Sex: Yup.

Violence: That too.

Angst: Probably.

This story is going to be slightly long, but I promise itīll be updated frequently. (Thereīs nothing worse than having to wait, is there?) Okay, since all thatīs been taken care of, Iīll just shut up and let the tale begin. Comments are welcome at: dayze11@hotmail.com

Copyright © 1999 by Day

Part 12

Iīm writing this a week after I left Neo Roma to become Messinaīs bodyguard. I donīt know if you will be reading this in another week from now, or fifty years, I just know I hope we are still a part of each otherīs lives. I hope I have made you as happy as you made me, and that you have never regretted the day you told me you loved me.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Hawking, the guard took a quick look around to check that he was alone then spat noisily on the floor. Tucking his thumbs into his belt, he strolled down the long, dimly lit corridor, whistling quietly to himself as he passed the heavy metal doors on either side. His boots rang out loudly on the hard floor and he smiled slightly, picturing the reaction from the prisoners inside the cells when they heard him coming. That is, the prisoners who were still capable of hearing him.

Approaching the last door on the left, he paused, scowling when he saw the soldier standing in front of it. It hurt his professional pride that they didnīt trust him to look after the prisoner on the other side. He had informed them that no one had ever escaped him, that no one had ever escaped St. Peterīs, but they didnīt listen and just told him to shut up and allow the military to post extra soldiers wherever they saw fit.

The guard snorted to himself, but not loud enough to get the soldierīs attention. It wasnīt like he had had any choice in the matter. While it was true that prisoners occasionally died in his care, he resented the fact that the Military Police didnīt think him capable of distinguishing between his prisoners, between those who were important and those who werenīt, or that they insinuated he didnīt have enough control over his fellow guards to prevent anything from happening. People only died with his permission. Well, most of the time anyway. After all, accidents did happen.

Purposely ignoring the soldier, he stopped in front of the door. Pushing the small hatch aside, he pressed his face close to peer inside. The stench of human waste, unwashed bodies, and the almost tangible smell of fear assaulted his nose, but since he was used to it he didnīt really notice. It was a smell coming from the thousands of prisoners St. Peterīs had had in the last thirty years. It was a smell that was as much part of the prison as the roofs and walls. Over the years it had seeped into the concrete and iron, and no matter what the cleaning staff tried, it couldnīt be removed.

The cell was dark, but the guard was an experienced man, he had been head warden for seven years now, and he knew where to look. Pressed against the wall, as far away from the cell door as possible, a half naked body lay huddled on the cold floor. The prisonerīs back was turned and in spite of the darkness he could see the angry red gashes covering most of her skin. Brow furrowing, he idly tried to determine how the prisoner had acquired her injuries. His guess would be dog bites and riffle butts, and… he squinted, trying to see clearer, probably a couple of beatings, too. That was the way it usually was, and he knew they hadnīt begun working on her yet.

He noticed to his surprise that her hands were handcuffed behind her back, and he couldnīt help but shake his head, wondering why they had deemed it necessary to take that extra precaution. To him it was obvious that the prisoner was deeply unconscious and would remain that way for quite some time. But maybe she was more dangerous than she looked.

Pushing the hatch back, he turned to look at the soldier and inquired, attempting to sound as condescending as possible, "Who is she?"

"Thatīs none of your concern."

The guard straightened up, putting all of his authority into his voice, "I am the warden of this prison, and I donīt like to be kept in the dark. I have a right to know about such things. A prisonerīs identity shouldnīt be kept a secret for me."

For a moment it appeared as if the soldier wasnīt going to answer, then he shrugged and said dispassionately, "Sheīs the one who shot President Lingstrom."

The guardīs eyes widened and he stared at the soldier in suspicion, "I donīt believe you."

"Suit yourself," the soldier answered evenly, looking away and effectively dismissing him.

For a few seconds the guard remained motionless, then abruptly he turned on his heels and strode away. He suddenly had new instructions to give.

***************

As her body began to shake more and more from the cold, Jo slowly returned to consciousness. Almost instantly a spell of painful heaves wrecked through her, but aside a little bloody saliva nothing came up. A cold sweat sprung out on her skin and for a few more minutes she shook violently with cramps, then slowly the trembling subsided.

All this time she had kept her eyes closed, following an old instruction never to show she was awake before she was ready. However, deep inside, Jo knew it wouldnīt help her this time. Trying to breathe as calmly and regularly as possible to diminish the pain, she took stock of her body. She had almost no feeling left in her hands, the handcuffs cutting off circulation, but in a grotesque way Jo was glad of that. At least that was a little less pain for her to deal with.

What hurt the most wasnīt the several infected dog bites on her arms and legs, nor was it the bruises on her head where the riffle butts had connected with her skull, or the kicks to her ribs, coming over and over again.

What hurt the most was the knowledge that she had been set up. Betrayed. That stung more than any physical injury she had ever experienced.

It had all happened very fast. One minute she had been lying on the roof, aiming at Lingstrom, the next she had been running for her life, only to be hunted and brought down like simple prey. She knew that if she hadnīt managed to protect her face and throat, and if they soldiers hadnīt reached her as quickly as they did, odds were she wouldnīt have been alive in this very moment. And one part of Jo regretted that.

In order to become more comfortable, she shifted very carefully, trying to put a little less weight on the arm trapped beneath her, but immediately a jarring pain tore through her and she barely stopped herself from screaming out loud. Swallowing convulsively several times, she tried not to cry. Under no circumstances would she give them that satisfaction. She had no doubt she was being observed, that somewhere in the dark and dirty cell, there was a camera recording her every movement.

She knew also that it was only a matter of time before they would come for her.

In spite of her curled up position, there was little warmth to gain from it, and her teeth soon started chattering uncontrollably. She was dressed in nothing but a torn undershirt and boxers, and the icy concrete floor under her was slowly sucking what little warmth she had left out of her body. Jo knew only too well she had no resistance left to compensate for the decrease in body temperature, and that they had better come for her before long or she would freeze to death.

The thought suddenly shot through her brain, chasing everything else away and momentarily making her forget how cold and thirsty she was, and in how much pain.

Heavy footsteps coming her way interrupted her line of thought, and she tensed involuntarily as she held her breath, torn between wanting the steps to continue onward and wanting them to come to a halt outside the door to her cell.

When the sound of a key in the lock reached her ears, Jo took a deep breath, gritting her teeth. Very slowly she forced her hurting and battered body up into a sitting position, then collapsed back weakly against the wall from the strain. Immediately a new cold sweat broke out and her breathing became laboured, but she didnīt care. She wanted to look her captor in the eye. Even if it killed her.

The heavy door swung open without a sound and Jo closed her eyes quickly to shield them from the painfully blinding light that flooded into her cell. She heard low footsteps as two people stepped inside, and a voice belonging to a woman issued a short order, then the cell door closed again.

Suddenly reluctant to open her eyes, as if it would somehow make everything real, Jo hesitated, but then a voice she would recognize anywhere spoke, "Open you eyes, Josephine, I want you to see me."

For a split second Jo froze, several unguarded emotions flickering across her face, then one by one they disappeared and her face grew blank. Opening her eyes, Jo cleared her very dry throat and said hoarsely, "Hello, Andreas, come to visit me in hell, have you? I kinda figured youīd end up here, too."

"Very funny, Josephine," Lingstrom answered sarcastically, stepping closer until he was towering above her. "Or should I say Jo instead? Seems like you forgot to tell me your real name the first time we met."

Jo shrugged, her face contracting sharply from the pain it brought on, then spoke evenly, "One canīt remember everything."

Lingstrom snorted, but didnīt answer. Instead he stared at her, taking in the various injuries and bruises on her body. Wrinkling his nose, he stated, "You stink."

Jo laughed out loud, then instantly began coughing and Lingstrom swiftly took a step back in disgust when he saw she was coughing up blood. Calming down, Jo took a few breaths and rasped, "Oh, Andreas, you always did know how to make me laugh. A girl likes that in a man."

"Oh yeah?" Lingstrom suddenly felt his anger rise, but forced it down. He didnīt want to lose his temper in front of her. "Well, in that case that seems to be the only thing you ever liked about me. Tell me… Jo…" He squatted down before her, looking into bloodshot but still beautiful eyes, "How was it having me fuck you when in reality youīd much rather have another womanīs head between your legs?"

A look he didnīt understand and most certainly didnīt like showed in her eyes, then she said flatly, "As far as I recall, I was the one fucking you, not the other way round."

Jo saw the blow coming a mile away, but she had neither the strength nor the speed to avoid it and she just accepted it, swallowing the pain as her head flew back and connected hard with the concrete wall. Head swimming, she looked back up at the council member, having a little difficulty focusing directly on his face.

He had risen from the floor and was staring at her in barely controlled anger, cradling his right hand carefully against his chest.

"Hurts, doesnīt it?" Jo commented calmly. "Probably broke a knuckle or two. I would suggest you work a little on your technique before you try that again. I could give you a few pointers if you want?" She smiled derisively at him, knowing that might very well earn her another hit.

For a moment it looked like Lingstrom was considering it, but suddenly he smiled coldly and spoke almost cordially, "Cocky as always, eh? That was actually one of the things I liked about you. However, itīs not going to do you much good now. Do you know where you are?"

"St. Peterīs?" Jo guessed without any real interest. It was the only place that would make sense.

"Yes, and Iīm glad to hear its reputation has reached even the Organisation. Did you know that nobody has ever left this prison alive?"

Jo looked at him dully, it was getting harder and harder for her to remain conscious and alert. Her vision was already becoming blurred and it wouldnīt be long before she passed out. "So Iīve heard." She considered adding a little remark to irk him, but couldnīt gather her thoughts enough to do so.

Apparently Lingstrom was aware of her condition because he quickly turned around to face the blond woman who had been standing motionlessly in the corner of the cell, observing them without a word.

"Jane? I think sheīs about to lose consciousness, do you want to do something?"

"No, Mr. President," a low and smooth voice answered. "That suits me just fine."

Jo squinted, trying to see the womanīs face in the darkness, but aside from a few blurred lines and shadows she couldnīt see anything.

"Okay," Lingstrom turned around to look back at Jo. "Well, I guess itīs time to leave you alone with Captain Jane here, I know sheīs anxious to talk to you. But before I leave, I was wondering…" He leaned down until their faces were only inches apart and whispered conspiratorially, "Donīt you want to know why Iīm still alive?"

Jo stared at him for a long time, struggling with herself, then she nodded almost imperceptibly.

Lingstrom smiled in satisfaction, "I thought so. Itīs pretty simple really, we knew you were coming. We knew when and where you were going to make an attempt, we just didnīt know how. We tried to intercept you before you had the chance to do anything, but apparently security was too slack." For the briefest of seconds, anger showed in Lingstromīs eyes, then he continued steadily, "The only thing we hadnīt anticipated was the calibre you used. It was a lot more powerful than we had expected. We didnīt think you would be able to shoot so accurately over such a long distance with a calibre like that."

