Is it the fourth day of their seclusion? Fifth? She can't tell anymore, not with the rain beating down on the sun so much. Life here is a stretch. Days are long. And while she pretends to hate it when he starts to hum a tune, she can't imagine going through this without him.

He does it again, looking out the window wistfully. She closes her eyes to hear through the rain. He'd always liked the Rolling Stones more than the Beatles.

No sweeping exits or offstage lines,

Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind.

Wild horses couldn't drag me away.

Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away.

XXX

He's in the middle of desperation, a conceited need to hide it, and boredom. Is that even possible, he asks, tired of waking up in cold sweat, afraid of their unpredictability. He's been running scenarios in his head. And he's bleached out almost every thought he's ever had.

Someone comes in as he's thinking of this. The figure, entirely dressed in black, with visible harrowing eyes, holds up his hands. Another package. Barney sighs in relief.

'I'll take your wrappers and bottles,' he mutters, shoving them into a garbage bag. Barney wonders if it's possible to overpower the guy. He's pretty sure Robin's thinking the same thing.

But he sees a revolver by the man's belt, and that does it—he can't risk their lives like that. They'd have to find another way.

'Hey, Mr,' he calls out. The man turns to him sharply. 'Yeah, you. What's your name?'

'Keep your voice down.'

'Oh, sorry. What's your name?'

The man looks reluctant, bordering on frustrated. 'I don't have time for 20 questions right now.'

'But you have time to sneak us food and water?'

'You should be grateful I put my ass on the line for you.'

Robin warns him to shut it, non-verbally.

'And I am, really. It's just, well, can't you help us out of here? If you can sneak these things to us, I'm willing to bet you can do way more.'

'You're wrong.'

'Just tell us where the hell we are!'

The anger just explodes in him—like a myriad of emotions clambering out. He bangs his fist against the wall and stands up. The man pulls his gun out. Points it right at his head.

'Sit back down,' he threatens.

'No.'

'Barney, just do it, all right? Sit down.'

'He won't shoot. They'd know he's been sneaking us supplies.'

Suddenly, they hear a commotion outside. The man hurriedly picks the bag up, still pointing his gun at Barney, saying, his voice hushed, 'Look, I can't help you, all right? Not now. I just can't.'

He just leaves, closing the door as silently as he can.

'What was that?' Robin demands. 'Are you crazy? You're scaring away the one person we have to rely on, and you almost got yourself shot!'

'I don't plan on staying here for too long,' he shoots back. 'We can't wait around and hope the police just magically finds us. We have to get out. Now. I can't stand it here. Can you?'

'Of course not. But that's no way to do it.'

'I don't care how we get out as long as we do.'

Outside, men jeer and gamble, spitting out words he'd like to rip off from the English vocabulary.

XXX

Surprise, surprise—they come back, finally, excited to taunt their starving prisoners. But they're not exactly dying from hunger yet, he thinks, and they're obviously pissed to see it.

'We contacted Ultracell,' one of them reveals through gritted teeth. 'Told them we have you.'

'Yeah?'

'We named our price. A contract for five years, tight as it could be, and we can change the terms to our liking. In exchange, we'd return you alive.'

One of them steps out—Barney recognizes him from a few days before. He seems to be second-in-charge next to Walter.

'They think we're bluffing. They want proof.'

Barney swallows hard. They're going to hurt him. His heart falls.

A couple of men pull him up roughly and bind his hands so tightly they feel cold. He's hung from hooks on the wall. His arms outstretched are painful enough, but now he's completely, utterly defenseless. What kind of people are they? He braces himself for the routine beating.

'We're going to make a little video, Stinson.'

One of them holds a video camera up, sneering nearby, yelling. 'Use the bat first. Pick it up, hit him!'

The bat collides with his stomach, and he reels over with his arms hanging from rope. Christ. The pain surges through him. They do it again—this time it's his back, across his shoulders, and his legs give out to the jarring ache. He hears Robin's voice. He stands up, gingerly, because he doesn't want her to worry.

'That's it.'

'He needs to bleed,' the director chips in. 'Make it look convincing.'

He tries to duck their fists, but someone's holding his head steady—he's a human punching bag, and his thoughts just explode. This is insane. They're insane—he's done nothing wrong! They break a wooden chair over him. Splinters flying. Screams. His body is shaking. They push him around. He stumbles against the wall, on the floor, and he can't find footing.

He spits blood in their faces. And they pound him back.

'That's good stuff!' The director jumps across the mess to catch him close up.

They pull out a barrel of water, and before he can take a deep breath, hands push him down. He struggles to get out. His lungs are exploding. His eyes sting. It's cold down here.

How easy would it be to drown?

How bad would it be, if he dies right here, right now?

No more beatings. No more—he can't take this.

And like a force of nature he's pulled up again; lungs scrambling for breath, and he's shaking the water off.

'Now, say something to the camera, Stinson. We know you like being in front of it.'

The others laugh. And he hates them, just like that.

'Say something!'

His eyes, half-open, wander, to a person standing in the shadows. Even in his state he knows it's the guy who brought them food. The man nods pointedly. Something drops from his pocket.

'This is not a joke,' he says through faltering speech. 'Give them what they want. Robin's with me—Marshall, if you're watching this—'

'Okay, that's enough.' The director shuts the camera. 'We'll send this right away.'

The second-in-command tells his boys to untie him. They gather all their props, kick him on their way out for good measure. Then the door slams. As unceremonious as reality is, he still can't grasp it.

And he finds that he can't even keep his eyes open.

XXX

She doesn't know what else to do.

While he was half-conscious hours ago, she'd cleaned his wounds the best she could. They were ugly gashes, bruises all over him. She had lifted his shirt to find more. Broken ribs, she realized, wishing she's paid more attention in First Aid.

'I. . .No, stop! ,' he mumbles deliriously. He struggles, bringing her back to the present. 'I'm sorry. . .I'm sorry. . .Don't touch her. I'll do anything.'

She just holds his hands down, her vision blurring with tears. 'Barney, it's okay. You're okay. I'm here. I won't leave you,' she promises. She kisses his forehead fiercely. Her lips drags his jacket out, the one he had slipped over her the other night when he thought she was sleep, and returns the favor. 'It's just me, no one else. I'm not going anywhere.'

'How can I be sure?'His voice is soft. He's in a dream and she can't pull him out. 'Don't—please, tell me you won't do it again. . .'

She whispers her secret into the darkness.

Because I love you, idiot.

I'm not going to drag this story too long, so maybe I'll end it with Chapter 10? More or less. Anyway, I'm still trying to find a good ending, if they should both be alive and able to escape, if they do. Thoughts?

PLEASE REVIEW:) The more, the sooner I'll update. More ideas too. Thanks.