A/N: I apologize for the delay, it's been a weird week (I'm sure for many of you as well). I hope everyone is safe and warm wherever they are and I wish everyone good luck in the weird time we're sharing across neighborhoods, cities, countries, and oceans. Thanks for choosing to pass some of the time by reading my story.

Part 14

Every inch of her body was a mind-numbing ache, and she took respite in the fact that they'd left her untied on the metal cot in her cell. The rise and fall of each breath set off the four stab wounds scattered around her abdomen and the single puncture under her collar bone, so she tried keeping it as shallow as possible. Lifting her arms was too difficult, the spots where Flynn had sunk the blade making the muscles protest sharply, so she just laid there. She had no concept of time, but was fairly sure that each session with Flynn amounted to a day, so they must be going into the third day. The three longest days she'd ever had, but still only three days.

Her biggest worry at the moment was holding out. She could keep information from him for at least four more days, that shouldn't be hard. He came into their sessions sure of himself to a fault, but as he failed to get any meaningful information from her, his most simple task, he'd become increasingly violent. Apparently gone were the hours of mind-numbing questions and baited emotional attacks. It felt strange to miss them, but anything may be better than the poke-a-thon he'd subjected her to yesterday, or whatever passage of time ago that had been.

Managing to rise with groans and sobs, she relieved herself in the corner of the room before stumbling back to the cot and gingerly lying back down on the cold metal. It was surprisingly refreshing, Sydney finding herself dozing here and there but never getting any real sleep. The growling of her stomach reminded her that it had been days without food or water, a fact that would begin to make things harder as time dragged on.

Eventually, the thin beam of light coming under the door was broken, feet on the other side, and the heavy metal unlocked and swung open.

'Round three. Let's do this.'

One of the new assistants kept his eye on her as he dragged her off the dolly and into the dreaded chair. The room smelled of blood and sweat, the metal below the seat flecked with a dried deep brown color looking more like spilled paint than what she knew it to be.

They'd entered and administered a mild paralytic before using a surgical staple gun to close the punctures from the day before. The inability to move didn't dull the pain of the process as the men wiped at each wound with a wet, rough cloth and then clicked the gun against the newly bleeding slit. The pressure and stab of each staple made her groan almost every time, the tears soaking into the hair at her temples as she lay paralyzed on the cot.

Still, she could see the fear in their eyes at the fact that she was untied, the knowledge of why they were there as opposed to the previous assistants edging out any sense of security. They didn't visibly relax until her hands were roughly pulled back into position and the cable tightened into place just above her wrists, the same for her legs as they were reattached separately to the front supports of the chair.

They scampered off when finished, Sydney's head lolling with her chin against her chest as the drug wore off, her neck regaining more strength each second. She must have passed out because the next thing she knew Flynn was attaching the nodes to her body again, the red patches of angry skin marking where they'd been for the last two days.

"Are we going to be friends today, Sydney? I'd really like that, love."

"Fuck you," she growled, her voice almost unrecognizable to herself. The Brit sighed and rose, flitting about setting out items on the table as she stared at his clean three-piece suit.

She hated it.

She hated him.

She hated this room.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted to see her father.

She wanted to see Vaughn.

She wanted to give up.

She wouldn't.

"Have it your way," he growled, Sydney noting that something had changed from the previous day that had made him agitated and on edge.

The red light turned on at the top of the camera the moment he was done fiddling with his supplies, and he plastered a fake grin across his face looking into the lens.

"She is a lot less feisty this morning, that's for sure. Is it possible we've broken the wild pony, lads?"

"You wish," she growled from her spot to his left.

'I'm not giving up until he gives up.' A new wave of determination reclaimed a spot in her heart at the illumination of the red light. When it was on, she knew she wasn't alone. Sure, it was a sick reminder that everyone she knew and loved was watching her be maimed, but she wasn't alone. She didn't realize until the last few moments of yesterday's session how much that red light meant to her.

That light was love.

That light was home.

That light was her daddy.

That light was Vaughn.

