A/N: Thank you to all the anons for your reviews.

Chapter 5

"Shh. Don, it's okay. You're safe."

Don's eyes focussed on Robin's concerned face and he tried to remember where he was and relax. He'd woken up on hyper alert, convinced that he was still in that basement. It might have been a left over from a dream, he wasn't sure. This is real, he reassured himself.

Robin brushed her hand across his cheek and through his hair before resting it on the side of his face, her thumb rubbing gently against his skin. It was nice. More than nice and almost soothed his headache. His eyes closed and opened slowly. He was still tired.

"You want anything?" Robin asked.

He shook his head.

"Colby and Andrew are going to be by later, with a computer. They want to ask you some questions."

Now that his arm was in a cast, he could use the fingers on that hand to poke at the keyboard. He tried to say "Okay" and growled in frustration when it didn't work. Until he could explain via the computer how he'd been forced not to talk, he wouldn't be able to get help. If there was help. He didn't want to be mute for the rest of his life. He punched the bed beside him with his left hand, too used to favouring the right. Unsurprisingly, it hurt, even through the bandages.

"Hey," Robin rebuked. "Don't try to hurt yourself anymore."

He made a face in apology and looked at his hand. He didn't remember how he'd injured it in the first place. When he was escaping? He didn't—

He was punching, over and over. The man's nose gave with a spray of blood.

"You with me? Don, are you with me?"

The flashback lingered in his memory and Don shuddered. Was that what had happened to his hand? Were his knuckles swollen and skinned under the bandage from punching his captor's face in?

Don looked up at Robin and tried to smile reassuringly.

"What have you got?" Colby asked Nikki, leaning against the wall beside the desk. She had the job of looking at Tyson's video files to see whether she could find out what had happened and anything that might help Don.

"I'm really glad that sick son of a bitch is dead, because I really want to kill him." She opened a video. "You want to know why Don's not talking?"

The video started playing. After Tyson's threat, the look on Don's face was one of despair and fear.

"This was three months ago. Two weeks after that..."

Another video started playing. Don was asleep, but suddenly came awake, shouting and yelling at Tyson. There was horror in his eyes when he realised what he'd done and he curled up into a ball.

Nikki opened another video. "Three days later. Don hadn't had any food or water and this wasn't the first time." She was angry.

Don wasn't in a good state and Tyson offered him an option—let himself be beaten up or be left to die. The way he forced Don to nod yes and no to his questions was a humiliation and a way to further break Don. The beating was brutal.

"After this Don was really out of it and Tyson acted all caring, looking after him and forcing him to eat and drink. Unless Don did something he didn't like, then he'd slap Don around or purposely hurt his arm. After Don was well again, he barely moved unless he had to. And then..."

The last video was Don's escape. Don had completely lost it and kept on punching Tyson in the face, long after the man would have been dead. Then he collapsed.

"The head injury," Colby said.

Nikki shook her head. "I think he's been drugged. Tyson would drug him every few days and take him out of the room. Maybe to clean him up, hopefully not for anything else. He was always clean shaven when Tyson brought him back."

Nikki fast-forwarded the video until Don woke up. He reacted in terror, getting as far away from Tyson as possible and vomiting, before rushing out of the room.

Colby held his fist in front of his mouth, horrified and shaken at everything Don had been through. "Okay, so if Don spoke, he was going to be left to die. He's had to live with that for so long that his mind won't allow him to speak now, even though he's safe."

Nikki nodded in agreement, gesturing at the video. "This has been his life for four months. Alone, in the dark a lot of the time. Everything would have to be overwhelming."

Colby was starting to realise that it was a miracle that Don was as together as he was.

"There's other files, going back at least three years," Nikki continued. "At least two other men. The last video for each shows Tyson killing them."

They'd have to search the yard, see whether bodies could be located. The yard had a high fence, no neighbours were in a position to see what was happening in it.

Colby spotted Andrew Toh, Don's replacement as supervisor of the Violent Crimes Squad, and gestured for him to come over.

