4:40 AM. Bagram US Air Force Base

In less than a week she was supposed to have been flying home. She would have been landing in San Antonio International, her daughter waiting for her at the gate. She would have dropped her baggage to catch the child flying into her arms and wrapped her in an almost suffocating embrace. She would have gone out to dinner with her mother and daughter and they would have been laughing and smiling and everything would have been perfect…

Then today happened.

Today derailed all of that. There would be no leaving next week. There would be no happy reunion, no laughter and smiles. She wouldn't be able to see her daughter turn thirteen. Her tour had been extended for up to another three months to cover Drew's absence. The General was trying to get someone called up for active duty, but she wasn't going to hold her breath. And she couldn't even be mad about it. She would gladly stay another year if that meant Drew would make it back.

She was sitting in the officer's lounge, the lights out and room empty. An untouched mug of coffee in front of her holding her attention as she purposely forced her mind not to think. This had been her state since calling Rick, Drew's boyfriend. It wasn't technically protocol since he wasn't next of kin, but she didn't really care. He deserved to know and from the little Drew spoke of his family she doubted they would tell him. She got the sense his family wasn't supportive, and that just made this all so much worse in her mind.

Drew Alister was one of the finest officers she had ever served with and he was becoming one hell of a doctor. In a few years she had no doubt that he'd be the best damn trauma surgeon the Army could produce. He was loyal, a little hot headed but had a heart of gold, brave to a fault… how any parent couldn't be proud of that, how any parent could reject their child for something as petty as being gay…

She remembered the night she and Drew had had that conversation. How he had let it slip about his father's rejection and his mother's silence. It had been an accidental admission, brought on by sleep deprivation and those after midnight heart to heart moments. She had been looking for advice about Riley, because her daughter thought she might have a crush on another girl. She wanted to know how to tell her it was fine, and all Drew had said was, "just don't change how you interact with her. Don't reject her or disown her for something they can't change." It had taken those words to bring out her mama bear. From that moment on, he was one of her kids and not just her second.

It wasn't just her though, he was well respected by his unit and fellow soldiers on base, he was family to them all. This was a hard blow for everyone and no one was sleeping well tonight. But not everyone had, had to hear the raw grief and fear in Rick's voice, even as he fought to keep it in check.

"Major?" Ugh called, his voice soft, as if he were afraid to disturb the isolation she was seeking.

"Lieutenant," she replied tonelessly. "How's Jim-Jo doing?" She asked, knowing that was where he had been coming from.

"He's stable. Got a ticket home with a layover in Germany, but he's gonna be up an moving soon. Hates himself, though, thinks it's his fault, like getting shot was his idea," Ugh sighed, sinking down into a chair, "funny thing is, Marsh and I feel the same way… if we had been moving faster or hadn't left them… Garry just cusses when anybody comes near him."

"You too, huh?" She said with a bitter smile.

"Aren't we all just rays of fucking sunshine, huh Ma'am?" He sighed. "Have you heard any updates?"

"Nothing but what we already know. The insurgents are dug in on the east side of the village center. Unknown how many blocks they're holding. Right now there's no movement or advancement due to safety concerns but our side is also dug in. The village is important to hold because of its proximity to the base; so we're not gonna pull out. No sign of Drew," She sighed and, frustrated, ran a hand through her hair.

"Major… what," Ugh took a moment to center himself, "what are the chances of getting him home? And I don't mean his body, I mean him."

Syd took a long moment to consider the question and the man asking it. He, like she and Drew, were career Army. Multiple tours under his belt, he'd seen a lot of things better left forgotten, gone to a lot of funerals for good people… and he was asking her for hope despite knowing better.

"Until they confirm anything, don't give up on him. Okay?" She said, and while it wasn't a good answer, it was the best she could offer.

-line-

7:40 AM. Afghanistan.

He remembered telling Jim-Jo to play dead. He remembered telling him it was going to be all right. Then he remembered waking up, stripped of his gear and only in boots, pants, and his undershirt. His wrist were bound behind his back, hands numb from lack of blood flow. He was lying face down in the dirt of some kind of closet. His head was pounding, and he felt sick. The right side of his face felt funny too, like it was coated in something. Around him, he could hear men talking in Arabic. They sounded tense and hurried. In the distance he could hear weapons fire, faint but distinct. The fact that he wasn't gagged however told him that he was too far from the fighting to be heard by anyone other than the enemy. So he had stayed quiet and simply waited.

By the time they had come in for him, he had managed to get himself into a seated position and against the far wall of the room. It had been three men who came in, two with guns and one with a gloating smirk. One of the men with guns, Drew had recognized as a villager he'd treated and it was odd the sense of betrayal he felt at that. The two with guns came and roughly pulled him to his knees, standing on either side of him. The gloating man stood in front of him, studying him a moment. "They tell me you're a doctor," he said in accented English.

Drew squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He remained silent, eyes front, unwilling to answer. One of the men next to him smashed their rifle butt between his shoulder blades for his insolence. He grunted and fell forward, only his MMA training keeping him from face planting. He landed to his side and instantly curled up to protect his midsection, as they kicked his back and stomped his side before hauling him gasping back up.

