Disclaimer – If you recognize it, then I don't own it.

***Notes - I can't even begin to apologize for how late this chapter was. In my defence, I was really, really sick with H1N1, and that's why this newest chapter took so long to post. I'm healthy now though, so chapters should be posted more frequently. I hope you like it!

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Noah stood up stiffly, feeling the muscles in his legs shake in the effort. He was tired, he was sore, and he was scared out of his mind; the adrenaline rush that had pounded through his veins when he'd arrived at the house had faded, leaving him feeling as if he was made of jelly.

His eyes flickered about the room - his cell - for what seemed like the thousandth time. He had examined every inch of the room looking for a trap door, a secret passage, anything that would help him get out. All he had found was reinforced concrete, and a fading hope that he would be able to bust his way to freedom.

Leaning against the wall, Noah shook his head to clear it of his its thoughts, trying to think of an escape plan. Although he knewthat he was stuck and that there was no way for him to get out of this hellhole unless his father released him personally, he still plotted; more for something to focus on then in actual hopes that an escape plan would work.

Knowing that he was trapped like a caged animal caused fear to thrum through his veins yet again, and he cast a gaze at the door as if he expected someone to barge through it at that exact moment. The worst part was that he would've almost preferred to have someone, anyone, barge in, if only so he could see another human face.

Noah had no idea how long he'd been locked away for - his brain told him that it couldn't have been more than an hour, but it felt so much longer. The worst part, Noah had decided, was the silence. It was suffocating, overwhelming to the point that he just wanted to scream, to assure himself that he still had a voice, and that this silence wasn't permanent.

The same urge that beckoned him to scream also kept him silent; fear of what would happen if he uttered a noise shut down his vocal cords, much like a child afraid to talk in a library. Except this, Noah snorted, was no library. Yet again, he cursed his stupidity at rushing headfirst into the situation without thinking; something he'd chastised Luke on many times before. What did you think - the Colonel was going to ask you to tea? He'd reacted blindly, without thinking, and although a small part of him had known that he'd end up regretting his actions, he wouldn't take them back. This way, he knew Luke was safe.

Noah paced the room in an effort to calm down, walking close enough to the wall for his jacket to brush against the concrete, cold and firm. He'd measured how many paces the room was after his initial breakdown; four by six, a small area made larger by lack of furnishings. In fact, the room was bare with the exception of a long bar that ran parallel to the floor across one wall, at waist height, and a light bulb overhead. The light bulb swayed, as if caught in an invisible breeze, casting shadows upon the floor that moved as if they were alive.

After circling the room three times, Noah leaned back against the wall opposing the door, eyes trained where the door met the wall as if he could force someone to come down simply by staring hard enough. His desperation to see someone was frightening him, but he couldn't help it. If he could see someone, then maybe he could understand why he was being left alone, left in isolation, although part of him already knew the answer.

From the time that he was five until he moved to Oakdale, the Colonel had given Noah lessons. Not math, not science, not history, but tactical lessons. He'd spend hours explaining what to do on the battlefield, and how to kidnap 'the enemy', how to make them talk. He'd shown Noah ways guaranteed to bring about confessions, and had proved their effectiveness by demonstrating them on Noah himself. Shivering, Noah brushed his fingers absently against the elongated scar on the small of his back, a painful reminder of one of the many times when his lessons had gone too far.

The most effective method of breaking people, the Colonel had explained with a fanatical gleam in his eyes, was to leave them alone. Leave them without human contact, without any contact, and they'd break before the torture had even begun. "The anticipation of what's to come," Winston had raved, "will have them begging for mercy before the fun's even begun."

Allowing him to reminisce on days spent alone, stomach rumbling with hunger and only a glass of water to sustain him, Noah realized what the Colonel's plan was; bring back memories of being alone, being punished, being abandoned, and maybe he'd cling to the only human contact he'd have - Winston himself.