'What have you got? The acting SAC is pushing me for an update. He wants to have a press conference." The slight disdain in Andrew's tone was fairly well hidden and only something that he'd allowed his team to see in the previous couple of months, finally completely comfortable with them. Everybody had been finding the acting SAC difficult to work with, particularly as the man seemed to be obsessed with getting his name or face on TV. Don had been a good SAC and supervisor, Andrew was a good supervisor—the contrast to the acting SAC was severe.

Hopefully the SAC would remain temporary and before long Don would be back to where he belonged.

Eating was difficult. His stomach had no idea that he was meant to be hungry. Don had been fed more regularly by his captor at the end, but he was now realising that it still wasn't often enough. He'd been lucky that sometimes a bottle of water had been left for him.

With the cast, he could at least hold a fork or spoon now, and poke at the sauce-covered chicken, moving it around on his plate.

"Don, you need to try to eat," Charlie said after a few seconds of watching Don playing with his food.

Don let the fork drop and typed on the keyboard of the laptop that was sitting off to the side of his tray.

"Not hungry," it said aloud for him in a robotic voice that sounded suspiciously like that used by Stephen Hawking. Don had to wonder whether Charlie was responsible for that. He had eaten half the slice of toast and some mouthfuls of vegetable soup, but he'd reached his limit. "I tried," he added after Charlie looked at him, disapproval and worry vying for dominance on Charlie's face. Don tried to change the subject. "What happened while I was gone?"

Information was the one thing he was starved for. When Colby and Andrew had seen him, they'd filled him in on some things, after they'd asked the questions they had to ask. Andrew's husband, Luke, who went golfing a lot with Don, hadn't touched a golf club since Don had disappeared. Luke had told Andrew to pass on his best wishes for Don to hurry up and get well, so that Luke could beat him again on the green. David had met a woman in Washington and it apparently was pretty serious. Ian was around a lot and the assumption was that he and Nikki were dating. Liz's hamster had suddenly died and she'd been pretty upset, both at the death and how much it had hit her. All of Colby's goldfish had died suddenly, but he hadn't really been that upset, he'd just bought new fish. Charlie hadn't worked with the FBI since Don had disappeared, other than to investigate what had happened to him. Larry and Amita had picked up the slack. Don's family had barely held it together. Robin had barely held it together. She'd become even more of a workaholic than she had been. The world was falling apart, but that was nothing new.

"Uh," Charlie stalled, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, suddenly seeming nervous. Don started to worry, what did Charlie have to be nervous about? "I've been nominated for teacher of the year, at CalSci, and you'regoingtobeanuncle."

The words were rushed, in true nervous Charlie fashion, and it took Don's brain a few seconds to sort out the mess of sounds at the end of the sentence. When it finally made sense his eyes widened and he sank back against the pillows.

He was going to be an uncle. That meant Amita was pregnant. Charlie was going to be a dad.

"How far?" he asked, after he'd gotten his mind around the announcement.

"Just over five months," Charlie said, his voice slightly hoarse.

She'd been pregnant before he'd been kidnapped. At least a month. They'd probably known.

"I wanted to tell you and Dad so much, but we decided to wait until after the first trimester, after reading the statistics. And then..." Charlie had gotten more emotional the longer he spoke and his voice broke off. "And then you went missing. I—I didn't know whether I'd—" Charlie looked away, brushing away tears, "—whether you'd ever know."

Don was shaken. It was the biggest change in the lives that he'd missed out on, and one that directly affected him. He'd missed out on so much. He was going to be an uncle in a few months. At five months, Amita would probably be showing a lot. He couldn't really imagine what she looked like.

"Don, are you okay?" Charlie had leaned forward, closer to him, and rested his hand on the bed. He was worried.

Yeah, buddy. Just processing it all, Don thought. He smiled slightly at Charlie in reply.

Charlie was going to be a dad. To be honest, Don had a little trouble imagining it. Charlie would get so wrapped up in his work that he'd forget about the steak he'd put on the bbq. A child was more demanding and important than a steak. But Don had also not known him ever to not rise to meet a challenge. If it was something that Charlie really wanted to do, he'd do it. An image flashed into Don's head: Charlie holding a baby with lots of dark hair, its eyes wide open and staring at its father, tiny finger wrapped around Charlie's as he told it how perfect it was. Okay, now I can imagine it.

"Congratulations, Charlie," the computer said for him, sounding ridiculously unenthusiastic. "You're going to be a great dad."