"I saw you bleed," Jo spoke impassively. "You went down."

"Yes, but I was wearing a west, the wound was only a minor one. Do you really think I would be stupid enough to be out in the open without being properly protected?"

Jo didnīt answer and appeared to be digesting the information for a moment before asking, "How did you know I was coming? Who told you?"

"Agent Anderson…" Lingstrom held a pregnant pause, studying Joīs face intently, "But you may know him better as Ralph Greenberg."

For the first time, he thought he detected something close to fear in Joīs eyes and it intrigued him no end. He hadnīt expected that reaction from her. Anger, hatred, yes, but not fear. He wondered if there was something Victoria Walder hadnīt told him about how Anderson had obtained his information.

Deciding to ask her later, he rose and walked to the door, "Well, itīs been a pleasure talking to you, but Iīm afraid I have to go now. Iīll leave you in Captain Janeīs very capable hands. Captain." He nodded at the woman and knocked briskly on the cell door.

Pausing in the open door, he looked back at Jo who was watching him listlessly, "Believe it or not, Miss Delaine, but I donīt wish for you to suffer more than is strictly necessary, so Iīll advise you to volunteer all information you have about the Organisation and Messina to Jane here. Itīll make whatīs left of your life a lot more pleasant."

Before Jo could think of an answer, the cell door closed again, leaving her alone with Captain Angela Jane, in charge of all interrogation conducted in St. Peterīs and extremely skilled in all aspects of her profession. Mainly because she enjoyed it so much.

***************

Leaning comfortably against the wall, Jane studied the slumped woman on the floor. Despite her battered and beaten state, there was something almost palpably defiant about the way the prisoner kept staring at her that fascinated her a great deal. It would be a challenge to break this one and she found herself almost wishing it wouldnīt happen too fast. It had been a long time since she had had to make an effort.

Lifting a hand to study her neat and immaculately manicured nails she asked pleasantly, "So, I hear youīre from Neo Roma like myself, is that true?"

Jo regarded her suspiciously, trying find out where the question would lead. She seriously doubted the captain was just in the mood for a little small talk. However, she was quite certain they already knew the most basic details of her life so she didnīt see any harm in admitting the truth.

"Yes."

"Which part?" Jane continued to study her nails, barely glancing up.

Jo hesitated, then said calmly, "The Slums."

"Ah, rough neighbourhood… Orphaned?"

Jo shrugged noncommittally, hoping the pain would clear her head. Her thoughts were becoming increasingly muddled and she knew she had to be careful what she said.

"My guess is you were, maybe not right away, but eventually." Jane shook her head regretfully, appearing to be sympathetic, then asked conversationally, "How old were you when they first raped you?"

Jo stiffened, but her face showed no reaction.

"Ten?"

Joīs eyes seemed to pale as the captain continued her casual questioning.

"Nine? Seven? Six?! Donīt tell me you were any younger than that? That would be criminal!"

"I donīt know what youīre talking about." Jo finally managed to force the words past her lips, her face white as a sheet. "I wasnīt raped."

"No?" Jane looked at her in something that appeared to be friendly concern. "Really? You were paid then? Paid for being a good little girl, or did you do it for free? Letting them sample the merchandize so to speak?"

Jo stared at a point on the wall behind the captain, her lips drawn tight and looking almost bloodless, "I said, I donīt know what youīre talking about."

"Is that true? Hmm… I must have gotten something wrong then. In that case, letīs talk about something else." Jane paused for a moment, biting her lower lip, then asked amiably, "How come you were the only one who got out of Neo Roma? What happened to your mother and father? Did you abandon them? Leave them to die when the soldiers moved in? Or did you just watch them die without doing anything?"

Joīs jaw clenched, contempt and something else showing in her eyes, then she looked away, determined not to let the words get to her.

"Donīt want to talk to me, do you?" The captain sighed deeply. "Okay, we donīt have to, I just thought we could get to know each other without any fuss, but if you wonīt cooperate... You see…" She pushed herself away from the wall, coming to stand a few feet away from Jo, "Sooner or later, you will talk, Delaine. People always do. They all reach a point, some faster than others, where everything stops to have any meaning and all they can think of is for a way to make the pain go away. However, I want you to know that this is nothing personal, and Iīm not going to kid you or tell you any bullshit either. Weīre both professionals and we both know that youīre going to die no matter what. The only thing thatīs up to you is how. Fast and painless or slow and with more pain than you have ever experienced in your entire miserable life."

Her words were uttered with neither glee nor malice, just a quiet certainty born from experience, and somehow that chilled Jo more than any threat could have.

"Itīs your choice, Delaine, Iīm giving you the possibility to take the easy way out and why shouldnīt you? Nobody will ever know what happened in here, you will still die a martyr, your reputation wonīt be tarnished. I know thatīs quite important to you fanatics. You tell me everything I want to know, thus saving me a lot of time, and in return I promise not to reveal how I got the information and that afterwards Iīll kill you quickly and painlessly. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?"

As answer, Jo carefully lowered herself down onto her side and closed her eyes, frantically trying to call up Mickeyīs image in her mind to distract her from what she suspected would happen next.

Jane smiled inwardly. That was exactly the reaction she had expected, the one she had hoped for. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small package wrapped in a soft black cloth. She hadnīt brought any of her favourite instruments, or any of the electrodes or syringes, she would save those for later. Right now she only intended to teach the prisoner a little humility, and who knew, if she did her job well, Delaine might just talk without needing further encouragement. Nevertheless, as she pulled out a long and thin and slightly curved awl together with a small electric device normally used for cattle, she almost hoped Delaine would be tougher than that. It would prolong the fun if she was.

Scant seconds later, the scream of a woman in utmost pain reverberated through the empty corridors of the prison, and the three soldiers playing card in the guard room all avoided each otherīs eyes as they began to speak louder in the effort to drown out the inhuman screams they knew would follow.

***************

A total of sixteen hours passed before Jo regained consciousness. When the darkness before her eyes and in her head gave way to light, she instinctively prepared herself for the pain that would overtake her, curling up like a dog waiting for the next kick. Slowly, a realization filled her foggy and disorientated mind and she began to understand that the pain wasnīt forthcoming. The next thing she realized was that she wasnīt cold anymore and that the handcuffs were gone.

That was enough to finally make her open her eyes fully and without moving her body or head take a look around. She was still in her cell, but she was no longer lying on the floor, but on a thin mattress, and a thick woollen blanket was covering her body. Looking under the blanket she noticed she was dressed in a flimsy grey prison suit, probably designed more for a way to keep the prisoners clothed than actually warm or comfortable, but to Jo it was a whole lot better than being half naked.

Confused and alarmed because she couldnīt feel her injuries, she pulled up the shirt to look at her stomach and chest, and she saw to her surprise that her wounds had been cleaned and bandaged. A few needle marks on her left arm then told her the reason why she didnīt feel any pain – she had been heavily sedated.

Frowning, Jo desperately tried to recall what had happened, but all her memories were vague and fractured, and she couldnīt make any sense out of them. Shame overtook her as the thought struck that maybe she had succumbed already. That maybe she had already told them everything they wanted to know and that was why they had decided to make her last days alive a little more pleasant. Her stomach began to churn and she was instantly nauseous, however, there was nothing left for her to throw up and even if there was, she wouldnīt have had the strength to do it.

Whimpering quietly, Jo tried to force the nausea down by taking deep and even breaths, but it had little effect and her body kept shaking from the dry heaves coursing through her. After what felt like a lifetime, her stomach calmed down and she nearly cried in relief, curling into a foetal position under the blanket. The blanket didnīt smell too clean, but Jo didnīt care. Right now all she wanted to do was hide, as futile as she knew it was.

She tried to think ahead, tried to formulate some kind of plan in her head, if only to have something to keep her occupied, but she found that she was unable to concentrate. The drugs they had given her prevented her from thinking straight and she kept drifting in and out of a state of semi-consciousness. Instead she tried to think of Mickey and that went a little easier as she didnīt have to think, but could settle for remembering. Still, even those memories were blurred and at one point she began wondering whether she had actually imagined it all, whether she and Mickey were really together or if it was all in her mind. Some kind of wishful thinking

During all this time, an undefined, but insistently nagging thought kept trying to make itself heard. But every time Jo thought she was able to remember what it was that bothered her it slipped away. The feeling of unease grew stronger every time she thought of Mickey and she instinctively knew it was important she found out what caused it, but aside from making her more desperate to remember, all her attempts were in vain.

Then she heard footsteps outside in the corridor. A deep chill rushed through her and she curled up tighter under the blanket, pulling it over her head as well. She was too dazed to know exactly why she was so terrified, she just knew she didnīt want whoever was on the other side to come into her cell.

As the key turned in the lock and the door was pulled open a few mumbled words reached her ears, but aside from the fact that it sounded like two people arguing, Jo couldnīt make out what they were saying. Whoever won the argument she couldnīt tell, but shortly afterwards light footsteps sounded as a person stepped into her cell and the door closed quietly again.

For a moment only the sound of two people breathing could be heard in the tiny cell, then a voice spoke, "Delaine? Are you awake?"

Joīs brow furrowed, she knew that voice. Not quite certain it was a good idea, but too curious not to, she pulled the blanket away to peek out. Her gaze settled on a pair of thin legs in nicely tailored slacks directly before her face and as she lifted her head to look further up, her eyes came to rest on the face of council member Victoria Walder.

"So you are awake," Walder said, smiling pleasantly at her. "I did have the feeling you would be."

Jo looked at her for a moment, then asked tiredly, "What do you want?"

"To congratulate you, darling." Walder smiled again. "You endured three hours with Captain Jane without saying a word…" She paused, adding thoughtfully to herself, "At least not a word that could be understood."

"Youīre fucking sick in the head," Jo said in disgust, wishing she had enough saliva to spit. Inwardly she was relieved to hear she hadnīt talked, although she knew the council member might be trying to trick her in some way. Slowly sitting up, she spoke with as much contempt as she could muster, "If youīre here to get me to spill my guts about Messina or the Organisation youīre wasting your time. I didnīt say anything to Captain Psycho earlier and Iīm definitely not going to say anything to you."

She was greatly unnerved when Walder only smiled at her words, shaking her head good-humouredly, "Oh, my dear Jo, Iīm not here to get you to tell me anything at all. I just wanted to say hello and see how you were doing. After all, we did have a few pleasant conversations at various balls and receptions during the last year, did we not?"

Jo snorted, "Youīre insane, Walder. Donīt you have anything better to do?"

