ignore it. I knew it was you."

She moved around in front of him slowly. "I have been searching for you for almost eight months." He sat in his desk chair, dressed in his pajamas. He looked so calm and genuinely happy to see her. His smile disgusted her. "Before you die, I want you to tell me the reason." She placed the blade deeper against his neck. "Was it revenge? You just had to have the last word?"

Sloane looked her directly in the eye. "Sydney, you look upset. What are you talking about?"

"Don't pretend you don't remember! The day after the CIA took down SD-6, you had a CIA agent murdered in his apartment."

"Sydney, I assure you, I did not."

Her blade drew blood. "Don't lie to me. Agent Michael Vaughn."

"I am not lying," he managed to choke out. "But if you are so certain that I am responsible, then do what you must."

She stared. He had admitted to killing Danny so easily. Why wouldn't he admit to killing Vaughn? She took a deep breath, pulled her knife away, moving to stand just in front of him. "You really didn't order it, did you?"

"I did not."

"Do you know who did?"

"No." Sloane sat forward. "Have you no clues as to who in fact did?"

She lowered her weapon and sunk into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "What do you care?"

"I've known you your whole life. This seems important to you."

She looked up at him and pulled folded documents from her back pocket. Copies of documents that had been in Vaughn's possession. His private investigation. She placed them on the desk. Sloane looked them over and then looked at her.

"I can give you the locations of at least three of the people on this list. Perhaps one of them has the answers you're looking for."

She waited as he printed the information for her from his computer. Then she rose to leave.

"I'll give Emily your regards. If you ever require my assistance again--"

"I won't."

Sydney felt the baby's arm move. She looked down to see him staring up at her. He blinked drowsily and started to fuss. She stroked his hair gently. "You're okay. It's okay." She hugged him to her and grabbed the bottle Bronson had left behind. She started to feed him.

Four hours earlier

Hands upon her startled her from sleep and snatched her from her bed. She was upright a moment then they released her. The sudden lack of support caused her to collapse to the floor. An unfamiliar guard was looking down at her with impatient green eyes. "Get up."

She pushed herself onto her knees, but she was unsure her ankle could truly hold any pressure if she tried to just stand up. A meaty hand slapped her face. "Get up!"

She brought her good leg up and tried not to put any pressure on the other. She took a deep breath and brought herself to a standing position.

The impatient guard looked mildly impressed. "Into the hall," he ordered.

She gritted her teeth and took a careful step. It was two steps before she came down with full pressure on her ankle. Her entire leg rebelled and refused to hold any weight. She groaned and sank to the floor.

The impatient guard look satisfied. "Never mind. Stay there." He stepped back and the door opened again. Anton entered. He looked down at her. She hadn't seen him in days. She had the feeling he'd been away from the compound.

"How are you feeling?" he questioned.

She didn't answer, figuring the question was rhetorical. He crossed the room, yanked her head back by her hair and looked down at her.

"How are you feeling?" he repeated.

"Just great," she responded.

He dropped his grip of her hair and she looked down. "I have news," he said, kneeling beside her. "You have been deemed well enough for us to get back to work."

Deemed by whom? When? No one had even examined her recently. She wondered if her leg didn't require at least some x-rays before anyone should be determining anything.

He stood up straight again and prodded at her ankle with the tip of his shoe.

She flinched.

"Get up," he said.

She gritted her teeth, fighting against her throbbing leg and managed to make it to standing again.

Anton stared past her to the boy standing beside the cot. "Bring him here."

"Why?" she questioned.

Anton moved to look her in the eye. "I thought we just completed weeks of recovery so you could learn that you do what I tell you because there are consequences for defiance. Now, bring him here."

She swallowed. "No."

Anton sighed. He didn't even have to apply any force into the kick he sent to her ankle. She dropped to the floor and walked past her and snatched up the baby. The child went rigid in his arms but remained silent. Anton handed the baby to the guards like he was a doll rather than a child.

"Do it," he ordered.

She sat up on her knees and stared as a guard removed a syringe. "What is that?" she demanded.

Anton glanced at her. "And take her." He left the room.

The guard jammed the needle into the child's arm without any care and the boy started to cry.

"Stop it!" she ordered.

But the contents of the syringe were emptied into the baby. Guards grabbed her from behind and she could wrestle free before they dragged her from the room. "Let go of me! What was that? What did you do?"

Her questions were ignored. She was dragged through the maze of halls and into a dark room, and shoved up against a basin. The guards dropped her then and then seized her against just as quickly, tearing her clothes off of her. Her attempts to struggle only caused her pain. She was shoved backwards into the basin and she cried out again. The water was ice cold.