"Thanks, Don." Charlie leaned further forward, looking from side to side like he was making sure that the invisible people wouldn't hear, and said, "I'm terrified. Do you know how many things can go wrong with a baby in its first few years of life? The numbers are staggering. What if...what if I'm a terrible father?" His voice had gone up in pitch again, it was a confession that he was finding hard to make. "What if I forget to test how hot the milk is? Or how hot the bath is? What if I scald my baby?" Charlie's brow was so furrowed that the lines would be permanent.

"Charlie," Don tried to say, putting his hand on top of Charlie's, wanting him to calm down. "Charlie." Frustratingly, no sound came out. He left his bandaged left hand on top of Charlie's while he used his right to slowly type. "You're going to be fine. You've got Amita and Dad and me and Robin. You'll be fine. No parent is perfect, you'll learn as you go."

"Okay. Okay." Charlie took some deep breaths, getting himself back under control. "I'm fine. You're right." He nodded, before sighing and looking Don in the eyes. "I haven't been able to tell anyone else that. I needed you."

"I'm here, now," Don reassured him. He'd needed Charlie, too. A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Boy or girl?"

At that, Charlie smiled wryly. "We don't know. It's going to be a surprise."

Don smiled. He liked that idea. "I want to see Amita."

"I'll call her now," Charlie promised, pulling out his cellphone. "See when she can come."

Don was going to be an uncle. The ache it caused was both good and bad. He'd missed out on too much.

What else had changed while he'd been gone?

Robin opened her eyes, realising that she'd dozed off. She couldn't help the yawn that escaped as she tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Don had panicked again when they'd tried to leave him alone, ashamed but unable to control it, so the hospital had allowed somebody to stay with him around the clock, while they did more tests and made sure that his body was functioning fine after the partial starvation and dehydration. It was still so hard to believe that she'd open her eyes and Don would be right in front of her. It was a miracle.

"Hey," she said with a soft smile when she saw that he was already awake and looking at her. "How was your sleep?"

There was no reply, not even a smile or a shrug. He didn't move.

"Don?" Alarm started to rise in her. "Don? Can you hear me?"

He wasn't moving, just staring at her. Robin pressed the call button and rushed to the door of the room, frantically shouting for a nurse.

"He—he's just staring, he's not moving," Robin told the female nurse who arrived, feeling herself start to shake.

In very short order she found herself kicked out of Don's room and made to wait. After twenty minutes of mindless panic she managed to gather herself together enough to call Alan.

Then they were waiting together, again, for news, sitting in the hard chairs, holding onto each other's hand for strength. She'd only just gotten Don back. Sure, she knew that he'd been hurt, physically, mentally and emotionally, and that would take time to heal, but she'd only just gotten him back. She couldn't lose him again. Not now.

Robin didn't know what to think when the doctor eventually told them that they couldn't find anything physically wrong. It was psychological, they believed, a reaction to the trauma. Escaping and everything that had happened since was overwhelming, his mind might just need a time-out.

If it was something physical and they could fix it, then Don wouldn't still be lying on the bed, staring at her. She wouldn't have to worry about whether he'd come out of this, whether it'd happen again. Whether she was ever going to get Don—her semi-talkative, caring, loving, kick-ass, FBI Agent Don—back again.

She had his body, but she wasn't sure whether all of him had come back from the hole he'd been imprisoned in.

Late in the afternoon—she couldn't leave, even though Alan tried to convince her to go—Don blinked, his brow wrinkled slightly and he actually looked at her. She was curled up in the chair, watching him, waiting for any sign that he was returning to the real world. She hadn't been able to do anything else, worry stopping her.

"Don?" she asked, bringing her feet back down to the floor, cautiously, hopeful. Alan had bolted up from his chair, newspaper falling to the floor, and rounded the bed.

Don smiled slightly, looking confused.

"I'll get the nurse," Alan said.

Don frowned again and shifted on the bed, the frown deepening as he lifted the blanket to look down his body.

"They had to put a catheter in," Robin explained. With no idea how long he was going to be catatonic and the need to keep him hydrated, they'd had to.

He let the blanket fall and mouthed her name.

"It's okay, Don, just wait for the nurse."