"Well…" Walder pouted, looking almost like a little girl who had been denied her favourite toy. "Not really. Everybody is still talking about how Andreasī first speech as president almost became his last. In fact, darling," she winked at Jo, "youīre quite the famous little terrorist now, have been in the papers and everything. Still are for that matter. And of course all the respectable ladies in high society are busy fanning themselves, exclaiming loudly to anyone who cares to listen that they have nurtured a snake at their bosoms while secretly they all think youīre cute enough to eat."

"Great," Jo sighed in exasperation, wondering when Walder would get to the reason for her visit as she couldnīt imagine the council member just wanted to chat. "So Iīll have plenty of fans attending my execution, thatīs just marvellous. Now, is there anything else, or are you just here to gloat?"

"Well…" Walderīs eyes suddenly lost some of their merriment and her voice grew colder. "Now that you mention it… I do have a little thing for you, but first I want to say again how impressed I was by your behaviour with Captain Jane. Not that I had expected anything less mind you, I even placed a little bet on the outcome and Andreas, that poor misguided man, naturally lost. It was like taking candy from a baby really, just too easy… You see…"

She leaned down a little, looking directly into Joīs eyes and as she spoke again her voice was void of any emotion, relaying facts only, "I know your kind, Jo, I figured you out a long time ago. Youīre so used to pain you hardly feel it, and if you do, you donīt acknowledge it, but… I doubt the same thing applies to your lover…"

She reached into her cashmere coat and rummaged around a little before pulling out a small silver chain. Holding it up for Jo to see, she inquired almost indifferently, "Do you recognize this?"

Jo stared at the chain in Walderīs hand, her face showing none of the sickening fear building rapidly in the pit of her stomach. Clearing her throat she asked tonelessly, "Should I?"

"Oh, sweetie…" Walder tut-tuted in disapproval. "Itīs me youīre talking to, thereīs no reason to pretend anymore. The chain belongs to Miss Renault. It was taken from her when she was apprehended trying to flee Neo Roma with the old doctor and his wife."

Jo could only stare at the chain, her face rapidly losing colour in spite of her efforts to control herself. Swallowing, she managed to say hoarsely, "I donīt believe you."

"No?" All traces of friendliness were gone from the council memberīs face. "Havenīt you heard that Greenberg was an agent working for us? Havenīt you been told he listened to everything your girlfriend ever told Sophia Lawrence about you? Donīt you know that every single step you took for the last two weeks has been monitored? Donīt you know we were on to you the moment you entered Neo Roma?"

Joīs head was spinning and she felt sick. The shock she had received from seeing the chain was making it difficult for her to think clearly, and she hadnīt heard half of what Walder said. All she could think of was the smiling face of the woman who had been wearing the chain around her neck only a few days prior.

"I think itīs only fair to tell you that Miss Renault is being kept in a cell only a couple of yards from you, and that in this very moment, Captain Jane is on her way to pay her a visit."

For about two heartbeats neither moved as the casual statement lingered heavily in the air between them, then the light went out in Joīs eyes. Instantly seeing the danger, Walder dropped the chain and quickly ran to the door, managing to slip outside a split second before a howl of rage filled the cell. Just as the bolt was pushed back in place, a body hurled itself violently at the door, hands clawing and feet kicking frantically at the cold steel.

Pausing in the corridor, Walderīs face was expressionless as she listened to the almost animalistic howls of pain and anger coming from the other side. The pounding on the door continued for several minutes as did the shouted curses and threats that only became more and more strained and desperate as they received no response. When Joīs strength finally left her, her voice grew pleading as she begged Walder not to let anyone hurt Mickey, promising she would tell everything if only they would let her go.

As the begging gave way to heart wrenching sobs of anguish and despair, Walder had had enough and without sparing the wide eyed soldier standing stiffly beside her a glance, she turned on her heels and walked away.

A little faster than usual.

***************

Chapter Fifty-Three

Mickey swallowed, closing her eyes, and after a brief moment she was able to continue reading.

The sudden rush of anger she experienced was only too familiar to Mickey, but she forced it down. She had to finish this.

Oblivious to the tears running down her cheeks, Mickey read the last line.

Staring at the small piece of paper until the words became blurred and unreadable, Mickey drew from all resources available, struggling desperately to stay in control. She couldnīt break down, she just couldnīt. If she did, everything would be over. Everything that had happened would become real.

Rising quickly, she wiped her eyes and walked over to the roomīs only window to look out at the empty compound. The camp she was staying in was a minor one and without any real strategic importance, but it was the closest base to Neo Roma the Organisation had and thus it was been the natural place for the soldiers to bring her after their chaotic escape from the capital.

When thinking back to those first hours after Joīs capture, Mickey was barely capable of remembering anything substantial and she knew she had been in a state of shock. Sophia had later told her that shortly after the broadcast had been interrupted, a group of agents, led by a Lieutenant Bradford, had arrived and insisted that they leave immediately before the Councilīs security forces showed up. Neither Mickey nor Lawrence had wanted to leave, albeit for different reasons, but Bradford had in no uncertain terms told them it was not up to them to decide and that they were leaving now, whether they wanted to or not.

It hadnīt been a moment too soon. In fact, it had very nearly been too late. They were almost apprehended a few miles away from the clinic, but the agents leading them had been determined not to be taken alive and a brief, but deadly scuffle had erupted in which Mickey had somehow lost her necklace. It wasnīt until later she realized it was gone and then it was too late to go back. She had tried to convince herself that it didnīt matter, that it was only a piece of metal, but deep down she was devastated, feeling like she had lost her last connection to Jo.

The transport out of the capital, hidden in a fake compartment in the back of a truck, had been a claustrophobic and frightening experience. However, Mickey had endured it all in a thick haze, her mind too busy playing the scene with Jo going down over and over again to pay any attention to her own predicament. The only thing she could truly remember was a time late at night, as they lay huddled together trying to keep warm, when Sophia had taken her hand and whispered everything would be all right. For an endless moment Mickey had just stared at her, then her face contracted in pain and she turned away, her body shaking with silent sobs. Sophia had done a valiant job trying to comfort her, but her words had lacked conviction and since she hadnīt wanted to wake up her sullen husband who was sleeping only inches away, she had settled for holding the young woman, stroking her hair until she had succumbed to her exhaustion and fallen asleep.

Mickeyīs sleep had been restless and tormented, plagued by images of Jo being killed or tortured, calling out for her to help her. When she woke up her clothes had been soaked in sweat and her heart had felt like it was held it a painful grip by invisible hands. Now, almost three days later, her clothes were long dry, but the feeling in her chest had remained, only growing worse with each hour there was no news from Neo Roma.

Earlier that morning, a small envoy from HQ had arrived and among them a man Mickey knew only from description, but whom she had no difficulties recognizing when he came knocking on her door. She had been self-possessed, incredibly calm, when Vlad handed her the letter, quietly explaining to her that Jo had asked him to give it to her should the situation ever occur when it would be necessary. Mickey had accepted first the letter, and then the quick, but heartfelt hug without a word, managing to give him a pale smile as he in a strained voice told her he would make sure she had everything she required to make her stay at the base as comfortable and pleasant as possible.

Once he had left, it had taken Mickey nearly an hour before she had summoned the courage to open the envelope and read Joīs letter. After reading it the first time, Mickey had been torn between whether to laugh or to cry. It was so like Jo not to expect a happy ending, but more or less conclude in advance that it was only a matter of time before they would split, for one reason or another.

The second time she read the letter, she became angry, feeling betrayed both by Joīs actions and her words. How dared she be caught when she had said things would be okay. How dared she think they might not be together in the end when they loved each other so much. And how dared she even suggest she might die before they had had a full life together.

How dared she die.

It had taken a great effort on Mickeyīs part not to tear the letter to pieces, but she knew she would regret it immediately after it was done. When she read it the third and final time, the anger had given way to tears, but she had fought every single one of them, not wanting to even consider she might have a reason to cry.

If she did, it was the same as admitting Jo was dead and that wasnīt possible.

It just wasnīt possible.

***************

"Mickey?" A gentle voice and a gentle hand on her shoulder slowly roused Mickey from her near unconscious state caused by too many sleepless nights. "Mickey, wake up."

Mickey blinked and groggily opened her eyes, looking up into a freckled and deeply concerned face, "Basil?" She sat up and the redhead moved away an inch to allow her space. "Basil, what are you doing here? I havenīt seen you since… since…"

"I came to-." Basilīs voice cracked and he cleared his throat hoarsely. Taking a deep breath he smiled feebly and said softly, "I just arrived and heard that you were here. I thought you might want to see a friendly face."

Mickey smiled fleetingly, not wanting to risk her composure by speaking. They stared at each other for a long moment, several unspoken words lingering between them, then Basil cleared his throat again, "So… how… how are you?"

"Iīm fine." Mickey was inwardly impressed how calm she actually sounded. "Itīs been a couple of very long days, but everything taken into consideration, Iīm fine."

Basil nodded, grimacing, something he had probably meant to be a smile. For another long moment, they said in silence, then abruptly Basil spoke, "I miss her! I miss her so much! I canīt believe she-"

"Basil," Mickey interrupted hastily, shaken to the core to see tears in the strong soldierīs eyes. "Sheīs not dead! Joīs not dead! I know she isnīt!"

"But Mickey… the reports…" It looked like the redhead was about to burst into tears for real any second now and Mickey quickly pulled him into a hug, mainly to silence the words she didnīt want to hear.

"I know the reports," she spoke quietly, absently stroking Basilīs back, "I have read them all. But we donīt know for sure that sheīs… sheīs…" Mickey gritted her teeth and squeezed the word out, "-dead. Nobody knows anything. They think sheīs been taken to St. Peterīs, but donīt know for sure. And they sure as hell donīt know sheīs dead." Anger bubbled to the surface and Mickey continued bitterly, "Everybody has been so damn busy telling me what a great soldier Jo was, how courageous and well liked, theyīre nearly ready to built her a goddamn memorial this minute, but not a single one of them seems to even want to consider sheīs still alive. Hell, they practically got her dead and buried already!"

"Mickey, the odds that sheīs still alive-" Basil had finally gotten himself under control enough to speak, but Mickey angrily cut him off. "I donīt give a fuck about odds, Basil! I donīt give a fuck about statistics! Donīt you…" Mickey saw the startled surprise in her friendīs face and gave him a little sad smile, finishing in a more subdued tone of voice, "Donīt you understand, Basil? I canīt. I canīt think about that. Not… not until I know for sure that…that…"

"Itīs okay, Mickey," Basil spoke gently, doing his best to believe in Mickeyīs conviction as he took her hand and carefully wiped the tears from her face with the other. "I understand. And Iīm sorry, Jo deserves more than that. We both know how she hates to lose and thereīs no way she would let herself be defeated so easily. I mean, I wouldnīt be surprised if she saunters into this camp soon, asking why the hell we all look so gloom."