They began merciless scrubbing with less care than they might have used to wash a dog. Their hands were as cold as the water. And they wandered unnecessarily. She tried to slap them away from her and was immediately rewarded by being shoved beneath the water. She expected a dunking but they held her there until she fought her way to the surface shivering and sputtering. Only to be forced under again.

She didn't have the strength to fight her way back up. She had to hand it to Anton and his ability to turn anything into torture. She knocked her head on the bottom of the basin as the hands suddenly released her.

Five Days Earlier

She could stand.

He could stand.

She couldn't do much to support his weight but he would hold onto things as long as they were in the direction he wanted to go in. It was more than she could do. But as she watched him, she realized his legs were stronger than he was giving them credit for. When there was a gap between the furniture and the wall, he would sneak an unassisted step or two and close the gap.

She stood there watching him just make his way around the room, as he finally accepted that he was going to be upright like everyone else.

She was proud of him. Especially since she was reduced to crawling to get from one of side of the room to another, to keep the pressure from her ankle. She could stand in one spot, but she couldn't go anywhere.

He realized he'd gotten all the way to the other side of the room and looked back at her. He frowned.

"Come here," she encouraged from her seat in the middle of the floor.

He gave her a look, as if didn't she realize there was no furniture between the middle of the floor and where he stood.

"You can do it," she insisted. "Come here."

He sat down where he started and started to crawl towards her.

"No." She shook her head. "Come here."

He stood up again, uncertainly. He stood there a long time before inching taking one single step towards. Even he looked surprised that he didn't fall. He did another step. He was doing it. A third. He toppled.

He whined, plaintively.

"It's okay, she told him. "You're almost over here."

He got back to his knees and stood up on wobbly legs. He made it another two steps before collapsing just in front of her and crawling into her arms.

She hugged him tightly. "Good boy. You were walking. You were walking." She suddenly had the urge to cry.

It wasn't just that he was walking at a time when she couldn't. But there were so many times that she'd found herself wondering if he was developing normally. If it was truly possible that he would develop normally in this horrible place. He was barely a year old and he was walking. Right on schedule.

She kissed him.

He could walk.

Two Weeks Earlier

She knew with lack of food things began to shut down. She knew the horrible pain of being hungry. Worse was the lack of it. Knowing she'd have to dread food the next time it came, because her body would do everything in its power to reject it. That eating would be as great a torture as not being fed had been at first.

She didn't feel hungry. And when the door opened when she knew it wasn't time to tend to her ankle, she actually feared it might be food.

Instead, it was Bronson and the baby. The child was deposited on the floor just inside the door with all the care of dropping a box and then the guard left without a word. The boy took one look at her and burst into tears. He raised his arms, wanting her to come get him.

She fought the pain and sat up for him. She'd been practicing that. They had bandaged her ankle to help it heal, but there'd been no physical therapy or direction on what she should or shouldn't do to help it heal. So she'd exercised her good leg and flexed her arms and finally started sitting up for as long as she could. She wasn't going to let her muscles get out of practice.

The boy raised his arms higher and cried louder, frustrated that she didn't pick him up.

She took a deep breath and swung her legs to the floor, keeping the pressure on her good ankle. She hadn't tested standing yet. And the constant throbbing of her ankle just from resting on the floor didn't encourage the effort. She took a deep breath and pushed herself onto one foot.

She fell back on the cot immediately, tears coming to her eyes from the pain. She wouldn't be walking or running for awhile. She turned her head back towards the boy. "I'm sorry."

He flopped his arms but got onto his hands and knees and crawled towards her, fussing. He reached the cot and latched his hands onto the edge, pulling himself onto her knees, just tall enough to see her.

She smiled at him. "I've missed you." She took the time to give him a closer inspection. He was clean. And he looked well fed. There were faint dark circles beneath his eyes. He could have been sleeping better.

He silenced his cries and with some effort pulled himself onto his feet.

She widened her eyes. "Well, look at you." She managed a grin.

He giggled, proud of his new trick. He started to applaud himself, letting go of the cot and falling right down on his behind. She thought he would start to cry again, but he only frowned. He looked up at her and pulled himself back onto his knees again. He hesitated only a moment before standing again.

She gave him an approving smile and reached a hand through his hair. She waited only a moment before using one arm to pull him onto the cot beside her. He curled up on her chest. She rubbed circles into his back, thinking she might sleep for the first time in days.

iEight Days Earlier/i

When she opened her eyes again, she was back in her cell on her cot. Her ankle was bandaged but it still throbbed. Whatever the fluid going into her IV was, it wasn't to dull the pain.

