5:10 AM. Afghanistan.

They had whipped him until he blacked out. He hadn't been able to keep a count of the lashes, but it had been more than twenty-one. He had been 'revived' when his captors submerged his head into a bucket of dirty and cold water. He had come to in a complete panic, flailing and struggling, despite the fiery agony radiating from his back that any movement caused. He felt himself inhale the water, felt the gritty and foul tasting liquid choking him and settling in his lungs.

They had held him in the water for an eternity; his vision had been tunneling when they pulled him out. He had come up coughing and gagging, head throbbing horribly and the room spinning. He could hear several men laughing as he struggled to breathe. He could tell that there were two men holding him on his knees but he couldn't see anything. He had gotten three blessed seconds of air before they shoved his face back down into the bucket. The cycle was repeated two more times, and by the end of it he was limp and barely conscious. He really thought that this was how he was going to die. But someone had come in shouting excitedly and suddenly there had been a flurry of movement.

He had been unceremoniously dragged back to his closet and locked in. For a few minutes, he could hear a commotion outside, men shouting and moving in a frantic pace. Then there was weapons fire, closer than before but not close enough. His frazzled mind registered all this but it didn't comprehend. He lay in a heap, coughing and whimpering, body too broken to even make an attempt to move. He was laying in the dirt, exhausted, pain consuming him, and fading in and out of conscious. His wrists were still bound in front of him, and at some point his hands had gone numb. The swelling in face had distorted his vision, tunneling it. He could feel the water in his lungs, and his body would cough violently to try and eject the foul liquid. That only resulted in a roller coaster of agony as his back and his head fought for the top spot. His chest was coming in as a close second. Any movement, a cough or a shift in position or even breathing, was very near unbearable.

He had no sense of time anymore. It could have been minutes or hours he lay there, and that was hell. They had told him in basic, the most important thing if he ever got captured was to keep his sense of time. One of his instructors had even gone as far as said "shove your watch up your ass if you have to, but don't lose your watch." Well, he had never gotten the chance to hide his watch and it had been taken from him. With out it, locked in the closet with no window and his only source of light, a crack in the door, he had no idea when he was. They way his body hurt, the way his head drifted, it could have been hours or days. Either way, it was starting to get to him; starting to drive him crazy.

Occasionally he became aware of weapons fire or hushed voices outside the door, but for the most part his mind just drifted. He couldn't hold onto a thought, so he couldn't even distract himself from his miserable state. There had been one solid moment of clarity, however. One brief time when he had come to full awareness. He had been startled awake by some kind of explosion, nothing too loud or grand. More of a low rumble in the distance like thunder. It had made him jerk; reigniting the fiery pain of his back and causing the torn flesh to start bleeding again. It had also started a coughing fit that had been so violent he vomited. That had only made his head and face began throbbing even more, mixing with the awful ach of his chest. In that moment, where he was so consumed by pain, he had wanted to die. He truly wanted to die.

The realization drew from him several choked sobs and a pathetic series of whimpers. If he had had the ability to cry, he would have but he was too dehydrated. The moment of weakness shamed him, and he was angry with himself for a moment. But he didn't have the energy to stay focused on that. As soon as the pain faded back into manageable levels, his mind was spacing again.

Currently, he was laying on his side in relative alertness. His breathing had begun to become labored and he could hear the wheezing which had woken him from his stupor. His head felt funny, the struggle to breathe making everything feel foggy. Weakly, he tried to sit up. He paid for the movement, the pain in his body making it impossible to move more than an inch. Groaning, he positioned his head in an attempt to better open his airway but he doubted it would do any good. Forcing himself to attempt to take slow and full breaths did little good as well because it was too agonizing and exhausting. He also felt his body start to shiver and briefly realized he had a fever. He didn't have the energy to care about that and try and ease his breathing though.

There was a sudden burst of weapons fire, very loud and very close. It nearly made him jump out of his skin. Fighting through the resulting ache and his surprise, Drew tried to bring the world around him into focus so he could figure out what was going on. He could hear yelling and more shots, but couldn't make sense of what was happening. The men that had been left inside the clinic were moving frantically, at least that's what it sounded like. He could hear excited voices and a lot of foot stomping.

Then something beautiful happened…. There was a sound of weapons fire right outside the clinic walls. Frantic shouting from the men inside the building followed it, and then something exploded. Not like a bomb kind of explosion, but maybe a flash bang. A flash of white light under the crack of door fed that theory. Then the most wonderful thing he had ever heard reached his ears; "Get down! Get down on the ground!"