His words had the effect he wished for, Mickey smiled reluctantly, sniffling a few times, "I would like that." She swallowed, "I would like that very much."

Basil smiled affectionately, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead, "Iīm afraid I have to go now, Mickey, Messina has ordered an emergency council and I have to report to my superior, but I will-."

"What?" Mickey interrupted, her brow furrowing. "Iris Messina is here?"

"Yes." Basil regarded her a little puzzled. "Havenīt you heard? She just arrived. In fact, my unit was the one escorting her." He spoke those words not without a little pride, but Mickey was already on her way to the door and didnīt pay him any attention. "Mickey?" Basil got to his feet as well. "Where are you going?"

"I have to see her," Mickey spoke over her shoulder, about to open the door. "Sheīs the only one who might know what the hell is going on."

"Mickey, wait!" Basil rushed forward, pushing the door shut and placing himself in front of it. "You canīt just march in there and demand to talk to the leader of the Organisation! Things donīt work that way."

"Get out of my way, Basil!" Mickey was about to get really angry now, her eyes blazing. "I donīt care how things work, I have to see her. She is the only one who can provide me with the information I need, and nobody, not even you, is going to keep me from her."

If the situation hadnīt been so serious, Basil would have laughed, knowing there was no way Mickey could get past him if he wouldnīt let her. However, he also recognized deadly determination when he saw it and trying to calm the animated woman down spoke soothingly, "Look, Mickey, I understand youīre frustrated about not knowing anything, but Iīm sure if there was any news, you would have been told already. Besides…" he hesitated, not really knowing how to proceed and desperately not wanting to offend. "Besides, I donīt know if meeting Messina would be a good idea. She… sheīs been very… stressed lately."

Mickey looked him square in the eye, speaking calmly, her anger fully disappeared, "I wonīt take no for an answer, Basil, I am going to see her. However, youīre right that I canīt just march in there." She sighed, looking away briefly before meeting his eyes again, "Perhaps… perhaps you could somehow let her know I want to see her?"

"Uh, Mickey, I donīt-"

"Please, Basil," Mickey whispered beseechingly, her voice quivering just a little. "Please, I have to speak with her."

Basil exhaled deeply, biting his lip. Seeing the carefully suppressed despair in Mickeyīs eyes he made his decision, "Okay, Mickey, Iīll see what I can do, but…" He quickly held his hand up to forestall any expectations, "But I canīt promise anything. Messina is terribly busy and youīre not the only one who wishes to see her. And… well…" He shrugged awkwardly, "There is always the chance she might not want to see you…"

"If that happens, Iīll deal with it then. Thank you, Basil." Mickey smiled gratefully, reaching up to kiss his cheek. "I owe you."

"Nah," he blushed lightly, giving her an embarrassed smile. "You just take good care of Jo once she gets back and weīll be even. Deal?"

"Deal," Mickey smiled and stepped back so Basil could open the door. For a moment they looked at each other, then Basil nodded briefly, turned on his heels and walked away.

Back inside her room, Mickey curled up on the bed and began to read Joīs letter again.

***************

Late that night, after Mickey had finally managed to fall asleep again, a low knock sounded on her door, stirring her out of her troubled sleep. Yawning, she got to her feet, stumbling sleepily to the door. Without caring to straighten her clothes or hair, she pulled the door open, looking directly into the eyes of Iris Messina.

For a few seconds they looked at each other, then Messina inquired quietly, "May I come in?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Slightly bewildered Mickey stepped back quickly to let her in then closed the door behind her.

Messina took a couple of steps into the room, then paused, her gaze slowly taking stock of the surroundings. Mickey stood motionlessly behind her, waiting patiently. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldnīt help but feel a little nervous being in the presence of the Field Marshal, and she honestly hadnīt expected that her request to meet with her would be granted so fast.

"I hope you find your quarters to your satisfaction," Messina spoke without turning around and to Mickey she sounded very tired.

"Yes, thank you. Iīm very comfortable."

"Good."

Messina turned around, cool blue eyes meeting Mickeyīs. However, her face was pale and drawn and Mickey doubted that she had gotten much sleep lately. Apparently, that was something the two of them had in common.

Mickey ignored the voice, using the opportunity to study Messina instead. Seven years had passed since they last met, but although Mickey doubted Messina remembered her, she on the other hand had no difficulties connecting the woman before her to the image she had in her head. The years had done nothing to extinguish Iris Messinaīs beauty. Sure a few lines around her eyes were now visible, another scar had appeared on her jaw and she looked generally exhausted, but her eyes were still as breathtaking as they had been that day in Vega when she appeared out of nowhere, only to take what Mickey valued most in the world with her.

Unbeknownst to Mickey, she was being studied, too, but while Messina could read every emotion off the young womanīs face, Mickey was unable to find a single sign that indicated that the experienced soldier was even feeling anything. A long, silent moment passed with the two women going from studying each other to looking directly into each otherīs eyes.

Suddenly, Messina straightened up, giving Mickey a sharp salute, "My condolences, Doctor Renault. If thereīs anything I can do to assist you in this difficult time, donīt hesitate to ask."

Returning to her former position, Messina regarded Mickey silently, clearly expecting a response, but all Mickey could do was stare at her in disbelief. After a couple of tense seconds, she finally managed to find her tongue and asked incredulously, "Your condolences? Is that all you have to say? Youīre offering me your condolences?"

Almost imperceptibly, Messina face hardened, "Iīm not sure I follow, Doctor Renault, what else do you want me to say?"

Staring at her, Mickey bit her lip hard, trying to rein in her temper and then spoke as calmly as possible, "I want you to say that youīre doing everything in your power to find out whatīs going on. I want you to say that youīre sorry about what happened, but that youīre doing your best to rectify the situation. And I want you to say that itīs only a matter of hours before you come up with a plan to bring Jo back."

Messina was silent for a moment and for the first time Mickey thought she saw a brief flicker of something in her eyes, then it was gone. "Doctor Renault," Messina spoke slowly and tiredly, her voice low but firm. "Joīs dead. I know itīs not what you-"

"No!" Mickey cut her off, taking a step towards her. "Jo isnīt dead! She isnīt. I would know if she were. I would feel it."

"Doctor Renault," Messinaīs jaw clenched in anger and irritation. "I understand that you have suffered a great loss, and I understand that you donīt-"

"What is wrong with you?!" Mickey shouted out in frustration, Messinaīs resigned and dispassionate composure making her both angry and afraid. "How can you act like this? I know you cared for Jo, too! I know you must feel something! You canīt just give up like that, you have to do something!"

"God dammit, woman!" Messina abruptly rushed forward, her firm hold on her emotions gone. "What does it take to make you understand! Jo is dead! She was torn to pieces by the dogs! She is not coming back! Not ever! No matter how much you and I want her to!"

Shocked by the outburst, Mickey stared into Messinaīs eyes, their faces mere inches from each other. Taking a deep breath, Messina fought to compose herself, furious at herself for losing control. Moving back a little to put some distance between them, she ran a hand through her hair and said quietly, "Look, Doctor…" She paused, then continued, "Mickey, I know this is hard, and you must believe me when I say that if there was anything I could do, I would. Jo is…" Messinaīs voice disappeared suddenly and she had to clear her throat several times before being able to continue. "Jo is very special to me and if there was the slightest possibility of her being alive then…. but… but Iīm sorry. I really am."

Mickey looked at her for a long time, for once her face virtually unreadable, then she stated with quiet certainty, "Joīs not dead, Iris." One of Messinaīs eyebrows rose slightly by the very familiar use of her name, but she remained silent. "I would know if she were. I know it sounds crazy, but I know itīs true. If Jo were dead, I… I would feel it…" Mickey subconsciously placed a hand over her heart. "In here."

They held each otherīs gaze for a moment, then Messina looked away. Steeling her courage, Mickey continued, "You canīt tell me that you know for certain that Jo is dead, if you did you would have told me. No, I think that you donīt know exactly what happened after Jo was caught, and that deep inside you know she could still be alive. Tell me if Iīm right?"

Messina didnīt respond, or even made any indication that she was listening, but Mickey knew she was. Sighing, she concluded softly, her voice not demanding, but very matter-of-fact, "I want you to find out exactly what happened and where Jo might be now. You have enough agents in Neo Roma to achieve that within a short period of time. Then I want you to think of a way to rescue her from whatever prison or base she is kept in. And then I want you to bring her here, to me…"

"Even if she were alive," Messina kept her eyes on the wall, not even glancing in Mickeyīs direction, "I couldnīt do what you ask. Even if we could find her she would be locked up in a high security prison, guarded better than the Council building itself. I have a responsibility toward this organisation, to all the people in it, to free Jo would be a suicide mission and Iīm not willing to sacrifice the lives of dozens of soldiers in order to save one." She turned her head slowly, looking back at Mickey as she spoke tonelessly, "Jo wouldnīt want me to either. She would never approve of lives being lost just so she could live."

Mickey felt anger rise again, but before it could manifest itself, it disappeared, and despair began to take its place. Swallowing hard, she spoke, using all her strength to avoid losing it in front of Messina, "You know if the situation was reverse, Jo would do anything in her power trying to rescue you."

"Yes," Messina answered, her words almost whispered. "But thatīs different and you know it. I am the leader of the Organisation and I have to think of whatīs best for everyone. I canīt afford to let personal matters affect my judgement."

Mickey looked her straight in the eye, her voice cold, "I would think itīs a little late for that, wouldnīt you?"

Messina stiffened, anger flickering across her face, then she spoke evenly, "Iīm sorry, but thatīs my final decision. Iīm not going to change my mind."

Without waiting for a reply, she walked to the door, halting abruptly when Mickey spoke.

"I thought you loved her."

For the briefest of heartbeats Messina was frozen, then, without a word, she continued toward the door, slipping out and closing it behind quietly her.

Mickey stared at the door for a moment, then slowly sank to the ground, her body trembling with sobs as the one hope she had had to cling to since Neo Roma evaporated into nothing.

***************

Chapter Fifty-Four

"Come in."

Basil hesitated for just a second, straightening his collar, then he resolutely opened the door and stepped inside. The office was dark with only a single desk lamp lit that served more to cast shadows onto the walls than actually light the room up. Messina was sitting behind the desk, her back turned. Her jacket was slung carelessly over the chair and her shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing tanned and strong arms.

Standing stiffly before the desk, Basil waited for her to acknowledge his presence, but when nothing happened he tentatively cleared his throat.

Messina sighed, taking a last look out at the darkened compound before turning away from the window to face him. Gesturing for him to sit down, she turned over a clean cup and poured him a cup of coffee from a pot on the desk. Handing it to him, she spoke tiredly. "Iīm sorry for pulling you out of bed at this ungodly hour, Sergeant Neville, but the matter couldnīt wait."