She turned her head slowly to find Anton standing in the corner. He moved towards the bed and she felt her heart in her throat. He reached towards her broken ankle and touched it with the tip of his finger. She blinked hard.

"It'll be weeks before you'll be able to put any pressure on it," he said, matter-of-factly. "We should finally be able to get some work done in that time. Though if there are any problems by the time it starts to heal, don't think we wouldn't try this procedure again." His fingers danced up her leg, setting her nerves afire each time he touched her.

Her hands clenched into fists, but she remained silent watching him.

His hand came to rest on her stomach. "Improvement," he stated with a nod. "No talking back. Good."

She looked away.

His hand reached out to grab her chin and turn it back towards him. He held firmly so she couldn't look away again. "I brought this because I know of your concern for the baby."

His other hand slowly moved an object into view. A baby monitor. He set it on the table beside the cot and turned it on.

Sydney watched it carefully, listening. There was static. Shuffling. She swallowed, just listening. Then, she heard a light sound. A small sniffle, then a sneeze. Sydney closed her eyes in a silent thank you. She had never been so relieved to hear a sneeze.

Anton's eyes never left her. He turned the baby monitor off. "So, he's fine for now."

Sydney raised her eyes to meet Anton's slowly. "Wh-who's taking care of him?" she asked, surprised at how dry her own voice sounded.

"Whomever I can spare," Anton answered, simply.

Sydney looked away again. Was he eating? Was he warm? Who was holding him when he cried? Who was rocking him to sleep? She couldn't imagine the guards doing it. She certainly couldn't imagine Anton doing it.

Anton looked her, incredulously. "You couldn't care for him right now anyway. Not with your ankle."

"I want to see him."

Anton stared at her. "Well, we all want something."

Sydney swallowed and remained silent.

Anton sighed. "How much patience do you think I have?" He shook his head and reached for the baby monitor.

Sydney watched him, puzzled as he turned it back on. Then he turned and left the room. For a while she waited, expecting him to come back. But he didn't. She turned towards the monitor and listened. Sometimes she heard shuffling or static. Sometimes another sneeze or a cough.

She tried to relax. She dozed for awhile, but she was awake the instant the door opened. It wasn't Anton, just a guard. He didn't speak to her, simply began feeding her cold broth she had no say in whether she wanted to eat or not. Her stomach was rather queasy. When the bowl was empty, he turned and exited.

She stared up at the ceiling, watching the cobwebs dance in the corners. She wanted to crawl off her cot, but she knew if she did so it'd be unlikely she'd be able to get back on it. A cough reached her from the baby monitor.

She looked at it. The cough became a wail, then a full blown cry. Why? Why was he crying? What had they done?

She couldn't hear them doing anything. There were no other voices or sounds. Or if there were, his cries were drowning them out. She listened, trying to decipher his cry. It wasn't one of pain. Was he hungry or thirsty? Weren't they feeding him?

She stopped listening for something behind the cries. Stopped listening for someone to be something to him. She suddenly had the distinct feeling that he was alone. The cry was one of fear. And she could suddenly picture him, completely abandoned in a dark room somewhere unfamiliar. No idea if he was ever going to see her again. No idea if he was going to see ianyone/i ever again.

She needed to go to him. She needed to get to him. And her eyes roved towards the door always so solidly locked.

It wasn't.

Not this time. A crack of light came in the door. Just to mock her.

Her half-hearted attempt to sit up sent pain through her so sharply she fought not to just blackout.

Anton was heartless.

She turned her head towards the monitor again. He had to stop crying. He had to exhaust himself. Comfort himself. She prayed he would just go to sleep. Maybe when he woke up they would actually let her see him.

The cries got louder.

Tears rimmed her own eyes. She started to cry with him. For him. For herself. For her ankle. For being trapped in a room with the door opened and unlocked and not going to find him.

The cries continued. He was going to cry himself hoarse.

She could call for them. Call for Anton. Beg him. Beg them. She blinked hard. They'd enjoy that.

She covered her ears. But she could still hear him. She balled her hands into fists and brought them down on the sides of her cot in frustration.

She eyed the baby monitor darkly.

The cries continued to emanate from it.

She inhaled sharply and tossed a hand in its direction. She missed and groaned at the pain of the movement. She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath and again reached out and punched the monitor.