He had no idea who was shouting the order. He didn't really care either. What made it beautiful was that it was English and, even better, an American accent. He thought he could cry from relief. Finding a second wind, he focused his mind and listened intently, waiting for the chaos to die down. He listened for several long minutes as the soldiers searched the building calling out their head count and ensuring the location was locked down. While that happened, Drew used the meager energy that the adrenaline rush gave him to reposition himself so one of his legs could reach the door.

As soon as there was a break in the action, he kicked the door as hard as he could, calling out in a raspy and choked voice, "here!" When no immediate response was heard, he followed it up with another two kicks, hoping he'd get their attention. He paused, listening to see if there was any change outside his cell. When he still didn't hear a response, he felt a wave of panic and despair wash over him. He fought back a sob and used up almost the last of his energy to kick the door again. He even managed to call out, "in here," before dissolving into a coughing fit.

This time, it worked. He heard heavy footsteps coming his way. In a matter of seconds, the door to his prison was being kicked and before he knew it, it opened. He groaned and tried weakly to shield his eyes from the beam of light that suddenly flooded in. But he didn't care about the new pain, because he had recognized the uniform of the soldier who was standing over him now.

"Medic!" He heard him call and then Drew felt hands reaching for him. On instinct, he jerked away, paying for the sudden movement in both a fresh wave of pain and another coughing fit.

"Jesus Christ…" he heard the soldier hiss, and then he yelled, "Where's my medic? And somebody radio command!" In a kinder voice, a quieter one, he said, "Hey there soldier, I'm not gonna hurt you. Just wanna get a look at your hands, okay? Get them free… What's your name?"

By now, Drew had managed to adjust to the light, and though his eyes were still swollen, he was finally able to see who was by him. It was a Sergeant, the name on his uniform read Jones. "Drew," he coughed out, "name's… Drew Alistair…"

"As in Captain Alistair?" Jones asked smiling with relief that Drew seemed to be coherent. "Our missing Doc?"

"Yeah…" he said and he was finding it hard to focus. His back was on fire again, head pounding, and the adrenaline was leaving his body. His vision was tunneling and he knew he wasn't going to be with it much longer. "It's hard to breathe," Drew said, clearly struggling to speak now, "they tried to drown me." He was too weak to register the look on the Sergeant's face, the mixture of horror and rage.

"It's over now," Jones said, trying to reassure the other. Trying to help him the only way he could, but being kind.

"Wha… what day is it?" Drew coughed out, head spinning.

"April twentieth. You've been missing just under two days," Jones replied.

"Two days," Drew coughed out, "just two days?" It was such a shock to him, such a surprise. It had felt so much longer locked in here… how could it have only been two days?

"You remember being taken?" Jones asked, cutting into his thoughts.

"They shot Jim-Jo," Drew managed to say before his body was shaken by a series of coughs.

"Yeah, but we found your guy. He's all right. We got him to base and we're getting you home. You're safe now. We've got you. Understand?"

"They made me treat their wounded… They'd hurt me if I couldn't save them…." Drew continued, not knowing why it was so important to tell the other. Not understanding that his training was taking over so his fevered mind didn't have to think. His head was spinning, his vision tunneling, and his chest was constricting with each breath now. The world was going dark on him.

"Don't worry about that. It's over now," Jones said fighting back the sudden flood of rage in his system. It didn't matter that he didn't know Drew personally, this was his fellow soldier, he wanted these bastards to pay. "We're getting you to base," he promised and he frowned when he saw Drew start to drift towards unconsciousness. "Hey Cap, I need you to stay with me? 'Kay? Medic's coming. Let me cut your hands free."

Drew blinked, coming out of his stupor a little and tried to respond, but all he could do was cough. He felt Jones reach for him, and he didn't flinch this time. His hands were restrained gently and then a moment later, the ropes fell away but Jones didn't let go. In a second it was clear why; when the blood flow started returned to normal, the throbbing sharp pain started. Drew groaned from the new pain and tried to clench his fists but his hands were too swollen. Then the muscle spasms started.

"I know it sucks. Sorry Cap," Jones apologized, "but with the blood returning… your wrist looks bad, like it's broken. I don't want you to hurt it more, okay?"

Drew felt a whole new wave of emotion. He had no idea how long it had been sense anyone had shown him any kindness. It was surprising how he wasn't prepared for that. He could feel his eyes burning, like he was going to tear up, and he tried to hide it.

"Hey Cap, it's alright. You're safe now. We're gonna get you home," Jones said seeming to sense Drew's state-of-mind. "They can't hurt you anymore."

Drew risked a nod to show his understanding, because he didn't trust his voice. He let out a shuddering breath that once again became another coughing fit. This time though, he seemed to lose control of his breathing. His eyes shot open as wide as they could, as he tried sucking in air, fighting desperately to breathe.