That light was hope.

She'd cherish that dumb light as long as she could. As long as it stayed on, she'd keep going. Flynn would have to give up first.

"Sydney, can we get some stuff out of the way today or will I have to resort to my more barbaric nature?" His voice was gentle but his eyes were warning icy flashes.

"Go ahead," she said slowly and quietly. Her voice was tired and laced with pain.

"I know yesterday was rough, love, and I really hate what I had to do, but if you cooperate from here on out I'm sure this will go more easy."

"It's...'easier'. More easy is...an improper sentence."

She saw his shoulders tense under the suit. "Tell me about your father. He's CIA too, isn't he?"

Silence. 'Oh hell no. You had better luck trying to get Russian officials out of me. I'll never give up another agent, let alone someone I love.'

"Isn't that sweet? Father and daughter working together, bringing down the bad guys. Do you think he's watching right now?" Flynn made a move to look into the camera. "Mister Bristow, don't you want to save your daughter? Why don't you call me - talk with us? You can save her, you know. I've been told they will happily trade if you'll take her place."

A phone number flashed across the screen, Kendall immediately pointing a finger at Jack who was seated at the other end of the table. "Don't you dare think about it. You know he's lying and we're not giving you both up to this asshole."

Jack's lizard brain screamed at him to grab his phone and save his daughter's life, but the Bristow part of his brain wouldn't let him be fooled. He didn't need Kendall's order for him to not do it, but he reached into his pocket to remove the device and handed it to Vaughn anyway.

"Trap or not, remove the temptation," he begged, Michael nodding and tucking the cell into his jacket pocket, the weight of it heavier than just a phone.

Back in the room, Flynn looked to the phone on the desk waiting expectantly for a forwarded call that never came.

"Well, Sydney, it looks like daddy dearest doesn't much care if you live or die." Trying to push her buttons, he wasn't prepared for the soft smile she delivered into the camera as she ignored her torturer.

"It's okay," she whispered, a single tear trekking down her cheek.

Jack felt tightening at the back of his throat as tears filled when he made eye contact with his daughter. She didn't know he was watching, though with her admission, it was something she had clearly assumed.

Flynn sighed. "What's it gonna take, love? What's it gonna take for you to give me some answers?"

"You haven't asked any questions worth answering," she said in a monotone voice. The less worked up she got, the more frustrated Flynn could end up and she wanted to keep it that way. That was when he would make a mistake.

"You really want to go down this path?" This was his first warning of any sessions, his hands akimbo regarding the thorn in his side. For the first time in dozens of torture sessions, he regretted promising Alain that it would be a full seven days as he desperately tried to push down the desire to shoot her in the head and get out of this stinking, drab, cold room.

"Look, I'm sure it makes you feel...powerful to beat a woman tied to a chair, but I honestly don't care what you want because I'm not gonna give it to you." She paused, taking a staggered breath against the painful stitch in her sore ribs. Meeting his eyes, she continued. "Ask your stupid questions, poke me with your stupid knife, zap me with your stupid machine...do whatever it is you have planned. I'm tired of sitting here and listening to your droning...stupid...voice."

"You think you'd be more inclined to share if you weren't in that stupid chair?"

Sydney sent him a small grin, "do you remember what happened the last time you left me untied? The nose whistle?"

"And yet when you were fresh, I took you down."

"After I'd already almost killed two of your assistants and had been tied unmoving to a chair for over 24 hours."

"You hadn't taken a lick of damage, and yet one punch and you were flat on your back."

As much as she could, pushing past the pain, she shrugged. "Wanna go a second round?"

'Uhh...you can't fight right now.' That damned Bristow side of her brain was back.

'Duh. But...it'll be really satisfying if I can land one damn punch. Maybe re-break his nose? Wouldn't that be satisfying?'

'Well, it would get us out of the chair,' she mused, deciding to push.

Flynn laughed a genuine and deep belly laugh. "You cocky little shit! I really do love you, Sydney."