It flew off the table, skidded across the floor and hit the wall, the batteries popped out and the room fell in silence instantly.

Until she started to laugh. A fit of strange giggles that erupted out of her and she couldn't stop. They increased intensity until her entire face crumpled.

She erupted again. Into uncontrolled sobs.

Two Hours Earlier

She was shoved into the chair, restraints strapping her legs to the feet and her wrists to the arms. She futilely twisted herself trying to see if there was going to be any way to get out of the chair. The door opened and the guards stepped back behind her.

She looked up to see Anton stepping into the room. "Where is he?" she demanded. "What did you do with him?"

Anton's response was a cuff to the side of her head. She stared at him with furious brown eyes, but fell silent.

"Sydney, these continued escape attempts are futile. I've warned you previously about this and you don't seem to be getting the picture. All you've done is put yourself in more danger. You iand/i the baby."

"Where is he?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"You sound concerned. You should. Considering with your latest round of non-cooperation, we shouldn't ever allow you anywhere near him ever again. He distracts you and makes you all the more desperate to get out of here. Perhaps eliminating him from your life completely is really the answer I've been searching for."

Eliminating? They wouldn't... "You can't do that. Eliminating him, eliminates the only thing you have to hang over my head."

"Something must be done to keep you from any more escape attempts. And I think a low tech solution will have to do."

Anton motioned to the guards. Sydney stiffened, bracing herself for a beating. She felt the chair being moved and focused to see they moved her to just in front of the open door. The guard knelt and released the restraint on one of her legs. She moved it for a kick but the guard firmly held it in place against the doorjamb.

Sydney glanced at Anton suspiciously. What was this?

"No more running."

Sydney's eyes widened as Anton stepped back and gripped the metal door. She tried again to move her leg but the guard's grip on her foot was firm.

"No," she breathed.

Anton slammed the door.

The bones of her ankle crunched like snow beneath a boot.

Pure pain shot through her entire leg.

She inhaled so deeply she feared never being able to exhale again. Her mouth was held open by a soundless scream. Tears sprang from her eyes and down her cheeks. Her back stiffened against the chair and her entire body tensed involuntarily. Then, as her body relaxed again, a scream tore out of her throat.

Anton waited, as she forced herself quiet again, taking ragged breaths. Then, he nodded slightly. She felt her other leg be released from the chair. The guard lifted it towards the doorjamb and Anton pulled the door back to a fully open position.

Sydney gasped. "N-no. Ple-ease."

Anton watched her with a curious look in his brown eyes. "Why not?" he asked, carefully.

Sydney sniffled, her eyes starting to close.

One of the guard's slapped her and her eyes opened again.

"Why. Not?" Anton repeated.

Sydney took a deep breath and held it a moment. "No more running," she finally breathed.

Anton stepped away from the door and gave a nod.

The guards undid the rest of the restraints and she collapsed out of the chair to the cold floor.

One Hour Earlier

She blinked hard, her head pounding. She was thankful she was being held against the wall as she was too dizzy to stand on her own. She was not thankful to see Anton making his way up the hall.

"Search her!" Anton ordered. And they were on her. Their hands gripped her arms, forcing her to the wall, pinching, probing, down her neck, inside her mouth, down her arms, across cloth, across flesh...hands...hands...hands... How many guards were needed to do this?

She was frozen. She didn't even know how or why. But the tears blurred her vision and she couldn't move. She could hardly breathe and descended on weak legs to a pile on the floor. Hands. Hands. Another escape. Another chance at freedom that she had ruined. Somehow she she'd messed up and she was going to die here. Hands! Hands! Her skin was frozen in hands, cold and stiff, yet menacing. She couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to. And she didn't want to. A slight turn of her head was taken as hostile and rewarded with a slap. She recoiled, forcing herself completely docile.

She couldn't stand it to be there any longer. She felt herself falling, inside her head. She was losing her mind. Being swallowed by herself in little pieces each day. She'd be escorted to interrogations and not recall the hallways she'd walked to make the trip. She'd return from sessions her body reeling from pain and have no recollection of the cause, or the length of the session. The electrocution was eating her memory. She could have been there for years and not remember. The days ran together. The years.

She'd run her hands across rough skin, burns, cuts, pinholes. She'd wash away tears and blood and not be sure how they'd come. She'd sometimes find herself huddled in a corner, her entire body shaking, trembling mercilessly and remember nothing but a dark, gray haze. It terrified her and yet sometimes she hoped for the black hole. Sometimes she forced her mind down into it. It was at least her choice. There was no one else there, nothing else there, no screams, no fears. She'd rock herself wanting nothing more than to be held in gentle arms and told she was going to be all right.