"No problem, maīam," Basil answered automatically, gratefully taking a sip of the coffee. "I am always ready to serve the Organisation, no matter the hour."

Messina smirked lightly, arching an eyebrow, "Even at four a.m. when you havenīt had any sleep the night before?"

"Even then, maīam," Basil replied earnestly.

The blonde nodded, then seemed to lose herself in thought, but just as Basil thought he would have to remind her of his presence, the blue eyes returned to his. Messina studied him in silence for about ten seconds, then asked, her tone of voice never changing, "Sergeant Neville, would you be willing to risk both your life and career for a mission that at best would cause you nothing but trouble and probable dishonour, if not demotion?"

Basil didnīt hesitate, "That depends entirely on the mission, maīam."

Again, Messinaīs countenance didnīt change, "Locating, and if possible, rescuing Major Delaine."

The sergeant was silent for a long moment, his face showing very little of the thoughts running through his mind, then he said simply, "Yes."

Messina barely nodded in acknowledgement as though she had been expecting his answer all along and continued without wavering, "You will be equipped with whatever you need. Vehicles, weapons, explosives, you wonīt find anything lacking. I trust you to handpick whoever you want to follow you from your unit, I would say a minimum of ten to fifteen men should do. Tell them whatever you have to to get them to go with you."

She paused, waiting until she was sure they had eye contact, "This, Sergeant, is strictly off the record, itīs strictly between you and me. I canīt be known to be supporting a mission like this, not without losing credibility and respect and I will not risk that. Officially, you will be acting entirely on your own. Youīre Delaineīs best friend and couldnīt stand the thought of her rotting up in jail thus you collected a few men and some equipment and snuck away in the night. People wonīt condone your act, but they will understand and that should benefit you later."

"Now," she pulled out a drawer, taking out a few folders and tossing them to him, "this is the information we have been able to gather and with some probability it can be assumed that Jo is being kept somewhere in St. Peterīs Prison. Plans of the prison are also included in this folder. Where exactly she is we donīt know, probably in some of the lower levels used for maximum security prisoners. What to do once you get there will depend on the situation at hand and I will leave it up to you to figure out the best approach. However, keep in mind that if something goes wrong you wonīt be getting any backup as I have no official knowledge of this whatsoever, and there wonīt be anybody to bail you out. If you fail, then you will be paying with your life as will anybody else involved. This is an ungrateful task without any recognition, is that clear?"

"Yes, maīam," Basil answered seriously, his mind racing as he tried to understand everything he was, and wasnīt, being told. One thought pressed on him more than others and unable to restrain himself, he asked quietly, "How do we know sheīs still alive?"

"We donīt," Messina answered matter-of-factly, her eyes conveying no expression aside a little professional curiosity as she studied his face intensely. "For all we know Jo could have been killed days ago, and you may be about to venture out on a pointless suicide mission."

Basil nodded to himself, digesting the information, then said calmly, "Well, I think Iīll take the chance. Joīs my best friend and I would give my life for her. If thereīs the slightest possibility sheīs alive then Iīm going to find out. I couldnīt bear the thought on her dying alone in some prison, so far away from everybody who loves her."

The sergeantīs voice had become noticeably thick during the last few words and Messina respectfully looked away, giving him a moment to collect himself. Then she sighed, reaching out to pour them both another cup of coffee, "Thereīs one thing you have to know before you leave, itīs not public knowledge yet, at least not everywhere, so I would prefer it if you keep it to yourself."

"Yes?"

"As Iīm sure you have heard by now, Delaineīs assignment in Neo Roma was to assassinate Lingstrom, unfortunately heīs still alive. Apparently Delaine didnīt hit him properly and he survived. Thatīs why…" Messina faltered, clearing her throat before continuing, "thatīs why we suspect she might still be alive. Lingstrom would want to have her interrogated quite thoroughly before sheīs eliminated. That, on the other hand…" Again she faltered, then finished quickly and Basil absently noticed she avoided meeting his eyes and stared down at the desk instead, "That is also why we suspect that if she is alive she wonīt be very much longer. Itīs been five days. Lingstrom will want to have his revenge soon…"

"Then I wonīt waste any time." Basil rose from his chair. Standing at attention he saluted and Messina saluted in return before saying, "You will find three fully equipped jeeps at the western gate. If you leave now nobody will be there to question you."

Basil, who had been on his way to the door, halted and turned around to look at her, his brow furrowed, "Did you know I would say yes all along?"

For the first time during their meeting, Messina gave him a genuine smile, "I didnīt know for sure, Sergeant, but I knew there had to be a reason why Delaine likes you so much."

"And now you know?"

"Yes," Messina smiled again. "Now I know."

As the door closed behind the sergeant, Messina got up from her desk and walked over to a cabinet hanging on the wall. Opening it, she took out a glass and a bottle, hesitated, then put the glass back in before closing the doors to the cabinet again. Just as she sank back down in her chair, a knock sounded and without looking up, she answered, "Come in."

Vlad stepped inside and silently walked over to perch himself on the edge of the desk. A few minutes passed, then he said softly, his gaze on Messina who was staring blankly at the golden liquid in the bottle clutched between her hands, "You wonīt be able to keep it a secret forever. Sooner or later people will know you implemented the rescue. Whether itīs successful or not doesnīt matter, people will know."

Raising her head slowly, Messina looked at her aide, listless eyes focusing on his face, "That may be, Vlad, that may very well be, but right now…" She took a big gulp from the bottle, looking away again, "Right now I honestly donīt give a damn."

***************

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Captain Jane pressed the slightly heated metal points against Joīs temples and switched on the power. But as before, there was no reaction aside a faint fluttering of her eyelashes. Sighing in annoyance, she reluctantly began to gather her equipment, deciding to come back later. It was no use, or fun for that matter, when the prisoner didnīt respond and even though she could have undertaken means to wake her up, she decided to give Delaine a little time to recuperate. She had been disturbingly unresponsive the last two hours, almost cataleptic, and Jane knew she could lose her job if she had gone too far too soon. She still needed to retrieve the information President Lingstrom and the Council wanted and until that was achieved she had to be careful with what she did. Although Delaine was tough, she wasnīt inhuman and the captain knew she was getting very close to the limits of what she could take.

Carelessly tossing the blanket over Joīs body, Jane got to her feet, then hesitated and experimentally poked the seemingly deeply unconscious woman in the side with her boot, "You really are far gone, arenīt you?" Her brow furrowed in thoughtful curiosity, "What did council member Walder tell you to upset you so much? The guards down here say they have never heard anything like it, you really freaked them out. Oh well…" She walked to the door, fishing out the key card that would open it from the inside. She, together with the head warden, were the only person to have unlimited access to the prisoners, night and day, and without needing any supervision from the guards. "Iīll find out. I always do."

Humming slightly to herself, she opened the door and stepped outside.

Minutes, and then hours passed, but if the motionless woman on the floor noticed, she didnīt show it. Just as the third shift of soldiers entered the guard room, muttering nasty curses when they realized they were out of coffee, the door to Joīs cell slowly slid open. About ten inches open the movement ceased, but then the door was pushed open completely and a shadow quickly slipped inside, closing the door soundlessly again.

Standing in the oppressive darkness of the cell, the head warden stood absolutely still, watching the prisoner curled up on the floor and listening to her low and irregular breathing. Then, suddenly stepping forward, he gave her a hard kick in the kidneys. She didnīt react and not the slightest sound left her lips. Waiting a few seconds, he stepped forward again and repeated the act, and again there was no visible movement or sound to indicate she was awake.

Deciding that was enough, he walked over to her and knelt down. Pushing the blanket away, he grabbed her by the shoulder and waist and swiftly rolled her onto her back. Pushing her legs apart, he shifted to kneel between them, his hand fumbling with his belt buckle. Once it was loose, he unzipped his trousers, then moved to rid the prisoner of her trousers as well. The weak rubber band in the waistband was no match for his eager hands, and the trousers slid easily down her hips all the way to her knees. Subconsciously licking his lips, he slowly reached for the grey material of her briefs he could faintly make out in the darkness when a sound outside the cell caught his attention and he quickly looked to the door.

Holding his breath, he listened attentively as the dragging steps of a sleepy guard faded in the distance, and he smiled smugly to himself, about to turn his attention back to what he had been doing when he felt something odd around his neck. More out of reflex than realization, he reached up to touch it, absently turning his head back to the prisoner as he did so. Stiffening abruptly, he stared into pale blue eyes glistening in the darkness and he tried to speak, but all thoughts left him as whatever was around his throat tightened, cutting deeper and deeper into his skin.

Panic rushed over him and he attempted to move away, but found that strong legs were locked around his waist, keeping him in place. Gasping for air, black spots began to dance before his eyes and he gave up trying to get away and instead tried to wedge his thumbs under the cold metal that kept sawing mercilessly into his throat, already causing small droplets of blood to trickle down onto his uniform.

Unable to achieve any lessening of the pressure, he grew desperate. Using all his body weight, he threw himself backwards, attempting to tear himself free that way, but to no avail. Instead the hands holding the chain strengthened their grip and the black spots grew bigger as his lungs cried out in protest, being denied air for so long. As his gasps turned into low, wheezing sounds, their eyes met again and he almost forgot to struggle when he saw no anger or hatred in the prisonerīs eyes as he had expected. All he saw was a cold, indifferent detachment and, what was worst of all, an endless patience, and he realized suddenly that she was waiting for him to die. And, as the pressure built in his lungs and the blood continued to flow from the cuts in his throat, he knew, without a doubt, that he would.

Without a word, without ever changing the expression on her face, Jo watched life slowly leave the man who had intended to rape her. In the exact moment his heart beat for the last time, she released him, using her legs to shove the limp body as far away from her as possible. His head hit the wall with a sickening thud, but the sound barely registered in her mind as she stared at him, her hands shaking ever so slightly pulling up her trousers.

The trance like determination that suffused her as she stepped over to him, searching his pockets for keys, was the first emotion detectable on her face since the moment the head warden came into her cell. Deftly and professionally, she went through his pockets until she found what she needed. Heading for the door, she inserted the card, enduring the nerve wrecking seconds it took for the door to identify the card and slide the lock back without blinking.

Stepping outside, she abruptly halted, shielding her eyes from the painfully blinding light in the corridor. Then, without any defined plan or goal, her fuzzy mind hardly capable of taking in what was happening, she began to stumble down the corridor, her body leaning heavily against the wall to keep her upright.

"Mickey…" Jo didnīt recognize the strained whisper as her own voice as she continued forward, heedless of the sound of running steps coming toward her. "Mickey, where are you?"

Gathering strength she didnīt think she possessed anymore, she started to run, pausing only to pound on the cell doors on each side of the corridor, moving onward each time she received no reply. "Mickey?!" As her voice became accustomed to being used again, her words grew louder, but also more desperate and fearful. "Mickey?! Mickey, where are you?! Itīs Jo, please tell me where you are!"