Noah chuckled low in his throat, sardonically, refusing to think about his father's plan had almost worked. Instead, he lowered himself back to the cold floor and shut his eyes, trying to focus on… well, anything besides this cold room, with its dark shadows.

He'd barely been sitting for a minute when he heard something thumping to his right, beyond the wall. Running across the short distance, Noah pressed his ear to the freezing wall as if it would help him to hear. The thumping sound was regular, and seemed to be moving upwards. Up the stairs, maybe?

Shutting his eyes, Noah focused hard, and realized that it sounded as if something heavy was being dragged. A dead weight. Noah's eyes flew open as he realized that someone was dragging the man that had been shot, Grey, up the stairs. Immediately, Noah began to think of other explanations, but he knew that his first conclusion was the truth. The Colonel was 'disposing the evidence.'

Trying to quell the horror rising within him at the thought of a human life being treated so casually, Noah settled against the floor, steadfastly ignoring the noises moving above him. His revulsion was mixed in with guilt. He wasn't upset over the treatment of the soldier's body as much as he was terrified. If his father could kill and bury a man without compunction, then what would he do to his helpless son, trapped in a basement?

Not helpless, Noah thought, once again resting a hand over the gun tucked into his waistband. Damian's gift had been resting their since he'd arrived. Every time he'd moved to take it out, he'd made an excuse; his father could be coming, he could be caught with it, the timing wasn't right.

The truth was that he was scared, scared that he'd pull out the gun, only to be unable to shoot it. He didn't know if he had it in him not only to kill, but to kill his own father. Even though he knew that Winston wasn't his family, not by a long shot, part of Noah wanted to believe that Winston could change and accept him. It was a fantasy, Noah knew, but the allure was so strong that he had trouble fighting it.

Sighing, Noah moved his hand off the gun and ran it through his hair. No matter what his excuses were, he had to decide whether or not to use the gun before Winston confronted him again. Noah had no idea how many people, if any, were in the house, or if Winston would send a hired hand to fetch him instead of retrieving him personally. Or, he could be leaving me down here to die.

Firmly pushing the last thought out of his mind, Noah rested his head in his hands, ears alert for any noise, and lost himself in his thoughts.

An undetermined amount of time passed, marked only by Noah's deep breaths, before a slam was heard throughout the house, loud enough for it to reverberate in the room. Noah shot to his feet out of reflex, the instinct not to be caught defenceless urging him on. He pressed his back against the wall, wincing as the rough surface rubbed against his back, before realizing how weak the position made him look. Slowly, he took a step away from the wall, eyes trained on the door with an intensity that he didn't know he possessed.

He heard footsteps hit the last stair before he abruptly remembered the gun, still hidden beneath his clothes. He shot a hand to it before pausing, knowing that once he pulled it out, he'd have to use it - there would be no going back.

His indecision cost him precious moments, and his choice was made for him as the front door swung open silently, the shadow of a man behind it. Noah's hand dropped down to his side, and he hastily tugged his t-shirt forward, hoping to conceal the gun's bump.

Colonel Winston stepped out of the darkness and into the room, although the shadow's still clung to him, caressing his legs and twining across his body. The door behind him was wide open, and Noah could faintly make out the arrogant smirk on his face, mixed with some other unidentifiable emotion. For some reason, it reminded Noah of a when a child finds a toy they thought they'd lost, only to discover an irreparable scratch down the side, tainting what had been.

As hard as Noah tried to resist, his eyes kept drifting to the open space behind the Colonel. Freedom, a voice whispered in Noah's mind, nearly overpowering rational thought, it's yours for the taking.

Noah shook his head slightly, knowing he had to stay calm, stay smart, if he wanted to get out of this alive. He saw an eyebrow rise, a lip twist, amusement glint in his father's gaze over his inexplicable head shake, but Noah chose not to say anything - standing still instead.

The silence ranged on, and it was infinitely worse then when Noah had been alone. The urge to speak, to question, to scream, was nearly overpowering him, but Noah restrained himself with control that he didn't know he had. Part of him recognized that this was a challenge, to see if isolation had affected him, and Noah was determined not to rise to the bait.