She wasn't sure she would ever feel "all right" again. She was going to die alone, on a cold concrete floor a mess of bones and blood, screaming in pain. And then she was going to go into her black hole and never return. It should have upset her to think such things, but instead she focused on one comforting thought.

There was no pain there.

Two Hours Earlier

She wondered what he found so safe about being under the cot. She stopped trying to coax him out and just crawled underneath it and lay beside him. She patted his back gently. He began to blink ever so slowly. She decided to wait until he was actually asleep to move him from the only spot where he felt safe. She waited for his breathing to even out, staring at the wall for lack of anything else. Her eyes focused on the cracks and dust in the corner. She reached out and ran her hand along the crack, feeling a loose piece of concrete. It pulled right out of the wall and was roughly the size of the brick.

She left it, while she lifted the child and relocated him onto the cot. Then, she looked at it again, testing the heaviness of it in her hand. It was solid.

She heard footsteps coming up the hallway and she didn't have time to think before she gripped it in her hand and took up a stance by the door with her hand gripping the concrete tightly. A guard entered with her meal. Cold flavorless noodles. It was a meal she didn't regret she would never get to eat. She rammed her makeshift brick at the guard's head and he went down. She hit him once more and he was motionless. She checked him over and got his pass card, but he carried no weapons.

She lifted the baby gently and dashed into the hallway. She started down the hall cautiously, listening for sounds of possible patrols. But she reached the stairwell door without incident. She swiped the card, and hurried up the stairs. She wasn't sure how deep into the building she was. But after two flights of steps the stairwell ended and the pass card was refused at by the only security door at the top. She went back down a flight and entered the corridor quietly. She stopped around a corner as she saw patrols with their backs to her heading down the hallway. She attempted to go the opposite direction but her pass card was refused at the next security gate she'd come across.

She looked into the empty hallway and cautiously moved in. The guards patrolled in twos. But she was going to have to get a new pass card from them. They surely had more clearance than a meal guard.

She looked at the baby in her arms. His eyes wide and round. She couldn't fight two guards and hang onto him. She stepped back. The next time the men patrolled passed she moved out on to the floor. She moved into the closest room. It was a lab.

She searched it. Then she found an empty cupboard. She tried to set the baby down but the boy gripped his arms around her neck. He whimpered as she finally forced him to sit in the cupboard.

"I am coming back." She told him. "Just as soon as I can." She rubbed his back lovingly. "Be very quiet." She kissed his cheeked and stroked his head. Then, she stepped back and shut the cupboard.

Stealthily, she moved down the hallway. She positioned herself in a corner ahead of the patrol. She flattened herself to the wall and waited until they had just passed. Then she leapt at them, kicking one in the gut and delivering a punch to the other's head. They both went down. She directed a kick to the first man's head and they were out. She searched them both for a pass cards and took a gun from one of the men.

She headed back towards the lab where she'd left the baby. She rounded the corner and ran right into a patrol officer, standing there alone. She aimed her gun forward but the patroller kicked it from her hand. She made a sweeping kick back at him and advanced enough to toss a few sound punches, winning the fight.

Suddenly, her entire body rattled with an electric current. She collapsed as the baton crackled across bare skin.

The first patroller leapt up and went to alert others.

Her body convulsed again with another charge. Then the guard used the baton to deliver blows to her ribcage. She curled up only just before she felt her brain rattling in her skull. The world turned brown.

Then black.

Ten Days Earlier

She ran her hand across the child's back once more. His breathing was even. He was finally asleep. She patted him lightly once more then sunk to a seat beside the cot. She had no idea what this was doing to him, raising him here. She looked at his small form. He was underweight. She looked over at the half empty bottle on the floor. He'd pushed it away, refusing to eat anymore. She wasn't sure if he truly wasn't hungry anymore, or if something else was bothering him. They gave her bottles for him regularly enough. Her own empty stomach growled. She picked up the bottle, licking her lips lightly.

She startled, almost dropping it as the door to her cell opened. The bright lights of the hall shined in on the dim room. Two guards trudged over to her while one waited at the door. They pulled her to her feet and marched her out of the room. It was a familiar route they took a room with silver double doors.

Anton was waiting. He looked her in the eye. "The first location you gave turned out to be acceptable. I'm going to ask you for another location. You give it to me, and we're done for the day. You go back to your cell and eat a hot meal for a change."