A visit from the nurse and a doctor later, it was ruled that he seemed fine. The doctor had explained to Don what they believed had happened, which had shaken him up. Robin could understand it, she'd feel terrified at being told that she'd zoned out for almost half the day.

When the doctor left, Don desperately pulled her into a hug, clinging tight to her and trembling.

"It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay."

The only problem was that she wasn't sure whether she believed it.

The man staring at him out of the mirror was almost a stranger. Skinny, no muscle definition, arm in a cast, hand still bandaged. Don hadn't been this skinny since one of his growth spurts in high school. His eyes caught Robin's in the reflection, wondering what she saw when she looked at him. Did she see a stranger instead of the man she loved?

He hadn't looked in the mirror at the hospital, not wanting to know what he'd see. But now he was finally home, even though he still didn't want to know, he needed to know. He'd been about to step into the shower when he'd caught a glimpse of his reflection out of the corner of his eye and it had stopped him.

But it wasn't just the skinniness. His eyes looked different, too. How, he didn't know, but they were different. Alien.

Robin came up behind him and pressed her body against his back, arms around his middle, and dropped a kiss on his shoulder. Her naked skin was warm against his. The arousal that should be there, seeing her naked, feeling her against him, wasn't. It had been over four months since he'd last had sex and it seemed like maybe his body had forgotten why it would want to.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

He nodded and let her lead him into the shower. She washed his hair first, and it was soothing. Then she started on his body, and it was when the cloth got to his chest that it happened. Suddenly it wasn't Robin with him, it was his captor. It was Tyson who was washing Don, who was naked in front of him. Don jerked back against the cold tile wall, terrified and disgusted.

"Don, it's okay. You're fine. It's Robin. It's me. I'm not going to hurt you. It's Robin." Robin's mantra eventually broke through and he saw her instead of the man who'd held him captive for so long. Her hands were up, trying to appear non-threatening, but she was worried, upset and scared.

Don swallowed, feeling the adrenaline still flowing through his body, his heart pounding in his ears and breathing like he'd run a marathon. His legs were wobbly and he wasn't sure whether they were going to continue holding him up. It was the most terrifying experience he'd had since he'd woken up in the hospital, even more terrifying than knowing that he'd zoned out for hours. Because he had to wonder: did it mean that he had seen his captor naked at some point? That he had been conscious at some point during the periods he'd been drugged? That his captor had done more than wash and groom him? Or was it just the worry about the unknown of what had happened creating a terrifying, but false, flashback by combining what he had seen with what he feared had happened?

"Don?" Robin asked gently, seeing that he was more lucid.

He nodded and tried to say, "I'm okay." Even if the words wouldn't come out, he still had to try.

"Don, you want to wait a few minutes?"

He nodded again. "Yeah." His voice was still absent.

Thankfully the water was still warm, even if the tile was trying to leech all the heat out of his body. That he could do something about; he pushed himself off the wall so he was more under the spray, grateful that his legs were supporting him. With the added warmth, the shaking was losing its intensity.

He let himself settle for a little while more before nodding to Robin. She hesitantly began washing him again and started talking as she did so, telling him all about a case she'd just been reading about that was a possible precedent for one that she was prosecuting. The words kept him grounded and it reminded him of how much he'd missed hearing her talk. Once she was done with him, she quickly washed herself and dried them both off, before they dressed.

Socks were one of the nicest things invented, Don decided, as he walked out of the bathroom. You didn't appreciate them until they were taken away from you.

They ended up on their bed, Robin sitting up against the headboard, a pillow cushioning her head and back. Don was lying with his head resting in her lap, one of her hands resting on his shoulder, grounding him, and the other gently mussing his drying hair, and they were watching "Sullivan's Travels". His laptop was sitting beside him, ready to relay anything he wanted to say.

He'd missed everything about this—Robin, the warmth and intimacy of another person, the safety, watching his favourite movie, the softness of the bed and the tracksuit pants he was wearing. It was precious and he'd never realised before just how much so.

But there was still a tiny part of him, one lonely person against the hundreds making up the rest of his mind, screaming that it wasn't real. It was all an illusion or a dream. He hadn't escaped. He'd never escape.

Don let the movie and Robin's caress drown it out.

TBC...