The silence was broken when a low chuckle emerged from Winston's throat, filled with sadistic amusement. It sent chills up Noah's spine, and he tilted his chin upwards in defiance, refusing to let something has trivial as Winston's laugh unsettle him - ignoring the fact that it already had.

"Not even a hello for your old man?" Winston asked in a voice that would've been casual, if not for the undertone of steel. Noah chose not to answer, resisting the urge to cross his arms, to block himself away from the man standing in front of him.

"I suggest you answer me, son," Winston demanded, the steel in his voice mixing with something darker, something relentless.

"Hello," Noah spat from unused vocal cords, twisting the word into a curse, eyes blazing. Winston laughed again, the sound like nails grating down a chalkboard. In the dark, Noah thought he saw something akin to surprise flash in those cold grey eyes, but it was gone before he could blink, lost in the shadows surrounding them.

"Why, Noah," the Colonel continued, "that's no way to greet your father. Aren't you going to ask how I've been? I'm beginning to think that you didn't miss me at all." Winston stepped the slightest hint forwards, and Noah stood up straighter as a result, fighting every instinct that begged him to back up and to get away.

"I didn't miss you," Noah responded, voice cool. "I thought you were dead - too damned bad you couldn't have stayed that way."

An inhuman growl tore out of Winston's throat, and Noah almost swayed as pure, raw fear swept through him. Winston took a step forward, then another, and Noah felt his mouth dry even as he stayed completely still.

A silver gleam caught his eye, and Noah realized that his father had a gun. It was resting in his hand, the casual grip an illusion. Noah knew that if he tried to wrestle the gun away or make a sudden move, he'd be worse then dead. As long as he stayed still, he'd be safe. I hope.

Finally, the Colonel stopped moving, less then a scant foot away. His breath ghosted across Noah's face, cool and smelling of peppermint. The familiar smell brought back childhood memories, both good and bad; Winston's elation the first time Noah hit the bulls eye and target practice. his fury when Noah accidentally a plate at a formal dinner; fishing trips, beatings, love, hate… it all blended together until Noah was blinking moisture out of his eyes, teeth clamped firmly on his inner cheek to keep all sounds inside of him.

Winston seemed oblivious to Noah's inner turmoil as he leaned closer, filling Noah's vision with lined skin and steely grey. "You're going to regret that," he whispered, barely controlled menace dripping from his words. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you are NOT the son that I raised. My son would never…" Winston's voice faded into a feral growl, whatever he was thinking too repulsive to say out loud.

"But that's fine." Menace gone, Winston leaned back slightly and let his eyes travel appraisingly over his son's body, cataloguing weaknesses and strengths. "I'm going to fix you, turn you into the kind of man you're supposed to be!"

"I already am who I'm supposed to be," Noah shot out impulsively. He could feel his heart pounding, sending blood rushing through his veins. The taste of fear was strong on his tongue, coppery and bitter. Noah swallowed once, right before a punch smashed his head against the concrete wall.

His feet slipped out from under him, but Noah pressed his back into the wall, forcing himself to stay upright. His vision blurred and faded, and his head ached, pounding as if something was trapped inside.

"Watch it, son," Winston whispered, finally using that hated nickname. "Next time, I won't be so kind." the butt of a gun pressed against Noah's chest briefly in warning before Winston turned and walked out of the room - his back to Noah.

If Noah hadn't been in such pain, he would've been shocked at the complete arrogance of his father. He'd turned his back to his prisoner, whom he hadn't even bothered to search for weapons. Does he really believe I'm that helpless?

Noah had no answer to his internal question, choosing to sink to the floor as soon as he determined that his father was gone. He gingerly touched a hand to the back of his head, wincing as it came away wet. Blood shone scarlet against the tan of his skin.