She stared at him silently, her stomach feeling even emptier than it had moments before. It was a fair and tempting offer, except for the fact that she didn't have another location to give him. She could lie, but it would only take him moments to run through the tracking reports and find that no activity was in whatever location she came up with randomly out of her head. She didn't even want to imagine what punishment he could come up with for that.

Anton shifted impatiently. "That is, if you tell me now."

She swallowed. "I can't give you another location."

Anton nodded to the guards. She didn't tense fast enough. They forced her face down to the table in the middle of the room and secured the straps. A familiar bald man entered, and he began filling a syringe.

She turned her head as best she could towards Anton. "The location I gave you was the only one I knew."

"That seems doubtful. O'Reilly tried that same lie on us several times at the beginning."

Before she could speak again her head was being held still and an injection was forced into her neck. She winced, more in anticipation of the feeling she knew was coming. Her skin formed a hypersensitive layer and the skin on her wrists and ankles burned where they were tightly strapped.

She again made her plea to Anton. "I don't know where anymore facilities are. I swear I'd tell you if I did."

Anton frowned. "How did you know the one you gave me? Had you been there before?"

"No!" she exclaimed.

"Then, how?"

She fell awkwardly silent.

"Get started," he ordered.

She frowned. She'd thought they already were started. Instead, the bald man pulled up a chair beside the table and lifted a box. She heard the contents clink metallically. She twisted, trying to see as a guard moved and lifted her shirt, exposing her bare back. The bald man opened his box and removed a long, silver needle.

"This box is full. You can tell me now, or you can tell me when he gets done," Anton said pointedly. There would be no in between. No mercy if she gave in midway through.

She clenched her teeth and looked at Anton. "No matter what you do, it won't change that I don't know!"

Anton stared at her expectantly as the bald man drove the needle harshly into a shoulder blade setting the surface skin afire and intensely stinging the muscle beneath. Tears came to her eyes and she screamed. The sensation didn't end and she realized he'd left the needle in. She swallowed another cry.

"Just consider for a minute," she began, and her voice quivered, "the possibility that I'm not lying to you. That I truly don't know what you want. Think about what you're doing."

Anton stared at her a moment, then turned to the bald man. "Let me know when you're finished." There was a tone to his voice. He didn't care whether she had anything to tell him or not. He just wanted to see her in pain. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Another needle pierced the skin of her back, burning through the surface tissues. Sharply. Deeply. Her shriek cut through the room, but Anton didn't even stop his course to the door. She buried her fingers in her palms to regain control but it was only a moment before another cry escaped her. She closed her eyes trying to seek solace in the dark. Trying to be anywhere but inside her body, listening to herself scream.

"You don't look well, Agent Bristow."

She was pinned the wall, breathing heavily. "You've looked better yourself."

He stepped back and looked at her. "It has been a while."

She pulled a gun and aimed it towards his head. "Since a day before the fall of SD-6."

"I had no idea you were counting the minutes, Agent Bristow," he responded amused.

"Where were you when SD-6 went down?" she demanded.

"I had a business trip in Europe at the time. I learned there was no reason to return."

"Wasn't there? A final assassination that you had to carry out the next day?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to."

"Agent Michael Vaughn. He was murdered in his apartment the day after SD-6 was destroyed. Are you telling me you know nothing about it?"

"Yes, that is what I'm telling you." He pushed her away from him, indignantly. "Now, either pull the trigger or aim your weapon elsewhere."

Her weapon slowly dropped with a defeated sigh.

"This seems awfully important to you, Agent Bristow."

"I'm not an agent anymore," she corrected.

"What are you doing here?" He gestured towards the study.

"I could ask you the same thing," she responded, straightening. "There's a guard just outside in the hall. I doubt you were invited to this party."

"And you must be on the guest list by an alias," he responded. "I'm sure Dimitri Zhukov would be interested to know who you really are."

"What are you talking about, Sark?" Sydney questioned.

"He knew your mother," Sark responded. An amused look crossed his face then vanished. "But if you didn't know that, then what brought you here?"

Sydney hesitated. "What do you care?" She moved to a filing cabinet, flipping through the folders.

"Perhaps I can assist you."

Sydney frowned. "Why would you want to help me?"

"Why wouldn't I? If you're no longer an agent of the CIA, then I see no reason for there to be any animosity between us. I am more than willing to forget the past. And you definitely look to be in need of some assistance. You lost this friend more than a year and a half ago and still seem almost clueless as to who is responsible. What brought you here?"