"I didn't think so," she goaded, his body language and facial features screaming surprise though she caught another emotion in his eyes: excitement.

He knew that she wouldn't be able to do much under her own power.

He knew her strength would be next to nil having had no food or water for going on three and a half days.

He knew that the spots where he'd sunk the tiny blade were pure muscle and that each move would cause wave after wave of blinding pain to ripple through her whole body.

He knew he could win, probably quite easily, especially with his MMA training. He knew she was best with a mix of krav maga and kickboxing, and considering the amount of damage she'd taken, it would be difficult for her to pull any of it off without a fair amount of notice to her intentions.

He knew her reactions would be dulled by both pain and blood loss.

What he didn't know was her amazing ability to compartmentalize that pain.

"Can she fight right now?" A random person in the room asked the question on everyone's mind, the medical personnel each shaking their heads.

They all watched as Flynn called in his assistants and ordered them to bundle up the camera and follow him into an adjacent room. He made a show of uncoupling her arms and legs from the metal chair, pausing for a moment and expecting her to swing as she had the last time she was loose. The limbs stayed limp, however, and he wrapped an arm around her waist all but dragging her groaning in pain from the room as the lackeys desperately tried to follow.

"Don't count her out. This girl fought through a dozen guards and broke out of a holding cell with a bullet in her shoulder," Kendall countered looking over at her father. "Jack, Project Christmas had a pain element that wasn't approved for testing. But...I have to ask: did you put Sydney through the pain trials?"

The man nodded, holding his hands up in defense as several around the table balked.

"Jesus, Jack, she was seven-years-old," Kendall muttered.

"I modified it using a small electric ball that delivered a mild, random shock. She chose to play with it and it gave a slight zap akin to licking the end of a 9-volt battery. It could ramp up to a strong jolt, which she withstood, even enjoyed. She said she liked that it made her jump."

The father sighed and focused his eyes on the table. "She's been an adrenaline junkie her whole life and giggled during the tests, even when I warned her it could hurt. She was able to focus on drawing, math, writing, all while being shocked, and never once did she walk away from a test until it was over." He paused as a frown clouded his features. "Despite what some of you may think, I love my daughter and didn't torture her when she was a child. I would take her place right now if it were possible."

One of the medical staff was still taking notes, "did she pass the tests?"

"Sydney's ability to compartmentalize pain astounded me when she was young. I doubt it's something she's lost over the years." The father was suddenly self-conscious, Michael speaking up as he set a hand to Jack's shoulder in support.

"Before Sydney came to us she'd been tortured in Taipei while trying to get an in back to SD-6. They pulled four molars, one by one with a pair of extractors, and she didn't even go see a dentist before coming into the office for a fifteen-hour debrief. She's tough."

Will's hand went to his jaw, his tongue feeling the single spot in the back of the left side of his mouth where that same man had ripped out one of his own teeth in a similar fashion. One tooth and he'd blabbed like a baby - though it didn't help that he had no good information to blab. The second tooth they pulled was just to show him that they could.

Sydney had told him that the same had happened to her, but four teeth? And she'd given them nothing? She'd left that part out.

She was dropped unceremoniously on the floor of a larger cement room. Her body screamed, though all that left her tight lips was a strained whimper. It was a fight just to roll onto her back, but as Flynn had been dragging her down the hallway she'd been flexing and tensing every muscle group she could control, and the pain was beginning to dull. If she kept working the sores spots, they wouldn't make her flinch if she had to move quickly.

Of course, there was no way she was going to admit or show that fact, so she stayed on her back on the floor panting with an occasional groan as her left arm wrapped around her sore, broken ribs. Dull didn't mean that it wasn't painful, and her whole body was an ache that seemed to seep into her soul.

'Just one punch...one satisfying punch.' That became her mantra.

Turning her head she saw the nervous assistant set the camera back onto the tripod and scamper from the room, the red light a soothing beacon as it came to life.