Reaching the end of the corridor and realizing she could go no further, Jo turned around, her back against the wall. Staring dully at the guards running towards her, her trembling legs gave in and she slowly slid down, "Mickey…" She buried her face in her hands, "Iīm sorry…"

She felt rather than heard when the soldiers were over her, beating her into a needless submission with their machine guns as she wasnīt even capable of walking, much less fighting. Half carried, half dragged, she was brought back to her cell, a new beating ensuing when the dead warden was discovered. Finally, she was left alone and the door was slammed shut behind her, the angry voices of the guards quickly disappearing out of earshot as they walked away, towing the dead man between them.

For a long time, Jo lay like dead, unseeing eyes staring out into the darkness, her bloody left hand clutching the small item she hadnīt let go of ever since Victoria Walder dropped it in her cell. Then suddenly a violent tremor went through her and without being aware of it, tears began to run down her cheeks, her chapped lips moving soundlessly, forming Mickeyīs name over and over again.

***************

Shivering imperceptibly, Victoria Walder pulled her coat tighter around her thin body. For some reason the wardenīs office was freezing.

"So Delaine has finally talked?"

With half an ear, she listened to an increasingly impatient Lingstrom question the utterly calm captain, both of them standing behind her.

"Yes, and no. When I promised to leave Renault alone for the time being, she agreed to show us the Organisationīs HQ here in Neo Roma, somewhere in the Slums, just as we expected. However, she still refuses to say anything about Messinaīs or any of the generalsī whereabouts."

"How come you havenīt made her talk yet?" The anger in the presidentīs voice caused Walderīs lip to curl slightly, but she didnīt turn around to face him and kept staring out of the window overlooking the prison yard. "I thought you were the best?"

"I am the best," Jane answered quietly, not the least concerned with the manīs outburst, her eyes moving to linger on Victoria Walderīs back. "But I have to be careful. The prisoner is in a state where she may try to harm herself, or attempt to get someone to kill her by mistake. Her little adventure two days ago proves that and Iīve no intentions of letting her succeed. She also has a very interesting way of dealing with pain, she seems to retreat into a world of her own which, to some degree, protects her. Of course, itīs only a matter of time… Especially now when someoneīs finally gotten around to telling me what her weakness is." The captainīs voice held just the slightest hint of reproach as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, she continued, her voice now sounding more bemused than anything, "Besides, I have been busy doing other things. The… well, unexpected demise of the warden set my schedule back."

"I still donīt understand how that could happen," Lingstrom commented exasperatedly, watching in disgust as Jane exhaled a delicate line of smoke. "What was he doing in her cell anyway at that time of night?"

"What do you think?" Walder spoke slowly, turning around to look at him for the first time since the meeting began.

They held each otherīs gaze for a long time, almost like two combatants unwilling to back down, then Lingstrom suddenly broke eye contact, speaking gruffly, "What the warden does, did… in his spare time isnīt any of my business."

Walder regarded him in silence for a moment longer, her face unreadable, then she looked away.

Taking that as her clue to speak, Jane cleared her throat, "Mr. President, Council Member, with your permission I think we should get going. The men are waiting outside and if we leave now we can be in the Slums before dark. The quicker we get to the agentsī headquarters, the greater the chance that there is still something to be found."

"Why canīt she just give you directions?" Lingstrom asked, more out of a need to somehow regain control of the situation which he felt he had lost, than actual curiosity. "Why does she need to show it to you in person?"

"She insisted. Itīs obviously hard to find, but in my opinion the reason is more that she sees it as a way of buying Renault a little time. I donīt see any harm in that," the captain shrugged, her answer, to Lingstromīs great annoyance, seemingly directed more to Walder than him. "On the contrary, the more Delaine worries about her loverīs safety, the better. Also, itīs a way of showing her that life goes on even when sheīs slowly dying here in St. Peterīs." She paused, then finished with something that might have been a smile, "Iīve found that it never hurts to remind the prisoners once in awhile of what they are missing, or how unimportant they really are in the long run. It always appears to… motivate them."

Walder nodded and was about to speak, but the president interrupted quickly, "What if she runs? This might just be some ploy of hers trying to escape."

"Ah…" Again it looked as though Jane might be smiling, but neither Walder nor Lingstrom could tell for certain. "I donīt think thereīs any danger of that. Delaineīs legs havenīt been functioning properly lately, I believe my last visit to her cell might be the cause of that. I think itīs safe to say that she wonīt be running anywhere anytime soon. Besides, she will be handcuffed and guarded by four soldiers. Itīs safe."

When she didnīt receive any objections, she nodded briefly, then turned towards the door, but before she could leave Walderīs voice halted her, "After so long, why did she finally begin to talk? Was threatening Doctor Renault all it took?"

Turning around to look at them, Jane spoke, her normally blank face showing just the slightest hint of being intrigued, "Astonishing, isnīt it? That and a little extra coercion and she became almost cooperative. My guess is that within the next twenty-four hours weīll know everything we want to know. Of course…" She turned back to the door, reaching for the handle, "I also promised she would get to see her lover one last time before sheīs executed." She shrugged, her voice just carrying in to the people in the office as she walked outside, "Too bad I wonīt be able to keep my end of the bargain."

As they listened to the captainīs steps fade down the hall, Walder and Lingstrom looked at each other. Then Walder asked quietly, "For how long are we going to let Delaine believe we apprehended Renault? That she is a prisoner?"

Lingstrom frowned, "For as long as it suits our purposes naturally. It was a stroke of genius on your part to get her to think her lover was here. Who knows how long she otherwise would have kept silent."

"I think she should be told," Walder began to button her coat, glancing up at him. "After all, once she has told us what we need to know, what would be the harm?"

"Tell her? Why?" Lingstrom stared at her, then abruptly he smiled. "Oh, you mean so sheīll know she betrayed the Organisation for nothing? That she was fooled? Yes…" He smiled again. "Yes, that might prove entertaining."

Walder sighed tiredly, "Thatīs not what I meant."

"Oh?" Lingstrom walked over to the door, holding it open for her to pass through. "What did you mean then?"

"I meant it might make her death a little easier knowing her lover is safe and unharmed."

Lingstrom stopped, meeting her eyes before speaking coldly, "I have no intentions of giving Delaine an easy death. She is a terrorist of the worst kind and deserves to be treated that way. And frankly, Victoria, Iīm surprised, and a little disturbed, you donīt see it that way."

Without waiting for her answer, he walked away, leaving Walder to stare at his back in silence for a moment before she turned on her heels and walked down the hall in the opposite direction.

***************

"God dammit, bitch! Get up!" The soldiers on each side of Jo grabbed her arms and forcefully pulled her to her feet, only to have Joīs legs instantly collapse underneath her again. Swearing loudly, they pulled her up again and began to stagger down the street, dragging her between them.

"Captain! How much further?! She keeps falling over!"

Jane who had been standing a couple of yards ahead of them, studying a map, turned her head to look back at the aggravated men, "Not far." She glanced back down at the map, "According to this, the headquarters should be about two blocks away."

"Hmm…" the blond soldier on Joīs right grumbled in displeasure, yanking her forward as the unit began to move again. "Thatīs two blocks too long in my opinion. Iīm fucking tired of carrying this scum around, the only thing that smells worse than she is the surroundings. I hate the Slums!"

"Take it easy, Mitch," the man who had a firm hold on Joīs left arm spoke. "At least you donīt have to live here."

"Yeah well, this place gives me the creeps," his comrade muttered, shooting suspicious looks at the dark and deserted buildings around him. "I feel like there are a thousand pairs of eyes staring at me."

"Thatīs because there probably are," the soldier walking ahead of them turned around to give them an evil grin. "The Slums have their own kind of intelligence service. The exact moment a soldier or policeman sets a foot here the word is already spreading. I bet they even knew about our arrival before we had passed the wall."

"Oh, shut up, Freyer!" Mitch shouted angrily, causing the man to laugh out loud. "Youīre just full of shit. The people around here arenīt organized, they are too stupid for that. They are just animals."

Before Freyer could form a reply, Captain Janeīs voice cut through the air, putting an abrupt end to all conversation between the soldiers, "Take your positions, weīre being watched!"

Instantly, the soldiers spread out, away from the street and into the cool shadows of the looming buildings.

"Fuck! I canīt get a hold of my machine gun if I have to hold onto her, too," Mitch complained, anxious eyes staring at every shadow he could see.

"Then place her against the wall," his comrade answered tight-lipped, clutching his weapon as he stared ahead of him, trying to locate the captain. "Sheīs half gone anyway, she wonīt be going anywhere."

Mitch hesitated for a second, but then unceremoniously dumped the limp woman against the wall, letting out a low sigh of relief as his aching arms finally got to drop the burden they had been carrying for the last twenty minutes.

An uneasy and ominous quiet settled over the street as thirty soldiers attempted to breathe as silently as possible, all struggling with the irresistible urge to ask the man next to him if he could hear or see anything. Minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow, while simultaneously, all too fast the daylight started to fade and it gradually became darker and colder. The shadows between the buildings grew longer, and the empty and broken windows high above, looking like hundreds of black, staring eyes watching them, began to make even the most disciplined and hard-boiled soldier nervous.

"Whatīs going on?" Mitch whispered, his eyes darting frantically around, following each movement, each sound. "Where are they?"

"Shut up!" Everybody near him hissed, their nerves fraying, and Mitch dutifully did so, cold hands holding his machine gun in a near painful grip.

Another long moment passed and just as Mitch was about to risk the wrath of his fellow soldiers and speak again, the air was filled with an infernal noise, angry voices shouting, metal hitting metal and glass breaking. The sounds, appearing as they were coming from everywhere around them, caused the already spooked soldiers to huddle closer, hearts beating furiously in their chests as they waited for their captainīs instructions. However, whatever Jane tried to say was drowned out as a rain of bottles suddenly began to fall, splintering on the street and the car wreckages, shards flying left and right, hitting the soldiers who hadnīt sought sufficient cover.

As cries of pain began to mingle with the shouting and the sounds of bottles breaking, bricks and stones were added. But instead of aiming for the street, they were directed against the crouching soldiers, their invisible attackers seemingly knowing exactly where to look.

"Okay, thatīs it!" Janeīs voice was miraculously heard above the noise and all the soldiersī heads turned towards her. "Itīs time to give those fuckers a lesson! Move on three, and youīre goddammit going to shoot to kill! I donīt want any prisoners!"

The ruckus increased tenfold and became almost unbearable as all the soldiers moved away from the buildings, pointing and firing their machine guns at every moving shadow. The screams that quickly followed stimulated the soldiers and they became eager, their fingers never ceasing the pressure on the triggers as they kept sending volleys out into the darkness.