Sydney sat down in the desk chair and began opening drawers. "Zhukov appeared on a list of people Vaughn was investigating before his death. I was trying to figure out why. Now unless you have an answer, I doubt you can really help me."

Sark moved to the computer and inserted a disc. "You believe this investigation could be another motive as to why he was murdered?"

She nodded, ruffling through the drawers and shoving them closed.

Sark tapped a few keys, copying information to his disc. "Was everyone on that list ex-KGB as Zhukov is?"

Sydney looked at him. "What?" She sighed. "I don't know."

He ejected his disc, placed it in a case and pocketed it. "Are you certain you wouldn't like my assistance?"

She stood. "Who do you work for now, Sark?"

He gave her a crooked smile. "Myself."

"Look, I have my own leads to follow for now." She started towards the door and stopped. "If I wanted to get in contact with you…"

Sark took a pad of paper off the desk, ripped off a piece and wrote on it. He held it out to her. "You can use this for six months."

She took the paper and slipped out of the study.

Her throat was raw. She still felt the needles piercing her back but didn't scream. She wanted to, but she couldn't.

Her voice was gone.

Through hazy vision, she could see Anton talking. His voice carried across the room and filtered through her on a delay.

"Any answers?"

"No, I think she'd give us a location by now if she had one."

"She's not screaming anymore." He sounded disappointed.

"She can't, sir."

He briskly crossed the room and stood in front of her. She closed her eyes, bracing herself, a groan the best she could do. He stayed there as she opened her eyes again slowly. His gaze was fixed on her back, surely a field of reddened puncture wounds.

She trembled, breathing heavily.

"Get those wounds disinfected," he finally ordered, before turning to walk away.

One Week Earlier

Her eyes popped open at the sound of the door. Her arm was protectively around the boy as they lay side by side on the cot, a rough blanket resting on them both. She tensed and listened. Four sets of footsteps. Two walked to the other side of the room, lifted something and headed out of the room. Two sets of footsteps approached her.

She swallowed, sat up and looked at them. "Let him sleep. Please."

The guards nodded.

She stood up. They locked restraints on her arms and guided her from the room. She was silent as they briskly walked her to a familiar interrogation room, forced her into a chair and strapped her to it. The guards moved to just outside the doorway. It was Anton who entered and looked at her.

He gave her hard stare.

She returned it with a glare. "There was no reason! You killed an innocent--"

"Followers of Rambaldi aren't innocent," Anton growled indignantly. "You don't seem to understand. Two months and you still don't understand."

She shouldn't yell at him. She knew that. She didn't care. "What I understand is that you're all insane!" She hardly blinked when Anton slapped her. "You're accomplishing nothing!"

"I have gotten rid of a person who was no longer a reliable source of information. Because I'm not going to play games. Not with O'Reilly and not with you." His eyes narrowed. "Now, it's your turn to give me the information that I need."

She could see life slipping away from behind dying eyes. She could hear the answers he wanted whispered in her ear with O'Reilly's final breaths, but she gave him a defiant frown. "I have nothing to give you."

"Perhaps the death of your cellmate has given you the delusion that the rules are now up for debate." Anton stepped back from her and gestured towards the guards. "Assure her, nothing's changed."

There was an electric crackle from behind her and she shuddered involuntarily.

Anton moved towards the wall, stepping out of the way but obviously intending to watch. Despite his cold stare, she didn't take her eyes off of him. The guards circled her, but their movement was peripheral. She recoiled as fists and batons flew at her, but she kept her jaw tight and bit back any screams.

Her focus centered on Anton in one continuous thought. I will kill you.

She had no idea how much time had passed before she felt the straps on the chair being tightened painfully. Her wrist and hands went numb. She watched the figures move around in front of her. They mumbled to each other in low tones, then closed in on her again.

Anton stepped forward. "We need the location of another facility."

She gave him a defiant glare. "I will tell you nothing," she managed through clenched teeth.

"Then, we'll continue." Anton stepped back.

An older man with balding hair moved forward with a small case. He pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid, and filled a syringe. "Hold her head still," he ordered, with a French accent.

She tried to bow her head but immediately four hands were upon it, twisting it to the side and exposing a patch of neck area, where the balding man inserted his needle. She didn't dare move then, in fear of him hitting something vital. He made the injection quickly and she tried not to wince.

She shuddered, unsure what it was. Her head was released and she watched the man in front of her through blurring vision. He just stood there watching, apparently waiting for something. She tried to swallow as she pondered exactly what but her mouth was too dry. Then, it came, a weird sensation across her skin. As if she had a strange new layer of heavier epidermis.

