A/N: Can you hear me?

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"Retirement with full pension". "Permanent disability compensation". "Honorary post-mortem decoration" The words in front of Cap's eyes made no sense to him at all. He knew what they meant, but he couldn't bring himself to associate them with Flack and Angell. He rebelled at the idea of considering anything but having them walk through that door any minute, flirting and taunting each other, getting ready to tackle another interrogation, fleeing to a crime scene… Cap simply couldn't conciliate the fact that there'd be no more fleeing for either one of them. If Angell made it, she'd be confined to a wheel chair and Flack… although one-eyed cops were not unheard of, Cap had serious doubts his heart would still be in the game.

Flack had been put under once again; doctors considering his body needed more time to mend than his mind was allowing him to. The feeding line was back in place, the first one having been ripped out when he refused to stay in bed a moment longer. Hawkes stood at the feet of his bed, reading the medical charts and looking at the sleeping form before him. He had talked with Mac and had already done the necessary paperwork, and yet… he hated the idea of having to commit Flack to the psychiatric ward. It would be the only way to go if Flack insisted on taking the self-destruction road, and Hawkes prayed Don was stronger than that, although he knew he was praying for a miracle.

Stella sat in the room, holding Angell's limp hand in hers, gently stroking her arm, speaking in a soothing voice, hoping that she would hear her somehow. Inasmuch as she wanted to keep optimistic, the logical part of her agreed with what the doctors were saying… it'd be better for all if Jenn never woke up. Through the glass, she could see a slumbering Flack, finally worn down enough to agree to be sedated and put back in a bed, Hawkes persuasiveness playing a huge part in it. Perhaps it would be better for some of them, the department specifically, but it certainly wouldn't be better for Flack. Quite the opposite, in fact. Stella feared, just as Hawkes and Mac and Danny feared, that the only thing keeping Don sane was the fact that he could cling to the hope of her coming back. Loosing Angell would mean losing Flack, and Stella was sure not one of them was ready to face that possibility yet, maybe not ever.

Angell could sense Stella sitting next to her, and she could hear her words, but she could not feel her touch. Angell couldn't feel anything physical, for that matter, but she refused to wonder why. She wasn't ready to face reality yet, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever be, and it was so good just to slip beneath the surface, listening but not participating, she aware of them, and them not knowing she was aware, it was so cozy to be hiding away! She'd thought she'd remain happily in hiding forever, save for two things: she hadn't heard Flack's voice in a long time, and it worried her not to hear him demanding her to wake up, cause she had a helluva explaining to do. Plus, her memories were rebelling against her will to keep them far away, and she was slowly but surely starting to remember pieces and bits… and from the looks of it, she'd do much better if she was fully "awake" when the dam broke and the horror flooded her existence.

Soon, but not just yet.

Danny burst into Mac´s office, agitation written in his features, anger marking every move he made.

"Whatcha mean you're going to have him institutionalized?!"

"I'm not going to do anything Danny"

"But Hawkes filled the paperwork!"

"I know, Dan… I know…"

"How can you do this to him??"

"I'm not…"

"That's bullshit and you know it, Mac!"

Mac's patience, thin as it was, ran out. Standing up, smacking the desk as he did so, he became the imposing Marine of his youth.

"Dammit Danny! Will you shut up and listen? Sinclair wants every corner covered, and that includes Don's medical care if he has a break down!"

"Sonofabitch! He's covering his ass already!"

"Danny…"

"He is Mac! He doesn't give a shit about Flack or Angell…"

"Sinclair is trying to keep Don's options as open as possible. IF he needs the treatment, IF he chooses to come back to the force…"

"Come back? Of course he's coming back, Mac! It's Flack we're talking here… he's coming back. He has to…"

Mac knew the struggle inside the young man could not be cured with a single hand on the shoulder, but he tried anyway.

"Danny… I want him back too. But we can't force him to do something he doesn't want to, or force him to do it when he's not ready. I wish I could tell you he'll be the same in a few weeks time, but…"

"But I want him the same! He did it the first time around, why can't he bounce back again?"

"Danny… the damage… the damage is not the same…"

Mac understood that Danny's refusal was a coping mechanism, but he couldn't let his investigator hold unto dreams that had no chance to come true; no chance at all.

"You know how he is, Mac. Flack is a stubborn Irish sonofabitch, he's pulling through. You'll see. And once he's back on his feet he's gonna get on Angell's case and get her up and running… up and… and… "

Reality won in the end. Mac held the young man's trembling body as he cried, for the hundredth time that week; not for the last time that week.

"Why, Mac? Why them?"

Mac wished he could answer that question.

There was a place in the lab, almost hidden between the computers, which Adam had long ago claimed as his own hiding place. That's where Kendall found him, sitting on the floor, hugging his knees, head held down.

"Adam?" she asked softly, kneeling next to him, "are you okay?"

"They didn't stand a chance…" he muttered.

"Who, Adam? Who didn't stand a chance?"

"The… the people in those dungeons… he… he had a whole room filled with razors… it was like one of those fun houses at the amusement parks, you know? Where you can't see where you're going and you open a door and fall into a room full of sponges?" Kendall nodded her head, prompting him to go on. "Well, it was the same, except there were no sponges, but razors. And knifes and swords and all sort of cutting tools… Can you imagine, Ken? Running around, scared and disoriented, rushing to aid those you hear screaming in pain only to find yourself… to find yourself… What kind of crazy man does that?"