"Shit…" Jones snapped, "Where is my fucking medic?" He snapped as he reached out to Drew. "Sorry Cap, don't mean to hurt you but I gotta sit you up," he said, giving Drew a warning just moments before he manhandled him into a seated position. But the sudden movement, the change in his position, the trouble breathing, and his injuries all combined at once, hitting Drew like a ton of bricks. His body had reached its limits and he slumped forward, unconscious.

-line-

1:30 AM. San Antonio.

Rick smiled as he stared at the picture on his phone. It was his favorite picture of his boyfriend. It was of a half awake and half naked Drew, but that wasn't why it was his favorite. It was the look of him completely relaxed, and unguarded. He was smiling adorably up at the camera; eyes barely open and his face didn't have that hard set to it. He didn't have the responsibility or the stress of life or the fear… he wasn't punishing himself for other people's thoughts. He was just Drew, happy and content, enjoying a lazy moment with his boyfriend on a beach in Hawaii.

Rick stared at it with a sad smile on his face. He felt a few tears escape his eyes and wiped them away. It had been thirty-one hours since the phone call from the Major. Drew had been taken around 1500 hours, in Afghanistan's time zone that was almost forty-eight hours. Drew had been officially missing for almost forty-eight hours. He had been assumed a prisoner for thirty-four. How many hours before he would be assumed dead?

Rick pushed that thought from his mind. He shut his eyes and tried to focus on something else. Unfortunately what he saw was Drew… The first time they met at boot camp. The awkwardness he had felt around him because there was no way that the hottest guy in the unit was single or anything but straight. Then the night they first kissed and the surprise on Drew's face because apparently he had thought the same thing about Rick. Their first time having sex, when they were both home from their first tours and all that pent up tension, all those emotions, the need to be more than friends… The juxtaposition of Drew's personality when having sex compared to him normally. Sex was always an adventure and spur of the moment, but his normal behavior was always much more reserved and planned out.

There were also the small moments, the everyday ones, and these were the best kind. The stupid texts back and forth about nothing... The mock fights over stealing each other's clothes. Drew giving him cooking lessons… Rick teaching him how to fish, because Drew had always been more of a hunter... Camping, traveling, small stupid adventures, and Hawaii... The on going joke of sending each other house listings from there since they always seem to end up in Hawaii anyways.

Drew's face when he broke up with him….

Rick took a shuddering breath and forced his eyes open. He rubbed his eyes, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He was in Topher's guest room. He had spent most of the day with the girls, playing with the twins and talking to Lynn. That had done some good for his head. So had spending time with Janet. She was able to help Rick make sense of what he was feeling because she had been there. He'd also called his parents, spoke to them both which helped. He'd even left a message for Drew's parents but didn't expect anything.

He was truly grateful for the compassion and understanding but it was now the quiet hours. He was just as alone as he had been before with nothing but his memories to comfort him. Little good they did now. Looking back at his phone, Rick swiped to another picture. This one was of him kissing Drew's check while he made a face. He stared at it, remembering that day and how happy they were… how happy he was.

"Damn it…" Rick hissed. Shoving the phone into the pocket of his sweatpants, he rolled himself out of bed. He couldn't lie in this room anymore; he needed fresh air. He grabbed his crutch so he wouldn't have to deal with the damn prosthetic leg and made his way downstairs. He headed for the back deck but stopped when he reached the den, seeing Topher.

"Hey," the doctor called softly when he saw Rick.

"Hey," Rick called feeling like he just got caught sneaking out. "I… uh… I needed air."

Topher shrugged and took a gulp of coffee, "I don't blame you. Want company?"

"Yeah, actually. That would be nice…" Rick said.

Topher offered a kind smile and lazily got to his feet. He lead the way through the kitchen taking a moment to refill his mug of coffee and pour Rick one. He got the door for them and they both breathed a sigh of relief stepping out. The air was cool for once and it was a welcome change to the stuffiness of the house. For a long moment they both stood, leaning against the deck railing looking out into Topher's backyard sipping coffee.

Then, Topher spoke in a hushed voice; "you know… you can't beat yourself for not being there, for not 'doing anything'. I mean that's just something the Army doesn't teach you. They give you everything you need, teach you everything they can to be able to do things, but they don't teach you that sometimes you can't do anything, and that it's okay. It's okay that you can't."

Rick shook his head, "I don't know if I can accept that. I don't think I can just wait."

