This chapter brought to you by The-Time-Traveling-Hippie, who sadly does not own any rights to TAT either. However, she is fabulous at angst and wrote this lovely chapter for me.
*Face's words from Children of Jamestown episode.
She thought she was going crazy. She *knew* she was going crazy, but she wasn't *that* crazy yet because she could still judge whether she was crazy or not.
Even Murdock, master of confusion, would be dumbfounded by that sentence.
And that's what loneliness, abuse, and fear does to a person.
Locked in a room, bound at the wrists, with nothing but your own mind taunting you. They aren't coming back. Why would they? You're just a reporter. You're going to die here. The silence becomes maddening after a while. You start to hear things that aren't even there. A bump, a creak, a scream.
Amy had tried to evade the comfort, the luxury, that once was sleep. If she was awake when Martinez or a goon of his entered, she couldn't be surprised and that would ultimately save what little sanity she had left. But darkness claimed her for a few restless minutes, before the devil himself backhanded her across the face. She awoke with a start, panting and wincing in pain, then silently kicking herself for her idiotic mistake.
"You will tell me the location of the A-Team." He hissed fiendishly, voice as cold and harsh as a frosty winters evening in December.
Her fierce, chocolate eyes narrowed. "Over my dead body."
"Be careful what you wish for, Miss Allen," smiled Martinez. His shark tooth-like grin shone in the near pitch blackness. "Now, where are they?"
"Do you really think I'm going to tell you, creep?"
His sickly sweet smile faltered. Smacking her forcefully once again across the cheek and grabbing a handful of her shirt, he hauled her up with it. They were face to face. Amy could see the burning hatred blazing in his eyes. She could sense his murderous intent, and she knew he could sense her fear.
"You're making me mad. I do not like hurting you, but you give me no choice. Tell me, or you will regret it."
She shook her head, knowing her voice would betray her.
He stared into her very soul for what seemed like hours with an unreadable expression, then loosened his hold on her shirt. "So be it," he said, and pushed her away. Murmuring something to the guards that flanked him, Martinez turned on his heels and started making his way out of the room. He stopped in the doorway with his back turned.
"You have made a big mistake in not giving me the information I require, Miss Allen. But just know that I have the power to make your life a living hell, and I will."
And he left, just like that, slamming the door and rendering Amy alone once again in that cold, dark, empty room, with only herself as company.
Since the ordeal with Martinez, Amy had been shaking in her boots. Literally. She had never been so scared in her life. The weight of the whole situation fell down on her like a ton of bricks. Some of his goons popped in and out every so often, asking the same question, and getting the same answer. Some of them hit her, some kicked, some spat, some even pulled hair. It was like finding them was a matter of life or death. They were desperate.
That made her think. Think of him.
She knew she'd never have him, because he was always with someone else. But she loved what they had, their little relationship. She, apart from the team of course, was the only one who got to see the real Templeton Peck. And she felt proud.
A bang from the other side of the door made her flinch out of her thoughts. Shouting followed. Then grunting, and something being thrown against a wall. That kept going on for hours and hours. She said she hated the quiet, but right now, she pleaded for it. This was really pushing her to her limit.
How did they endure this in Vietnam? In the POW camps? They were highly trained soldiers, the best of the best, that's how. Maybe Hannibal was right all those years ago, maybe I am just a princess in a world of dragons.
She wondered how long she had been in here.
A day? Maybe two? I don't know even know anymore.
She was starting to lose hope, as much as she hated it. They were quicker than this, usually. What if they never found her? What if they got themselves killed trying to find her?
What if they had given up?
She brought her bruised legs up to her chest and rested her head on her knees, anguished sobs wracked her small frame, and she spilled out all the sadness that plagued her heart.
Amy awoke with a start. The door blew open and in walked Martinez, his features twisted into an ugly scowl.
"We'll try this again, Miss Allen," he said, stopping in front of her. "Where is the A-Team?"
"I'm not going to tell you," she whispered hoarsely. Her voice hitched at the last word.
The man holding her captive bent down in front of her paling face, scrutinizing her in concentration. His black eyes swam with such anger that it chilled her to the core. He ran his hand down her bruised cheek.
"Such a pretty girl," he mumbled, almost like he was saying it to himself.
She gasped in fear and surprise when he grabbed her by the roots of her chocolate hair forcefully, then attached himself to her lips. It was a passionless, angry kiss that only made her want to throw up. When he pulled back, Amy could still taste the cigarettes and tequila that he had left on her tongue.
He grinned arrogantly at her breathlessness. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to do that."
The smile was wiped clean off his face when she choked out a sob. He got up silently and walked out of the room with haste.
And once again, just like that, she was alone. Left with nothing but the horrid taste of that monster in her mouth and the cold, bittersweet silence that was either a lullaby or a waking nightmare. She couldn't take this any longer, this constant fear, this loneliness.
And so she closed her weary brown eyes, trying to fall asleep, and hoping that her last breath would be a sigh of relief.
She had woken up mumbling his name, and that made her feel even worse. Groaning in a mixture of inner turmoil and physical pain, she tried to make herself as comfortable as she could in the corner of the room. Her wrists felt like they were on fire from the incredibly tight rope that bound them together. Rubbing her black eye wearily with a wrist, she stretched out her legs. They were littered with bruises and marks and blood. She could barely see them because of the lack of light, but she knew they were there.
Amy had never really been the most confident of women, but she wasn't ashamed of how she looked. Now, however, she felt completely horrible. How would Face (if they ever did hit it off) love her with all of these wounds covering every inch of her body. She also felt pathetic and so very alone.
Maybe it just time to stop hoping. There was a high chance of her never even seeing the light of day again, so why should she carry on believing in something that would never happen. The idea of rescue was so far fetched, almost like a fantasy. The only thing it would do her to think about it would be to make her feel even lower, and she didn't know how lower rock bottom could possibly get.
Try. You gotta try.
That was Face's voice. Yep, she'd finally gone crazy. Now she knew how Murdock felt.
We've been through some tough ones before, kid. We made our opportunities. We got loose.
Hearing his liquid gold voice... it made her feel more at ease.
Accept death. It calms you.
She wanted to cry again. She wanted to curl up into a ball and pour her heart out, to weep out the ocean. But Face's voice kept replaying itself over and over again in her mind like a broken record.
You gotta try.
And she knew she had to. So she screamed. Shrieked. Howled like a banshee until her throat felt like it was ready to start bleeding. Immediately, the goons flooded the room and stared at her. Then they started shouting at her to shut up, waving their guns in her face, but she persisted. Finally, Martinez entered. She stopped suddenly and was paralyzed with fear at his rabid expression. A quick, but powerful, whip around the face made her cry out. He was about to say something else, but Amy pounced and, like a dog, clamped her teeth on the bridge of his nose. This time, he was the one to scream, pushing her back against the wall. Hard.
She tumbled back, her head connecting with the wall and making a painful crack sound. She ceased all movement, save for her shallow breathing.