After determining that the injury wasn't fatal - just painful - Noah focused on breathing, trying to still all movement. The back of his head throbbed in sync with where his father's punch had landed. The threat of a concussion loomed, but Noah firmly pushed it away. He didn't have the energy to worry about anything but the immediate situation at hand.

His stomach rumbled unexpectedly, reminding him that it had been hours since he'd last ate. Noah ignored that too, shutting his eyes against the pains, the pangs, the misery, hoping against hope that someone would come save him.

**
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"What's taking so long?" Luke nearly growled. "Can't you drive any faster?" He was too far gone to care about the desperation in his voice and the constant hitches in his breathing that sounded like a prelude to tears.

"I'm already driving thirty miles over the speed limit, Luke," Damian explained for the fifth time in the hour. "It's too dark out to go any faster, especially with the risk of wildlife running onto the road."

Luke sank back into his seat, resuming his previous actions of dragging his fingernails up and down his inner forearm. Angry red marks had welled up, but yet he continued; up, down, up, down. The pain was a distraction, and god knew that he needed a distraction. If he thought about what could be happening to Noah, right that second… Luke renewed the scratching with a vigil.

"Luciano, what are you doing?" Damian asked, flicking a button to turn on the interior lights and leaning over the seat. Luke quickly crossed his arms, but not quickly enough; the lines were glaringly obvious in the artificial light. "Lucia- Luke?"

"It's nothing," Luke snapped, cursing his own weakness, that Damian had caught on to something that no one else had. "Shouldn't you be focused on driving?" The light in the car flicked off, and Luke's bitch face was lost in the darkness.

"Luciano…" Damian began, the tone one that Luke had heard a thousand times; it was a prelude to a lecture. Rage filled him, and Luke opened himself up to it. It was hot, burning, and a welcomed change from his icy fears.

"Don't you dare lecture me, Damian," he spat out, unaware of his shaking voice. "You have no fucking idea of what I'm going through right now, and don't pretend like you do. What I do is my business, not yours. Got it?"

Damian spoke up, a tinge of hesitancy in his words that Luke rejoiced to hear. "Luke, I was going to ask you what you're planning on doing when we arrive." Luke's face flushed, and he turned to look out the window as if Damian could see his reddened face.

"What I'm going to do?" Luke repeated, sounding stunned. "Save Noah, of course. What else?" Luke kept his gaze out the window, not wanting to look at the Italian beside him.

"So you plan to just barge in there, without a plan, and hope that you and Noah will stumble your way to freedom?" Damian's tone was even, but the incredulity in his words was obvious, even to Luke. "You need a plan, Luciano."

"I'll improvise," Luke said, wincing at how weak the words sounded. "There's nothing I can do, anyways." Excuses.

"Let me call my contacts," Damian said softly, not unkindly. "They can meet us at the house, and we can scout around to find a way in - a safe way in," he added when Luke opened his mouth in protest.

"I can't sit around and wait for your cronies to show up!" Luke yelled, pounding a fist against the window in frustration. "Don't you understand that? Noah's alone, and he could be hurt, and I need to get to him!" Tears were rolling down Luke's face, borne of fear and frustration, and he swiped at them angrily. "I don't care what happens to me, as long as he's safe!"

If Damian was disturbed by Luke's tears, or his confession, he didn't show it; instead, he chose to reach across the seat and lay a hand on Luke's knee in comfort. Luke initially recoiled from the touch, but didn't fling the hand off. His need for contact, contact from anyone was stronger then his conflicted feelings over his biological father.

"Luke," Damian whispered, so softly that Luke had to strain to hear him. "If you rush in their, blindly and unprotected, you're just putting Noah at more risk. You have to think this through. You can't afford to go in there without thinking; Noah's life is at stake."

"So what do you think I should do?" Luke asked, sounding defeated. "I can't… can't wait around. When we get there, I have to go in. Please understand that." Luke couldn't even bring himself to care that he was begging.