"Well, you get what you ask for. Isn't that what you told me a couple days ago, love? To be careful what I ask for?" He laughed as he slowly unbuttoned the suit jacket and slid it off of his shoulders, his hands straightening and running the wrinkles out of the fabric before he laid it gently on the floor in the corner of the room.

"Be…careful what you...wish for, I think is…what I said."

"I have to think that our number of viewers just soared, Sydney. They love this shit," he said as he began robotically rolling up the sleeves of the white dress shirt, keeping the silk vest on over his chest. "You may want to stretch, darling, it's been a couple of days since you were up and about."

"Oh...don't you worry about me," she groaned from her spot on the floor. "I've got you...right where I want you."

He gave a delighted chuckle not realizing that she was merely feeding his ego, and more importantly, not realizing that it was working. He was at his height of cocky as he finished rolling the sleeves and slid his hands into his pockets content to watch her struggle.

"I'll give you a free shot if you can even get off the ground, love."

She groaned as she rolled to her stomach, the pressure of the floor against the four staple-pinched wounds making her gasp and squeeze her eyes closed. Managing to push up onto all fours, her arms shaking, she made a show of panting through the pain as the cuts on the limbs protested the movement. The breathing was half legitimate, but he didn't need to know that.

"I don't need a free shot, and...you don't want me to take one," she growled, pushing back with her hands until she managed to settle her backside onto her calves, finally vertical.

"There you go, love. Almost upright. I'm sure any second now you'll put fear into my soul." He wasn't able to keep the excitement out of his voice, Sydney looking at him and then the lens with an exasperated growl.

"God I'm sick of your voice. Maybe I will take that free shot if it'll shut you up."

"Hmm, funny."

She struggled to her feet, one hand flat against the wall to her right as she regained her balance. As sure of herself as she was, it had been almost three full days since she'd stood on her own two legs, and they ached and shook for a moment at the sudden movement after the lack of activity. Add to that the almost crippling pain of the stabs he'd pierced into her thighs and calves, it all hit her a bit harder than she thought it would. Setting her palms to her knees she took a few ragged breaths before making it upright.

"Whenever you're ready," he said with a bright, wide smile, his stance relaxed and casual with hands still in his pockets.

Sydney held up her pointer finger asking him to wait, the pain written deep in her features as she forced her arms up to pull the hair tie from the loose ponytail, redoing it very slowly before dropping her limbs with a wince. The punctures in the muscle above and between her shoulder and neck pinched sending a jolt of pain straight to her brain.

'Make it short, because you only have enough energy for one shot, maybe two. Last time they had to pull him off of you; this time make them pull you off of him.'

Flynn came closer, his hands still tucked in his pockets. "You sure you don't want that free shot? It may be the only one you get," he goaded, taking another few steps until he was only two to three feet away from the tough young woman who seemed barely able to stand.

"Come on, broken little angel, I realize it's not a fair fight, but that's why I'm giving you this tiny advantage. One shot if you can even muster the-"

Muscles springing into action she felt the adrenaline burst and slammed her knee into his groin before her right hand, already in a fist, shot out and nailed the side of the surprised and stupid look on his face. He hit the ground with a clothes-covered thud, struggling to pull his hands out of the constraining fabric of the pockets. Though everything throbbed and stung, her instincts took over and she fell to her knees straddling his stomach as both hands threw as many punches as hard and as fast as she could, an angry scream tearing from her throat.

His hands finally came loose and moved to try and catch her flurry of surprisingly strong punches as his brain slowly caught on to the fact that she was going to keep hitting him if he didn't do something.

As predicted, the door to the room flew open and the two assistants ran forward to pull her off of Flynn and allow him to roll on his side away from the agent that had just pummeled him into the ground.

The adrenaline began to wane after the short stint in her bloodstream. One assistant moved to the boss's side as he lay curled in a bleeding ball with one hand holding the right side of his face and the other wedged between his legs cupping his kneed manhood. The second assistant pushed her back, Sydney hitting the far wall and sliding down as her legs gave out forcing her to sit on the cold cement floor.