"So what are you going to do? Hop a plane, fly to Afghanistan and look for him? I mean, it's a big country and there's a lot of people trying to kill each other over there," Topher said, and Rick bowed his head. "I know you feel like you fucked up and won't ever get a chance to make that right. I know it feels like you're stuck in place and are just holding your breath. I know what that feels like… when my dad died… there was a couple days we were in limbo. He was on a vent and the doctors were holding out hope… I was as helpless then as you are now. And I am telling you that, that is all right. You are not responsible for fixing this."

"So what do I do? What am I supposed to do? I was a soldier. I lead a unit into battles and right now I can't even face looking at a picture of my boyfriend. So what am I supposed to do?" Rick asked, voice shaking.

"Pray. Cry. Scream. Throw things, just not at people. Be angry. Be sad. But don't wallow. Don't surrender to it. Force yourself to look at those pictures and talk about those times you shared with him because you were happy. He was happy. And there is no better way to honor him than to remember him as happy. Of every one in his life, you got to see a whole side of him that was unique, special. Share that… just not the sex life. That's personal," Topher answered and it made Rick laugh.

"You sure? I mean there are some great stories…" Rick teased, despite himself.

Topher shock his hands, "yeah… no. He's like my brother and I do not want to think about him having sex."

Rick laughed softly then looked up at the sky. "I was going to ask him to marry me when he got back."

Topher smiled, "that's great… that's… after everything you both have gone through you deserve that happy ever after. And marriage life isn't bad, not at all…"

"But I don't know if he's coming back. I don't… I just want to know what's happening. I can't make a plan if I don't know what's going on."

"Yeah you can. You start with breakfast. Decide when you're going to wake up and what you're going to eat. The rest of the day can go from there. Right now it's okay to go moment to moment."

Rick nodded and was about to respond when his phone rang. He frowned and looked at Topher while fishing it from his pocket. "Who the hell is calling at two in the morning?" He mumbled and read the screen. His heart stopped beating when he saw the number on the screen. There was an instant where he didn't want to answer, where he was too afraid to know what news this would bring. But that passed with a blink of an eye and, heart in his throat, he answered.

"Rick, who is it?" Topher asked, seeing the other's face and growing concerned. Rick just looked at him wide eyed.

"Rick Lincoln," he said, shaking.

"Captain Lincoln, it's Major Jennings," came the quick answer. She sounded tired, but there was something in her voice… "I'm sorry to wake you."

"No… no, Ma'am, you didn't wake me. Major have you heard something?" He asked and he couldn't help but feel a flurry of hope. Topher also seemed to feel it; he had straightened and was watching Rick intensely.

"We found him. We have him. He's been through a lot and he's in rough shape but we've got him," she said and now Rick knew what he heard in her voice, relief.

There were tears in his eyes, but this time they were happy. He let out a happy sob-laugh, and took several shaky breaths in. The feeling of relief almost made him giddy. "He's back? You have him? Can… can I talk to him?" He asked. Topher let out his own choked laugh, his face breaking into a smile.

"Unfortunately no," and here was where the relief died. "Drew has been…" her voice hitched, "he was tortured… he's stable but he's critical. He's not in a condition to talk to anyone right now… I'm sorry. I have to go, but I wanted to make sure you knew. We have him back. He's alive and he's stable. I'll give you an update as soon as I can."

"Thank you Major," Rick said, though all the joy had been sucked out of him. He stared blankly at Topher for a moment after the call ended.

"Rick? What is it? What's happened? Do they have him?" the other asked, feeling anxious.

"Yeah… yeah they, um… he's back. But… uh… he was tortured Toph. They tortured him and the Major said he was critical but stable. That's all she would tell me…" Rick said and he felt his eyes burning.

Topher inhaled sharply, the news felt like a gut shot or some cruel small print that said 'You can have him back, but only after we broke him.' For a moment Topher had a flashback to a desperate man pleading to be saved and his own pathetic helpless plea to "tell them what you know." He quickly locked that memory away, however, because it did no good right now.

"Okay… so, the important thing to focus on is that he's stable and at Bagram. That's good. Focus on that, alright?" Topher said.

Rick swallowed and nodded, "but they tortured him… Toph he already has PTSD…"

Topher put his hand on Rick's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Hey, don't go worst case scenario yet. You don't have enough information to go worst case. Just breath. Right now Drew is safe and he's being taken care of. Doctors always use words like critical to describe people's condition. Makes us look better when they recover quickly. Drew's safe, and that's a hell of a lot more than we had thirty seconds ago. That was what we were hoping for. Everything else can be handled and dealt with as it comes. We have him back."

Rick nodded and he let out a choked laugh. The relief was washing over him again. But it was much more measured this time. He had his answer. His prayers had been heard. It wasn't the perfect resolution he wanted, but he'd take it. He made a promise to be there when Drew got home, he planned to keep now more than ever.