After several awkward minutes, the balding man looked at his watch and nodded.

The guard on her left moved towards her again, baton in hand. She tensed, preparing herself, but instead he raised a hand and touched her bare elbow. She involuntarily let out a hiss of pain. She tried to get a look at the guard's hand, looking for something unusual. Instead, the guard on her other side ran his hand across her forearm. Heat seemed to rush to the area as if his hand was a flame. The original guard grabbed her by the arm and a shriek of pain resounded through the room. Her shriek. Her skin was hypersensitive. It hurt to be touched. Contact with anything felt the same as being too close a fire.

The balding man watched smugly. He'd just given the guards brand new powers. They could set aside their batons and not even exert any energy. The thin, cheap cloth that she froze in her cell wearing was warm and heavy across her shoulders. Where the elastic of her pants dug into waist, the skin seemed to be swelling. She tried to steady her breathing, but her she could feel her heart beat pulsing erratically, and false echoes of it pulsing in her neck, behind her left eye, in her right ankle, and vaguely in both arms.

Another location was all they wanted. She had a location she could give them. But they'd just killed O'Reilly. How could she even think about giving into them now?

They released the straps and pulled her from the chair. There was a sudden sting against one of her cheeks. Her eyes focused enough to see a guard pulling his hand back from slapping her. The entire side of her face burned as though it had been set afire. Her eyes watered. The force of the blow sent her towards the floor. She caught herself on her hands and knees but tried to stand as quickly as possible. Resting her weight on just her hands and knees made the floor feel like hot coals against her skin.

Anton moved in again. "A facility location."

The guard behind him eagerly directed a kick at her. Huddling to protect herself was as painful, if not more so, than the actual kick.

Anton knelt down and grabbed onto her arm, tightly. He twisted it; she winced. "You will give me another location, or you'll get another dose."

She made her opposite hand a fist. The burning across her knuckles was worth the blood that trickled from his nose. He shoved her away with him with enough force that her back collided with the wall. She groaned and sunk to the floor.

The guards moved to grab her.

Anton shook his head. "No. She'll pay for that later. Right now, I just want my location. Get the baby."

She swallowed, her eyes flying to him.

He noticed. "Unless, you have something to tell me."

Her jaw tight, she breathed heavily through her nose.

Anton gave her an expectant look.

"Madrid," she breathed, after only a moment.

"If you're lying to me-"

"Sark has a facility in Madrid!" she said louder.

Anton nodded. "We'll see what de Soto thinks of that." He turned to the guards. "She doesn't move." The balding man followed Anton out the door.

She remained in her sitting position not wanting to give the guards any reason to move towards her and trying to rest as little of her body against the floor as possible. She didn't know how long it was she was sitting there, but slowly, she began to feel the heat go out of her skin. It was only tingly to the touch by the time Anton returned.

"Take her back to her cell," he said.

A guard reached for her but she maneuvered away and brought herself into a standing position. Cuffs were secured to her wrists and she was ushered out of the room. Back down the maze of halls and into the cell.

She looked around the room wearily. She looked around the room cautiously then started towards the cot where the baby was lying. She thought he was still asleep, but as she got closer, she realized he was face down on the cot, curled into a tiny ball. "Hey," she whispered, softly. She ran a hand across his back gently, but he was rigid. His hands covered his eyes. She pulled on his arm trying to get him to look at her. He moaned, plaintively.

"It's okay, it's me," she said gently. Why was he like this? Was it because he'd woken up to find her gone? Or had one of the guards come in and woken him up? Had he had a nightmare? She rubbed his back trying to soothe him. He whimpered when she lifted him up, trying to keep his face covered with his hands. She cuddled him as best she could as stiff as he was.

She stroked his hair, rocking him, hoping he would relax in her arms. His hands came down from his tear streaked face, but he remained stiff.

He wouldn't go back to sleep.

One Hour Earlier

She held the child against her chest tightly, rocking him. She sat on her cot, her back against the wall, trying everything to get the child in her arms to stop crying. She stroked his hair, his head nestled in her neck. She whispered in his ear, keeping her eyes closed. "It's okay. You're okay." Over and over again. If she could convince him, perhaps she could convince herself.

The ten-month old boy's cries finally lessened to whimpers. She wasn't sure if she'd actually comforted him or if he was just too exhausted to cry anymore. He was finally going to sleep.

She opened her eyes and they were immediately drawn to the sheet covered body on the opposite side of the room. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes again. "It's okay. We're okay."