"It would do well to answer, American. I am not a patient man." The gloating man said. "Are you a doctor?"

Catching his breath, Drew straightened again and stared forward. He remained silent. This time, it was a boot to his back and he was forced down into the dirt. Another two stomps to his kidneys, and he was yanked up by his shirt collar. His head was pushed back, so that his neck was hyper-extended and a knife was pressed to the carotid artery.

"Are you a doctor?" came the question again. He knew, with out being told, this was his last chance to answer.

"Yes," he said, hating himself for giving in. However, surviving was more important than pride. His head was released and the knife was removed. He was allowed to square his shoulders again as the two gunman stepped back a little.

"So, a doctor who kills men, huh?" The man said, and Drew could feel his anger. "A doctor who shoots boys. Kills two of my men… Doctors are supposed to save lives, are they not? But you took lives today."

Drew hid the flinch of guilt. He knew this was a mind game; any action he had taken today had been to protect Jim-Jo and himself. He could not recall being taken, but he knew it would not have been quietly. Whatever had happened, it had been necessary, but taking life violated the oath he'd made as doctor. That was something he'd have to live with, but for now he shoved it away. "I'm a soldier before I'm a doctor," Drew replied, voice steady.

The man backhanded him, hard enough that his teeth rattled and for a moment his vision blurred. He felt something warm on his lip and when he ran his tongue over the spot, he tasted blood. Drew felt the anger bubble inside him, but he forced it down and squared his shoulders again, eyes staring forward. Surviving over pride was quickly becoming his mantra.

"You should die for their deaths! They were better men than you could ever hope to be!" The man spat at him. Drew did not let himself react, holding to survival over pride. "You will pay for the boys you murdered. But, right now you will be a doctor. I have wounded men, and you will treat them or you will die. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Drew replied, and he did. So long as he was useful, he would stay alive.

"If any more of my men die at your hands, you will pay for that too," he hissed at Drew, and so had begun his slave labor.

Over the next ten hours, he had been forced to aid the enemy. At gunpoint, he performed over a dozen minor procedures. Things like setting bones, stitching wounds, and bandaging wounds. Before all that, however, he had done half a dozen surgeries, mostly non critical, but all still exhausting. There was one patient, however, who was critical and Drew didn't think was going to make it.

The man, roughly twenty years old, had been shot multiple times. While two of the wounds had been relatively neat through-and-throughs, the third had hit the spleen. The bleeding had been severe and by the time Drew was able to locate it and stop it, he had already lost a significant amount of blood. Everything was worse by the poor quality of the clinic the insurgents had taken over. He had minimal supplies, almost no drugs, and no blood bank. He had managed to keep the man alive with fluids and recycling his own blood with the trick T.C. had once taught him, but it was only buying time. Already his pressure was slipping. Drew had warned the gloating man, almost begged him to have someone take the kid to the local hospital. He had been backhanded and dragged back into his makeshift holding cell.

Now, Drew sat on the ground of the closet, his back was against the wall, knees up to his chest and arms resting on top with his head resting on them. He was exhausted, but he was too miserable to try and sleep. He was sore, his chest and back aching. His head still throbbed and stomach still churned and he was constantly fighting the dizziness he felt. He was hungry and thirsty, but his captors didn't seem to plan on giving him anything. He was also cold, and it bothered him that the shivering had stopped about a half hour ago. To make it worse, in the quiet and isolation of this cell, his mind had started running through what if's and lonely thoughts.

He was trying hard not to feel sorry for himself but with nothing to do except think, that was impossible. He knew by now that the Army would have informed his parents and he wondered if they even cared. Did his father feel any sense of fear or loss when the soldiers came to tell them or did he just say good riddance? What was his mother thinking? Was she worrying herself sick? What would his sister tell her daughters? Would the girls even understand what had happened to their uncle? Would anybody tell Rick?

Rick….

The thought of him was both a comfort and heartbreak. On the one hand, he felt strength knowing the other was waiting for him, that he had come back and still loved him. It fueled his need to survive, the life he wanted with Rick. But on the other hand, he felt miserable thinking about the future he could very well lose. It was also hard to think about what Rick would do to himself if Drew didn't make it back. The other what ifs playing in his head were also centered on Rick. What if no one told him? What if he tried to contact Drew and got no replies? What if Rick thought Drew was mad at him or had stopped caring? What if he thought Drew hated him?

The rational part of his brain knew this wasn't likely to happen. It tried to sooth the gnawing panic his thoughts were making, but he was scared and alone. He was trying so hard to be strong and composed. He was trying to be brave, but he had never been this terrified in his life. He would give anything to be in Rick's arms right now, the only place he ever truly felt safe.

Forcing out a sigh to keep from sobbing, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly to stop the tears. Crying wasn't going to help and would just make it worse. He couldn't force himself not to think, but he could change what he thought about. He focused on trying not to dwell and narrowed in on happy memories. Trying to hold onto the faces and emotions that came from his friends and family back home.