Slowly, but perceptibly, the amounts of bottles and bricks sent their way lessened. The shouting faded and one by one, the soldiers standing back to back in the middle of the street, stopped firing and soon a heavy silence settled once more.

Mitch looked around, his face red from excitement and his eyes shining, "Are they gone? Did we win?" He received no answer from the men around him, but continued nonetheless, "How many did we kill? I think I got at least four."

"Silence!" Jane held up her hand, her face showing nothing of what had been going on the last few minutes. "Iīm trying to listen."

Her gaze slowly glided over the surroundings, studying the empty windows and the black passages between the buildings. Her brow lightly furrowed, she bit her lip pensively, trying to understand why she was having such a bad feeling. Then, midst the ragged breathing of her men and their whispered and fearful words, she heard a vague but instantly recognizable click and her eyes widened in realization. And then hundreds of bullets tore through the night, ripping her and the soldiers to pieces.

Without waiting so see the result of his order, Basil stumbled down the broken stairs and out of the building. Without waiting for the gunfire to cease or making sure that all the soldiers were indeed dead and that he wouldnīt suddenly get a bullet in the back, he sprinted directly towards Jo, his freckled face frozen in a mask of cold determination.

Once there he let go of his machine gun and dropped to his knees, but then hesitated, almost afraid to speak, "Jo…?" He leaned closer, staring at her pale and dirty face, "Jo, can you hear me? Itīs me, Basil."

Joīs lips moved and a hoarse whisper that might have been his name was heard, but she didnīt open her eyes. Swallowing, Basil wiped his eyes angrily, then spoke softly, his brain hardly realizing that the gunfire had stopped, "Itīs okay, Jo, youīre safe now. Iīm going to bring you out of here and home to Mickey."

"Mickey…" This time the whispered word was intelligible and Basil paused, waiting to see if anything else was forthcoming. But nothing came and he gently reached under her, carefully pulling her up into his arms. A slight whimper of pain was elicited from the act and Basilīs heart ached as he unsteadily started to walk, "Iīm sorry, Jo. I know it hurts, but I have to get you out of here. I promise Iīll be careful."

The darkness before Joīs eyes and the fog in her mind wouldnīt clear, and she was only halfway aware of the voices around her and the fact that she was being carried. She vaguely heard a man thank another for his help, but when he gruffly answered that they had only done this for the doctor, not the Organisation, Jo wasnīt capable of making any sense of it all although she somehow felt she should.

The last thing she heard before she slipped into unconsciousness for real, was a low voice whispering, a warm breath caressing her ear, "It wonīt be long now."

***************

Chapter Fifty-Five

Although the night had fallen a long time ago, the camp hospital continued its smooth routines based on years of practice, none of the nurses or doctors on duty giving the late hour or their own fatigue a second thought. They knew from experience that people died more often in the night and the early hours of the morning than during the day.

One of the newly trained nurses, a young woman who had just recently arrived at the base, walked quietly down the corridor, stopping occasionally to open a door and throw a look in to the patients who more often than not were fast asleep. Either from exhaustion and pain or various types of drugs. As she approached the last door on the right, she was about to step in when the head nurse coming from the other end of the corridor shook her head and spoke quietly, "Itīs okay, Anna, this one doesnīt need supervision just now."

"Are you sure?" the young nurse asked slightly surprised, glancing at the complex and detailed chart attached to the board in her hand. "The patient was critical for almost seventy-two hours, and the doctor only recently deemed it safe for her to be let out of the coma."

Her superior only smiled, placing her hand on the nurseīs shoulder as she led her back down the corridor, "The patient will be okay for now. Sheīs in the fortunate position of having her own personal doctor, and I doubt thereīs anything we could do that Dr. Renault hasnīt done already."

"Oh?" her younger colleague said with interest. "So itīs true then? What Iīve heard, I mean. The patient is Dr. Renaultīs lover?"

"Hush, Anna," the head nurse answered mildly disapproving. "You talk too much. Go see the burn victim in Section C, I think itīs time for his sponge bath."

"Yes, maīam," the young nurse replied dutifully, sighing inwardly without letting it on. "Iīll get right to it." And then she slowly trotted away on her tired and aching feet, her mind already having forgotten about the patient at the end of the corridor.

Her back stiff and tense from not having made any significant movements for the last many hours, Mickey awkwardly got to her feet. With her eyes never leaving the woman in the bed, she stretched, letting out a low groan of bliss as she felt all her bones pop back into place. After taking a minute to loosen up the muscles in her neck and shoulders, she resumed her position in the chair next to Joīs bed. The surprisingly comfortable chair which had served as both her bed and work station ever since Jo was transferred from the intensive care unit to this private room.

For hours, all Mickey had heard was the hushed sound of voices from the people walking by outside, and the enervating, but ultimately immensely reassuring beeps from the machines monitoring Joīs heartbeat and breathing. And then of course there was the sound of Joīs breathing itself, which to Mickey was more beautiful than the most delicate piece of music.

Only recently had she been able to stop herself from tearing up whenever she was left alone with Jo, every time surprising herself that she actually had any tears left to shed. The last week had been an emotional gamut unlike any she had ever experienced before and which Mickey desperately hoped she never would again. Going from crushing despair to wild hope within minutes and then back again had left her drained both physically and emotionally, and the fact that she couldnīt remember the last time she slept didnīt make it better. From the second the news reached her that Jo had been brought in, she had been on auto pilot, acting like a doctor and nothing else, and it wasnīt until Jo was released from the coma and her condition diagnosed as stable that Mickey allowed herself to relax. If only a fraction of an inch.

However, the sudden physical inactivity had allowed her exhausted but racing mind to take over, and all the thoughts she until then had been able to suppress suddenly hit with full force. Mickey knew she had been pushing off the inevitable. That sooner or later she wouldnīt be able to hide behind her medical expertise or fancy technical terms, but would have to deal with the fact that the badly injured woman in the bed wasnīt just another nameless patient, but her lover. Her lover who for one excruciatingly long night had been so close to succumbing to her injuries that there had been talk of fetching a priest so she could receive the last rites.

When Mickey heard, she had been furious, yelling at them that Jo wasnīt religious and who the hell did they think they were condemning her to death like that. It was after the startled and slightly embarrassed staff had apologized and quickly left her alone that Mickey finally broke down, clutching Joīs motionless hand as she sat by her bed, tears running down her face.

***************

"And her legs?"

"Her legs will be fine," Mickey spoke softly, for the hundredth time since Basil came knocking glancing back at Jo to check on her. "They need rest, as does the rest of her body, and she will have to use crutches for a few weeks, but there shouldnīt be any permanent damage."

"Thatīs good," Basil smiled in relief, his eyes lingering on Jo for a moment before darting back to Mickey. Doing his best to ignore the constant beeps from the machines around him, he continued, "That really scared me, you know. That she wasnīt able to walk. Iīm glad itīs going to be okay, somehow I donīt think Jo would respond well to being a cripple."

Mickey sighed, giving him a pale smile, "Does anybody? Fortunately in Joīs case all feeling and control of her legs returned as soon as the swelling went down."

"And her head?"

Unbeknownst to Mickey, a brief, but clearly visible flicker of pain showed in her eyes, then she answered quietly, "The smelling went down there, too, and the pressure in her brain has disappeared. Itīs still too soon to tell, but she is responding well to stimuli and the doctors are confident there wonīt be any permanent damage there either."

"Youīre a doctor, too," Basil commented gently, pausing until Mickey reluctantly met his eyes. "What do you think?"

"I think…" Mickey looked away again, her gaze invariably coming to rest on Joīs bruised but peaceful face. "I think I may just be a little too close to this to be objective, a little too involved."

Basil bit his lip, then said a little hesitantly, "I heard… I heard that they wouldnīt let you near her when she was brought in, that they wouldnīt let you into the operating room…"

"You heard right," Mickey answered matter-of-factly, her face betraying none of the overwhelming anger she had experienced when the incident took place. "They wouldnīt and they were right. If the situation had been reversed, I wouldnīt have allowed it either."

"But…" Basil looked lightly puzzled. "But you got in, didnīt you?"

"Yes." Mickey had wanted to leave it at that, but when she saw the question in his eyes added tiredly, "They werenīt given a choice. They received an order from above to give me access."

"Oh…" Basil was silent for a moment, then said, "Messina?"

"Yes, Messina."

Somehow, Basil didnīt know what to say after that and for a couple of minutes they stood in silence, watching Jo sleep. Then he cleared his throat, "It was Messina who-."

"I know," Mickey interrupted softly without taking her eyes off Jo.

"Really?" Basil abruptly turned to look at her, surprise written all over his face. "But how? She told me she wouldnīt-."

"It was the only way it made sense," Mickey interrupted again, her voice very quiet. Turning to Basil, she continued, "Donīt get me wrong, I know you would do anything within your power to save Jo and if it hadnīt been for you then we wouldnīt be here having this conversation. However, I also know that you donīt just hijack Organisation vehicles or steal weapons like that. Not without being caught. Those items were being made ready for you and the only one who could have done that is Iris Messina."

Basil didnīt answer for a long time, then he said slowly, "If you can figure that out, then so can everybody else."

Mickey made a little sound that sounded almost like a snort, "Donīt you think they already have? I know youīre taking the blame, Basil. I know you got court-martialled the moment you put your foot on the base and that everybody is running around pretending to be aghast with security and the men who assisted you, but deep down we all know the truth. We all know who instigated this. Not that anyone is going to say it mind you." Mickey let out a low breath, speaking more to herself than him as she gazed back at Jo, "At least not to her face."

Again silence fell between them and Basil used the opportunity to digest everything Mickey had told him. It didnīt come as that much of a surprise to him, he had noticed the looks following both him and Messina, and he had heard the talk in the corners. He just hadnīt realized that people werenīt just suspicious of the affair, but actually considered the rumours circling around to be truthful and not just unfounded gossip and speculation. Of course, in this case it wasnīt unfounded.

"Huh?" Lost in thought he didnīt catch everything when Mickey suddenly spoke. "What did you say?"

"I said, I was sorry about your demotion," Mickey repeated and stepped closer, gently putting a hand on his arm. "You worked hard to become sergeant, you didnīt deserve that. Especially not when all you did was to save a life and not lose any in the process."

Basil stared at her, suddenly remembering that Mickey didnīt know about the people in the Slums, the unwanted and the despised, who had come to their aid when they needed it most. The people who didnīt give a damn about the Organisation or its noble purposes, but who cared enough for a young doctor who had tended to their sick and injured for almost two years without any thanks to risk their lives distracting the Councilīs soldiers and draw them out in the open where they would be easy prey. She didnīt know about the seventeen men and women who had fallen victims to the soldiersī bullets. And neither did she know about the people who were only injured, but died later because there was no one to treat their wounds.

