So, this was story was originally going to be 6 parts, but I wanted to throw some more Arthur/Joan in there. Plus, I've been bored today after our second snow day from work, so…yeah. It will be 7 parts in total. This is the last chapter told as a "flashback." Next chapter will return to reality. I hope that I captured the emotion that I was trying to convey. Enjoy, and please read and review. Makes my day!

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Twelve Years Earlier

Kantonsspital, Männedorf

I have to be dead.

That was the first thing that ran through Joan's head.

She had to be dead, laying on the side of the road somewhere in Switzerland. Someone would find her eventually, and figure out who she was before she was sent home.

There was no way that after the hell she had been put through, Joan Mackenzie was alive. She felt warm and safe. Gone were the rough hands and painful blows. The padding underneath her back was fairly soft…not quite as comfortable as her bed at home, but it would do. Limbs and ribs throbbed, but it was tolerable.

How can I be in pain if I'm dead? Joan wondered. She groaned slightly, moving the fingers on her right hand slightly. It appeared to be the only part of her body that didn't hurt. There was a heavy weight on her left wrist as well as her left knee. Her ribs felt constricted, a strong binding pressed against her skin. And her head…oh God, her head…

"Joanie!"

The whispered word sounded familiar, and in reality there was only one person who could get away with that nickname.

Joan forced an eye open, meeting the youthful and shocked gaze of Meg Wilkins. "Oh my God, Joanie!" she cried. "You're awake!"

Joan couldn't respond in the way that she wanted, instead rolling her head toward Meg. "I…hurts…" Joan managed, deciding that the pain in her body wasn't as tolerable as she originally thought. She closed her eyes in an attempt to fight off the pounding in her head. "Arthur?" she asked, hoping that Meg understood what she was saying.

And she did.

"He's here, Joanie," Meg replied. "We've been taking shifts to stay with you." Reaching over, Meg pressed the call button, summoning a nurse. It only took moments for the nurse to arrive, and she immediately called for a doctor.

The next several minutes were long and involved poking, prodding, blood pressure, temperature, giving her a small sip of water, and Lord knew what else. Joan felt the annoyance rising, until finally the doctor and nurses that had converged stepped back.

Joan met Arthur's gaze from the doorway, tears shimmering in his blue eyes. "My God, honey," he managed, stepping toward the bed. The doctor and nurses all quietly left, leaving the trio. "Thank you, Jesus," Arthur whispered, sitting in the chair next to Joan that Meg had been occupying. "Thank you."

Sensing that the two of them needed to be left alone, Meg smiled at her friend. "Joanie, I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be back soon," she promised.

Joan nodded, a tear trickling down her cheek as Arthur took her right hand in his. He tenderly stroked her skin, being careful to avoid the IV that stuck out of her hand.

"Arthur," she finally whispered. Her voice was gravelly from lack of use and the bruising instilled by the whip. "Am I…are they…" She couldn't get the words out, as her thoughts were overwhelming. She whimpered slightly, clearly frustrated.

"Shh…" Arthur soothed. "You're safe. You're going to be okay. It's going to take some time, but you will be fine. They can't hurt you anymore."

"It hurts," she admitted. Joan lifted her hand up, seeing the thick white plaster encasing her wrist. She looked at it in wonder before lifting her head, seeing her knee wrapped in a heavy brace to immobilize it. She dropped her head back, sniffling. "It hurts so much, Arthur." Her casted hand lolled listlessly against her stomach.

Arthur felt his heart break at this admittance. He knew she was in severe pain, but the fact she voiced it terrified him. He didn't answer; rather he pressed his lips to her hand.

"How did…how did I get here?" Joan asked. "I thought I was going to die."

Arthur sniffled slightly, unable to stop the tear that ran down his cheek. "Good Samaritan found you. They brought you to the hospital. We had Intel on the hospitals to let us know if a blonde Jane Doe was brought in. We got the call and came immediately," he told Joan quietly. He pressed another kiss to her hand. "I couldn't believe it was actually you."

Joan stared at him for a long moment, then replied, "I thought that I would never see you again. I think that motivated me to…to hang in there." She closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. "They broke me, Arthur. I almost considered giving up the information. I almost put you at risk!"

"You didn't, and you survived, Joan," Arthur replied softly. "That's all that matters. It will take time, but you will be okay. We will get through this."

Joan laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "How can you still want to marry me?" she asked emotionally. Tears freely streamed down her cheeks now. "I'm a coward!"

"No, Joan," Arthur said, using his free hand to wipe away her tears. "You are not. You are the bravest woman I've ever met." He brushed her bangs from her forehead tenderly.

"I hope that I can believe you one day," Joan whispered. "I just want to go home."

"We will, Joan. We will." Seeing exhaustion and pain on her features, Arthur subtly moved his thumb to press the morphine drip that the nurse had placed in her hand. "Just rest, honey," he said softly. He moved his hand back, the rough pad of his thumb stroking her cheek. He was careful to avoid the thin line of stitches there.

"I don't want to," Joan answered. "What if they come back?" The question was filled with panic. "Oh, God! They are going to get me!"

"They won't, sweetheart. You killed them," Arthur told her patiently.

"How can you be sure?" Joan asked. Everything leading up to this moment was confusing. She remembered the pain and torture and fighting, but Joan was had been so detached from reality at that point that she wasn't sure if she had actually killed the men.

"A team retraced your steps and found where you were…kept," Arthur replied. "The two men you and Meg were sent to eliminate and our unknown terrorist were all dead." He didn't mention that they had found the instruments they had used to torture her, as well as the blood covered rope she had been bound with. "They can't hurt you anymore," he reassured her.

Joan's eyes drooped, the morphine quickly kicking in. Arthur watched as she tried to fight the sleep, but the medication and exhaustion won the battle.

Arthur sighed softly, surprised when the sound turned into a slight sob. Sniffing, he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the white blanket covering Joan. Tears leaked out of his closed eyes, guilt and anger overpowering his brain.

"Why?" he asked softly, the word muffled against the blanket. "Dear God, why her?" Arthur allowed his tears to fall, emotion and anger for the woman he loved finally reaching the breaking point.

He cried for several long minutes, relieved that nurses and Meg had let him be. Arthur lifted his head, looking at his fiancé. His hand trailed over her stomach, a ghost of a touch feeling the heavy wrap surrounding her ribs. He knew that underneath were more bandages covering her burns. He moved his hand to her head, brushing back a dirty strand of blonde hair. Joan had not yet been bathed, the effects of her ordeal and stay in the hospital showing on her normally flawless blonde mane.

Arthur trailed his thumb along the healing bruise under her eye, laughing slightly. He was glad that there wasn't a mirror near Joan. He briefly recalled the time that Meg had accidentally given her a black eye while they were sparring in a workout. Joan had freaked out, mostly because her cover for the next day involved her being a high roller at an expensive dinner party. He remembered the hour Joan had spent that night trying to cover the accident up.

Sighing, Arthur felt the smile leave his face. This was totally different, though. He knew that the physical and emotional toll of what Joan had gone through would linger way beyond the bruises, broken bones, and scars. He only hoped that Joan would allow him to be there for her.

Taking in the braces, casts, cuts, bruises, and burns, Arthur let out a deep breath. The tortured look on Joan's face, even in rest, told the story.

It was going to be a long road to recovery.

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End Part 5