Like the love he felt when he had dinner with Topher and his family. The joy of hearing Lynn laugh and watching the twins play. Or the way that T.C., someone he never wanted to disappoint, just always seemed to accept him as he was. How T.C. always turned the mistakes he made into learning points instead of catastrophes. Or Jordan and her mothering. The way she was always looking out for him and how protected that made him feel. Kenny and his pranks that always made him laugh, but also his encouragement. He may not always like what Kenny said, but it was always what he needed to hear. Krista with her infectious energy and willingness to drop everything to hang out or help him; how she was always pushing him to be a better person. Paul with his honest curiosity and his ability to see good in others, the exact kind of person Drew wanted to protect. There were of course all the others at SAM who had taken the place of his family as well.

The trainings with his unit in the reserves and the bond it installed in them, the sense of belonging. The cookouts, and outings they had, all the things they did to share their lives and support each other. The brotherhood they shared. The inside jokes, the laughter, the tears, all of the things they had come to appreciate. How each one of them had accepted him when he came out, accepted Rick. How they had come together to help his boyfriend move into his apartment, helped take care of him so he could focus on Rick. He fondly remember when they found out he was getting deployed without them, they took him out for one hell of a send off.

Hell, he even thought about his father and all the times they spent together when he was a kid. He thought about his mother, his sister, and his nieces and how he missed them. How he regretted being cut off from them. And of course, he thought about Rick. He thought about him the most. It was in this quiet and dark hell that he made himself and the universe a promise. If he made it home, he was going to ask Rick to marry him.

That thought kept him calm as he sat there. It even allowed him to let his mind wander towards sleep. But he didn't get much of a chance to rest before the door was pulled open and angry voices were shouting. Light filled his prison, blinding him. He managed to scramble to his knees while trying to shield himself from the two men who had come for him. Drew didn't have a chance to prepare for anything, though, before a rifle butt smashed into his side knocking him over and two pairs of hands grabbed hold of him. They dragged him from the room. He couldn't stifle a groan as the rough treatment mixed with the sudden light aggravated his injuries. He did manage to keep himself from vomiting. He was hauled to a back room of the clinic and shoved to his knees on the floor in front of a bed, gun barrel pressed to his skull. Weakly he held his hands up, indicating he wasn't going to resist and tried to catch his breath. He didn't have to look up to know where he was or what was happening.

"I thought you were a doctor," the gloating man said, although he sounded more enraged than smug right now. "But yet you have killed a third of my men. Another boy!"

Drew swallowed; he had a feeling this was going to happen. He looked up, straightening enough to see that he was at the bedside of the boy with the spleen bled. It was clear that he had died by the pallor of his skin and the complete stillness of his body. He'd seen enough death to know.

"I told you he needed a transfusion and there wasn't any blood," Drew said, trying not to be angry. But not quit able too. It didn't matter that the kid was technically his enemy, as soon as he became his patient Drew would fight for him. He took the man's death personally, especially knowing if he had had a proper facility than he would've lived.

The kick to his abdomen was quick; he had no time to brace. The wind was knocked from him and he made a gasping sound and he crumpled forward. He wrapped one arm around his stomach and used the other catch himself from hitting the floor. There was nothing he could do to keep from vomiting now. He retched, a violent series of shudders that produced nothing but mucus and bile. The gloating man was unimpressed.

"I told you, if any more of my men died you would be punished, didn't I?!" The man yelled.

"I'm sorry he's dead. I really am, but he had lost too much blood. I can't fix that," Drew tried to reason, even as he fought to regain his breath. He knew, however, it was useless.

"You are a killer and not a doctor," the man said, spitting on Drew, and then spoke in Arabic.

Immediately following, Drew felt the same two pairs of hands grab him and haul him to his feet. The sudden jostling and the vomiting fit left him in too much of a disarray to struggle. He was dragged to a post in the center of the main room. There were other men gathered around, forming a sort of ring, and that didn't bode well. He was shoved face first against the pole and his arms pushed up over his head. One of the men leaned against him, holding him in that position while the other tied his arms in place. By now Drew had regained enough sense to know whatever was going to happen was going to be bad. He tried to shake the man off his back and pull his hands free of the other but all he earned himself was his face bashed into the pole.

He felt his nose break the same time he heard it and the blood started flowing. The new pain mixed with the old pain making him retch again. It was a dry heave this time, as he had nothing left in him and he started to go limp. His vision darkened and he didn't think he was going to hang on until the ice water hit him. It was poured over his head and brought him back to alertness. He heard laughter and the men surrounding him started calling out, what he assumed were, taunts. He didn't really care, couldn't understand them anyway. What he did care about was his shirt being cut off. He tensed, heart racing, the possibilities running through his mind of what was about to happen.

"Stop…" Drew coughed, spitting out blood that was crawling down his throat. They only laughed harder.

The gloating man came and stood in front of him, using a finger to tilt his head up. Drew was forced to look into cold and hostile black eyes and he knew there was no way he could keep the fear from his own. "He was twenty one. That is one blow for each year to start. Fair?"

Drew swallowed, trying not to choke on his fear. "What are -" he started to say but the rest of the words were lost in a cry of pain as the whip came down across his back.