Author's Note: Who doesn't love the 'talking to hallucinations of dead people' trope? :D

A few days later…

"So what does it feel like?" Oscar sat up against the opposite wall to the one Jane was huddled against, blood seeping around the edges of the axe lodged in his gut.

Jane was too thirsty to waste breath and saliva answering a hallucination. It had been days since she'd had anything to drink. She blinked slowly, trying to figure out how he looked so real.

"Being a black widow," Oscar elaborated, with a glance down at his wound. "What's it like? Are you planning to make this an ongoing thing? First me, then Weller…?"

The thought of killing Weller made her sick to her empty stomach. If it came down to one of them or the other in a fight, Jane was pretty sure she'd allow him to kill her, rather than have to face the rest of her life knowing what a good man she'd taken from the world.

"That's harsh," Oscar said. "I loved you more than anything. I was willing to die to get you back, and you took full advantage of that."

You were going to wipe out everything that I am because you showed me your true colours and I rejected you. What about that is not screwed up to you?

"If you'd been yourself, you would have told me to do it. To get the mission back on track."

I don't care what my old self would have told you to do. I'm Jane now, not whoever I was before. I'm the person inhabiting this body, and you had no right to try to…to reset me because you didn't like what I thought of you and your friends.

Oscar pulled at the handle of the axe, grimacing. "You seemed to like me back when you thought you could use me for information. Or for your own pleasure."

Someone laughed. "You were just a placeholder for me."

Jane's head snapped up at the second familiar voice. For a second of wild hope she stared at Kurt Weller, wondering if rescue had finally arrived. Then she realised he was talking to Oscar, and she sagged back against the wall, despairing.

Now I have to listen to the two men in my life argue over me, even though one is dead and the other gave me over to torturers?

"Hey, she came to the radio tower to meet me, instead of to the park to meet you."

Kurt shrugged and sat beside Jane. "Turns out I didn't go to the park either, so it's not like she missed anything."

Jane closed her eyes. Is this hell? This must be hell.

"You could have told me everything, you know," the hallucination of Weller said. "Before you went too far, I mean. Back at the beginning."

You would never have trusted me again if you found out this was all my idea. If her body had been capable of producing tears, she would have been crying now.

"I'm never going to trust you again anyway. And Mayfair is dead because of you." The condemnation in his voice made her flinch. "So what good did lying to me do, Jane, huh?"

"At least she got a few orgasms out of siding with me."

Okay, this conversation is getting ridiculous. Go away! Both of you!

Silence.

When Jane cracked an eye open, she was alone. Relieved to have a respite from the argument, she tried to settle more comfortably against the wall. Before she could adjust herself in a way that didn't aggravate any of her bruises too much, footsteps sounded in the distance, coming closer.

Great. Who's going to walk through that door? Mayfair? Taylor Shaw?

The door opened to reveal one of the CIA guards holding a bottle of water. Jane sat up in a hurry.

"You want this?" The unsmiling man held up the bottle. "Tell me your name."

She swallowed, trying to generate enough saliva to speak. Her voice emerged rough and scratchy. "I wish I knew so I could tell you."

He sighed, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Just give us something—anything we can use—and I'll let you have this."

Jane couldn't take her eyes off the bottle. Just the thought of a sip of water made her bite back a whimper of longing. Even if it was warm or dirty, she'd take it.

"Just give him something," Oscar's voice recommended, though she didn't bother to look in his direction. "Do you really want to die here?"

"Jane. Don't." That was Kurt, a low warning in her ear. "You give in to them now, they'll keep doing this. They'll know it's the way to get you to talk."

Jane forced her eyes from the bottle to the man holding it. "My memory was wiped. I only get random flashes here and there. I can't just summon up what you want to know. I don't know who I was, or where I was, or what my objectives were. Everything I remembered, I told the FBI and it's in my file. You're asking for information that I…can't…access."

The guy waited in silence for a couple of interminable moments, and Jane didn't move a muscle, terrified that he'd take the water away.

Finally, he sighed and came into the cell, shut the door behind him and crouched in front of her. "Slowly. Small sips, or you'll just throw it back up."

Jane grabbed for the bottle, but he kept control of it, as if he'd rehydrated a million tortured prisoners before her. Too far gone to worry about her dignity, she let him trickle a little into her mouth, a shudder rippling through her body as she began to absorb the precious liquid.

The guard made her take a break, and she gasped in a grateful breath. "Thank you."

"We can't keep doing this forever, you know. If you don't give us something we can use soon, we'll just put you somewhere we can forget about you and move on. Now, you may think that's a good thing, but it's not."

"What's the alternative? Tell you everything that I can possibly think of and then have you put me somewhere to forget about me anyway? Or maybe you'll just kill me."

He handed over the plastic bottle and stood up, his face impassive. "Don't drink that too fast."

"Yeah, have a nice day to you, too," Jane muttered as he left, and took another gulp of water.

Alone again, without even her hallucinations for company, she made a mental note of the guard's compassion. Maybe it was something she could exploit.