Kendall didn't answer. She just sat next to him, holding his hand, knowing what kind of horrors he was talking about. She had seen the crime scenes, both the ones that got released to the press and the ones that were sealed to never see the light of day again, and she had been sick to her stomach. It would be a long time before she could forget Agnetti's body, virtually nailed to a door, or one of the John Does, whose head had been cleanly cut off by a swinging blade. Nico Barbeito had been a sadist with the training of an engineer, and his meticulousness had built the ultimate house of horrors.

Angell had hated all of those rooms. Nico had shown them to her during her first visit, and it had taken all of her willpower not to shudder. She had no doubt that the Inquisition would have been envious of his chamber of torture; stuff S&M dreams were made of. Nico had mentioned that some of his pieces had been photographed for a collector's catalogue and she believed him. Some of the devices that hung on the walls, especially the castrating ones, had to be at least a century old. She had been very careful not to show much interest in anything, for Nico had offered an "up close and personal" demonstration of whatever struck her fancy. Not careful enough, it seemed, for he had taken notice of the horrible fascination the Iron Maiden had held for her. Nico was a man of his word, and he had given her a demonstration later on…

"Stop it!"

"I thought you said you liked this…"

"Stop it, I said!"

"He's just a slave; you'll train another one…"

Her whip, his face. Her fear, his anger.

"Stupid bitch! How dare you! I was going to be nice and give him a quick, merciful death, but now…"

Faceless men releasing the victim. A breath of relief and newfound determination. A pact with the devil in the working.

"If you want to kill someone, kill me…"

Weak blue eyes widening in horror, fighting restraints to stop her from doing the unthinkable.

"Are you telling me that if I gave you a choice you'd rather die in his place?"

"Yes"

"Why?"

Silence

"I asked why, I demand an answer"

Her refusal to answer was met with a blow that landed her on the floor; blood dripping from mouth and nose, her silence still the only answer he was getting.

"Jezebel dear... you disappoint me. I thought so highly of you… I regarded you almost as an equal… and you are in love with him. How can you love an object? A beautiful, magnificent object, but an object just the same?"

She had stood up, still silent, her eyes never leaving his.

"What makes you think I'll not kill him after I'm done with you?"

"You're a man of honor, Nico. Whatever you promise, you keep"

He studied her for a long time, inwardly amazed at the strength he saw behind her unwavering eyes.

"So be it. I promise you I won't kill him. But…" sadistic smile lighting up his entire face, "I also promise you you're going to wish you were dead a thousand times before I'm done with you…"

"Nooooo!!"

His scream, Don's scream, reverberated in her head as the memory faded away. In the real world, she began to seizure.

Night had fallen long ago, leaving his office in patterned darkness, light from the outside filtering in, tracing capricious shapes on the walls, on his desk, on his face. That's how Stella had found him when she returned from the hospital.

"Mac?"

"I'm okay, Stell…"

"Like hell you are, Mac"

"I said I was okay…"

Choosing not to hear the implicit "leave me alone" in his voice, she crossed the room until she was standing next to him.

"Mac…"

"No"

Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around him. She felt him stiffen at first, and then allowed himself to lean into her. It wasn't long before his arms found their way around her waist, and soon after that, the trembling began. Stella held on as Mac mourned. When it was over, she felt him stiffen again, subtly trying to get away.

"Come on. I'm taking you home tonight. I need you in my bed to chase the nightmares away…"

He woke up with a gasp and a struggle, terrified when he realized he couldn't see. When he tried to get up, things slowly began to come into focus. Calmer now, his rational mind concluded that he had been sleeping on his left side, which explained why he hadn't been able to see. He lay in bed, thinking about the adjustments he was going to have to make in his life and in his place. No more sleeping in his left side was one of the easier ones. He had already decided that when they got out of there, Jenn was moving in with him. His place had two bedrooms, an elevator and a doorman, things hers didn't have, plus it was closer to the hospital, which was a good thing for she was going to be doing loads and loads of rehab. In his mind, he was already thinking of all the things he'd have to install to help her move about as freely as possible. They'll have to get a new bed, a hospital bed to help her get in and get out of it… did they made those in king sizes? He wanted to sleep next to her, he was aware they'll never do anything except sleep in that bed, but that was okay by him, as long as he could feel her in his arms every night. He wasn't worried about the money; his college fund had been nestling untouched for nearly 15 years now and he was sure the department was going to look out for them as well, and although they were both going to be confined to desk duty for a while he knew their paychecks would still be the same… he could kiss them sergeant stripes away, that was for sure, but their salaries were good enough as they were to make a decent pension check, so it wasn't that important, and there wasn't going to be a college fund for them to worry about, unless they decided to adopt and… and…

Flack couldn't lie still anymore. Careful not to rip out any lines or IV's, he got out of bed and padded slowly towards Jenn's room. It was time for her to wake up, for he had a bucket-load of things to say to her and they needed to start making plans, and he was dying for a slice of pizza and a beer and watching TV with her was so much fun when she started arguing with the character on the screen… Don stood at the door of her room and was frozen in place.

Her bed was empty.

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A/N: Thanks for your support for the new style. We're still jumping to and fro, tell me if it gets too confusing.