"I hope," gasp, "it was as...good for you as...it was for me," she growled, feeling a biting sting in both arms. Looking down she saw that three of the staples had come loose and were somewhere on the floor of the room, the wounds bleeding openly down her trembling and taut muscles as one in her left forearm hung half out. Reaching up with a fatigued shaking hand she pulled it loose and tossed it at the torturer who was rolling onto his back with a groan.

"Get out!" he bellowed, the two assistants scrambling toward the door but not exiting as they watched him with wide eyes.

Blood leaked from the open wounds she'd punched into both of his cheekbones, his left eyebrow, and the right side top and bottom lip. He felt a tightness in his jaw as he opened and closed it, and a growl rose up from his chest when turning his head to look over at her, blood pulsing from the reopened wound at the bridge of his nose and landing on the floor under his cheek.

The icy malice in his eyes as he turned them on her made her stomach tense, and she asked herself if she regretted using nearly the last drop of energy she had inflicting those wounds and poking the bear that would undoubtedly make the next couple of days even more brutal, if she survived that long. Was it worth it?

'Abso-fucking-lutely.'

"Well done, Bristow." He snarled and gagged a bit, spitting blood to the cement before rolling onto his back.

"Ooh, so formal," she grumbled, the two of them on the floor bleeding and breathing as if they'd just gone ten rounds. "What happened to 'love', and...and 'darling'? I...I thought we were closer than that."

He grunted and sat up, his angry glare turning on the staff lingering by the door. "I said get out," he ordered.

"Flynn...we can't kill her. Not yet."

"Are you speaking to me as if you're in charge?"

Sydney chuckled, "I love being...the most valuable commodity...in the room." The left arm was least sore, so she was pressing it against the right side of her ribs applying as much pressure she could to alleviate the ache, though it wasn't really working.

Flynn pushed until he stood, his palms to his knees as he sucked a few breaths through clenched teeth. Blood dripped and splattered to the cement between his feet and onto his fancy shoes, and he dragged his left hand up his thigh to cup his groin with a wince. Pushing the pain down he stood tall, the blood redirecting to stain the silk vest. His eyes followed the drops putting an annoyed glare on his face.

"I just got this, Sydney, you've ruined it."

"Aww," she said, though she showed no actual remorse. She tipped to her left side and pushed herself to stand up, the wall holding most of her weight. "We...we still doing this?"

Flynn balked at the audacity of the woman. He wanted to respect her, but he was just too angry at the moment. Deciding he'd respect her tomorrow, he undid the buttons of the vest and pulled it off, tossing it across the room. His rigid and forceful actions belied his anger, Sydney knowing that the next few minutes would probably not be enjoyable if he played his cards right. But, if she could push him a bit more, she knew he was teetering on the brink of breaking and giving in to uncontrollable rage. That's when he would make another mistake that she could capitalize on, at least that's the way she hoped it would work. Because if that wasn't the case, she may not wake up the next day.

He took slow, menacing steps toward her, his fists balled up and ready to strike, Sydney getting mostly stable on her feet trying to prepare for his attack. She kept one hand palm flat against the cool stone wall at her back.

"Do...do you want me to...give you a free shot?" Her grin was the last straw, and he snapped, swinging his right fist in a wild arc. It was just the mistake she'd been waiting for.

Dropping down a bit, her side and thighs tightening with a stabbing ache, the satisfying crunch of his hand shattering on contact with the cement wall gave her a confidence boost as she put all she had left into her own fist, slamming upward into his jaw. She watched his eyes roll back before he hit the ground: unconscious. Her momentum sent her down as her legs gave out, a groan squeezing from her throat as she landed hard gasping for breath. She dimly felt a twinge in her left knee, but it was hard to discern from every other aching scream in her body.

Other than her harsh gasps, the room was silent. She stayed quiet while looking over at the assistants as they scampered forward and dragged Flynn across the room toward the door.

"We'll be back, Bristow," one hollered trying to sound tough.

She used the last of her energy to laugh harshly from the floor as they slammed the door behind them during their retreat.