"Let me go in first," Damian declared, shocking Luke. "I can be the decoy; I'll distract him, and you can get to Noah."

"I didn't know you and the Colonel are on speaking terms," Luke said suspiciously, eyeing Damian. "He's okay with you?"

"No," Damian chuckled lowly, "he's not." At Luke's confused expression, he elaborated. "When I found out the direction that he was taking this scheme… I was very displeased. We had a fight. It didn't end well." Damian's words were as clipped as his sentences, and his accent grew heavier.

"Will he try and hurt you?" Luke asked, equally shocked and worried. At Damian's slight nod, Luke continued. "Why would you risk yourself like that? You don't evenknow Noah."

"But you know him, and you love him," Damian replied simply, as if he didn't even have to think about it. "And it's my fault that he's in this situation. He's innocent of this mess, and he doesn't deserve this." For once, I'm going to do the right thing for you, Luciano."

Luke gaped like a fish on land, his mouth opening and shutting repeatedly. Once he got himself under control, he realized that he didn't know what to say. "Th- thank you," he choked out, finding that the words were untainted by cynicism.

Damian didn't reply, choosing to nod once in response before looking ahead as he continued to drive. "We should be there in half an hour," Damian said, not realizing how Luke's heart simultaneously dropped and hardened at the words.

Silently, Luke vowed that he would do anything to save Noah, to get him free - no matter what the cost.

**

Noah stared blankly ahead, his eyes fixed on his father's shining forehead. He'd come back down to his cell twenty minutes after originally leaving, and had immediately gone into lecture mode. At the moment, he was explaining in explicit detail how he was going to 'fix' Noah, turn him straight.

"Did you know, Noah, that they've found some very effective methods in treating perversities such as your own?" Winston rambled, eyes burning fanatically. "One of the most effective methods that they've found was electroshock therapy.

"So?" Noah asked, feigning boredom. Crack! Noah's head shot to the side as Winston backhanded him, an excruciating pain rocketing through him. His hands were tied to the bar on the wall behind him, something he'd been forced to do to himself at gunpoint. He hadn't expected his father to be returning so soon, and had been taken by surprise, left without a chance to use his own weapon. Next time, he vowed silently, knowing his words were true, next time, I'm going to use it.

"Don't talk back to me," Winston growled. "Electroshock will cure you of this lack of respect you've developed, too."

Finally clueing in, Noah felt the blood drain from his face. "You're planning on using it…on me?" He hated the waver in his voice, but he continued to look straight into Winston's eyes, refusing to be meek, or obedient.

"Among other things," Winston said, reaching out and patting Noah on the shoulder; he chose to ignore the way Noah clenched his jaw at the sudden touch. "I'm sorry that it has to be like this, son, but you need to understand. I love you, and I'm doing this for you. I want what's best for you, and this life of perversity, of sinning, is not it. When you're back to normal, you'll thank me for what I've done."

Channelling fear into anger, Noah glared with all the passion that he had before saying, "I'm never, ever going to thank you. So don't delude yourself."

Another punch, this time to Noah's stomach. He keeled over as much as he could with the restraints, a muffled moan escaping from his parted lips. A moment later and he was forcing himself upright, ignoring the screaming pain originating from his abdomen.

"I'll be back in an hour, Noah," Winston said casually, setting the gun against Noah's temple in warning as he undid the bindings. "And then… then we'll fix this problem, for once and for all." The Colonel sank an elbow into Noah's stomach again before turning and leaving, the blow carrying enough force to cause Noah to shout out loud and fall to the ground.

By the time the pain had faded enough for Noah to stand, the door was shut, his father gone. An electroshock machine… oh god… Noah could faintly remember seeing those machines in horror movies, where torture was faked with sound effects and paid actors. But this isn't going to be acting… he's going to…

Feeling sick, Noah pulled the gun out of his waistband, aimed it at the door, and waited, vowing that the next time Winston saw him would be the last.

Would it be selfish to ask for a review, even though this chapter was so incredibly late?