Shaking his head imperceptibly, he smiled at her, his eyes moving away from her face as he spoke quietly, "Yeah well, I guess we got lucky."

***************

Startled, still half asleep, Mickey lifted her head from the edge of Joīs bed, realizing to her consternation that she had fallen asleep in spite of her vow not to. Stifling a yawn, she barely had time to take in the sensation of her uncomfortably stiff neck before a low sound coming from Jo instantly chased any thoughts of discomfort away. Leaning closer, she reached up and was about to switch on the small light above Joīs bed when she froze, her breath catching.

"Mickey…" Joīs voice was so low and hoarse that Mickey had to strain to hear it. "Mickey, please…"

"Shh, sweetie, itīs okay, Iīm here. Youīre safe," Mickey quickly took Joīs limp hand into hers, taking care not to jostle the IV. Despite her fatigue and the sudden rush of joy coming from hearing Joīs voice, she had soon realized that Jo was still unconscious and was only mumbling her name in sleep.

"Mickey…" Joīs eyelashes fluttered and her face contorted as if pain, but she didnīt wake up. "I canīt… I canīt…"

However, whatever haunted Jo in her dreams remained unspoken as she felt the light touch of Mickeyīs hand on her face, and even though the softly whispered words into her ear that followed didnīt make any real impact in her consciousness, it all served to calm her down and send her back into a peaceful sleep.

Smiling faintly, Mickey tenderly brushed the hair away from Joīs forehead, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss there, "Thatīs right, love, just go back to sleep. Iīll take care of you, I wonīt let anybody hurt you."

Swallowing, she fought the tears that suddenly werenīt too far away, but then gave up, not caring anymore. She felt she might as well get it over with, here in the darkness, with Jo still asleep. She knew only too well she wouldnīt have time for crying later. Filling her mind with memories, Mickey smiled through tears as she thought of the first time she heard Jo say she loved her and the first time she had woken up in her arms. She thought of that special smile she knew Jo reserved for her only, and she thought of the small sigh of contentment Jo always let out, snuggling close after they had made love and just before she would fall asleep.

Wiping her eyes, she carefully raised Joīs hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss into the palm before whispering quietly, "Iīm never letting you go again, Jo. No matter what, Iīm never letting you go." She smiled wryly, sniffling a little, "You might as well get used to the idea of having me around because Iīm never letting you out of my sight again. Not even for a second."

Yet only short moments later, Mickeyīs mind and body gave in to her bone deep exhaustion and she almost imperceptibly slipped into sleep, her head coming to rest next to Joīs hand on the bed. She slept deeply and without any of the nightmares which had been making the few times she did try to sleep the last week nearly unbearable. When she finally woke up, she remained where she was with her eyes closed, her ears absently taking in the sounds of the camp hospital coming to life and the sound of water starting to rush through the pipes in the wall. Still with her eyes closed she estimated the time to be somewhere around six a.m. and she knew it wouldnīt be long before the nurses would begin their early morning rounds.

With a last regretful sigh, she opened her eyes and was about to push the chair away and get to her feet when a sudden feeling halted her and she abruptly turned her head, looking directly into wide awake blue eyes. For the briefest of seconds all thoughts left her as she stared into Joīs eyes, her still sleepy mind trying to comprehend what was happening and that she wasnīt dreaming. Then a half choked sob escaped her throat, her hand covering her mouth in disbelief as she whispered, "Jo?"

Jo smiled weakly and her lips moved, but her mouth was too dry for her to speak. Instead she raised her right hand, barely noticing the small flash of pain the movement brought on and gestured for Mickey to come closer. Mickey did so, oblivious to the tears that were forming in her eyes, and leaned in until their faces were only inches apart. Again Jo attempted to speak, but only a rasped whisper came forward and frustration flickered across her face.

"Shh…" Mickey very gently pressed a finger to Joīs lips. "Donīt try to speak, Iīll get you some water."

This time it wasnīt frustration, but fear that showed on Joīs face and she quickly reached out to grab Mickeyīs arm. Mickey looked at her in bewilderment then asked softly, "You donīt want me to go?"

Jo shook her head, tightening her grip. Gathering just enough saliva to speak, she finally managed to press out, "No."

Mickey gave her a tender smile, "Itīs okay, love, Iīll only be gone for a minute then Iīll be back."

"No," Jo shook her head again, her grip now so tight it was painful and her eyes growing desperate. "No, please…"

Feeling a little confused by Joīs insistence, but not about to deny her lover anything, Mickey relented, smiling reassuringly as she carefully coaxed Jo to loosen her grip and then let go, "Okay, I wonīt go then. The nurse should be here soon anyway, then we can get her to bring you some water."

Her words made Jo relax, but she still seemed tense and Mickey searched her mind for a way to calm her down. However, before she could think of anything Jo made another gesture and Mickey hastened to speak, "No, baby, Iīd love to, but I donīt want to hurt you."

Jo rolled her eyes and repeated the gesture, only a lot more impatient and despite herself, Mickey laughed out loud, "Jo! You know I want to hold you, but youīre still too weak. I donīt want to cause you any pain."

The look that followed left no doubt what Jo thought of that and after a momentīs hesitation, Mickey gave up, letting out a low sigh of exasperation which was softened by the affectionate smile on her face. Shifting on the bed and mindful of plastic tubes and bandages, she gently slipped her arms around Jo as much as it was possible. In spite of her decision to be strong and composed, it only took a second of inhaling the familiar scent of her lover and feel Joīs arms close around her before the tears were flowing again.

Laughing faintly, Mickey whispered into Joīs ear, "Donīt mind me, I just donīt seem to be able to stop crying my eyes out when Iīm around you."

Jo wanted to answer her, but was distracted by trying to suppress the pain the gentle pressure from Mickeyīs embrace was causing, and instead she turned her head, dry and chapped lips placing a light kiss on Mickeyīs temple. Mickey felt the brief touch and instinctively renewed her hold, causing Jo to gasp in pain.

"Oh, God! Iīm sorry!" Mickey instantly tried to move away, but Jo wouldnīt let her and kept her arms around her. "Itīs okay," she whispered, knowing she didnīt have the strength to keep Mickey in the embrace if she didnīt want to. "Iīm fine. Please stay."

"Are you sure?" Mickeyīs voice was full of doubt, the doctor in her struggling with the woman who didnīt want to let go.

"Yes. Please stay."

"Okay…" With fewer objections than she felt comfortable with, Mickey gave in, inwardly knowing she needed the contact as much as Jo did. "But only for a little while."

However, it wasnīt until the morning nurse finally came into the room that Mickey was capable of letting go. In spite of Joīs ardent protests.

***************

Chapter Fifty-Six

Shaking her head lightly to chase away her errant thoughts, Messina let out a low sigh of relief as the night nurse finally left her station to enter the intensive care unit. Taking a quick look around, she stepped out of the dark alcove she had been hiding in for the last few minutes and with hurried steps walked down the corridor. In spite of the fact that she had felt incredibly silly to be hiding like that, she had chosen that option over having the nurse know she was there. For some reason, Messina didnīt want her three a.m. visit to the camp hospital to be known.

As she approached the last door in the corridor, she slowed down a little, suddenly not so sure this was a good idea. But then renewed determination filled her and she closed the distance to the door, taking another look around before she very slowly turned the handle and pushed it open. Abruptly she halted, a brief flash of uncertainty and something else showing on her face. Pulling the door back an inch, she took in the sight of the dimly lit room, silently watching Mickey sitting at the bed, her hand gently caressing a sleeping Joīs face. Transfixed, Messina observed the tender display and vaguely heard a few whispered words she knew was meant for Joīs ears only, and suddenly she felt a lump in her throat. Without a sound, without ever letting Mickey know of her presence, she carefully closed the door again. Outside in the corridor, she stood motionless for a long moment, her mind replaying the scene she had just witnessed, then she turned on her heels and walked away as quietly as she had arrived.

***************

"Are you ready?" Basil looked eagerly at Jo, his face practically shining with excitement.

"Yeah, sure," Jo waved her hand carelessly, smiling a little perplexed. "What is it you want to show me?"

"This!" Basil announced with gusto, enthusiastically presenting her with what he had been hiding behind his back. "Isnīt this just way too cool?!"

Jo blinked and leaned back in the bed to get a little distance to the piece of paper Basil was shoving up in her face, then her eyes narrowed, "What the fuck is this?"

"Itīs the top ten list of the Realmīs most wanted people," Basil explained proudly, his index finger impatiently tapping on one of the names to get Jo to see the whole picture. "Look whoīs number two? Isnīt that awesome? Youīre the most sought after person after Messina? Damn, Jo!" He gave her a friendly slap on the shoulder, grinning broadly, "I always knew you would make it to something big."

"Let me see that."

Basil willingly gave her the paper, barely managing to contain his delight at the situation while Jo studied the names on the list. Then she let out a deep sigh, handing the paper back, "You think this is something to be happy about?"

"Oh, cīmon, Jo," Basil grinned, folding the small sheet of paper and putting it into his breast pocket. "You gotta admit thatīs something. Hell, youīre famous!"

"Wonderful," Jo commented sarcastically, clearly not enthused. "I guess that means my days as an undercover agent are over for good."

"Yeah well…" Some of the joy left Basilīs face and his eyes became serious, then he looked away. "Thatīs probably for the best." He was silent for a few seconds before finishing almost inaudibly, "I have no desire hearing you declared missing in action, presumed dead, again. Once was enough."

For a long, loaded moment neither spoke, then Jo said quietly, her gaze focused intently on the sheets, "I will never be able to repay you for what you have done, Basil, I will never be able to make it up to you… But… but I want you to know that Iīll spend the rest of my life trying. If ever thereīs anything, no matter what it might be, then-."

"Hey…" Basil interrupted softly, placing a hand over Joīs and waiting until she met his eyes. Giving her a gentle, if slightly self-conscious smile he spoke, "Jo, youīre my best friend, I have known you for more than fifteen years and we have been friends for almost just as long. Donīt you know there isnīt anything I wouldnīt do for you?"

Jo stared at him, several emotions flickering across her face in rapid succession, then she said simply, "Thank you."

Basil smiled a little, shifting lightly on the chair, "Youīre welcome." Then, before the moment could become too awkward he added with a big grin, "Of course if you insist on making it up to me, I think that buying me rounds for the next ten-twenty years would be a suitable compensation."

"Oh yeah?" Jo answered, grinning herself and secretly relieved that the atmosphere between them had become less intense. "You donīt think that buying you a single beer or two once Iīm allowed out of this damn bed would do the trick?"

"Jo…" Basil sighed dramatically, then grinned. "You know me so well… Speaking of which, when are they gonna let you out of bed? You have been cooped up here for almost two weeks. You must be going crazy."

"You have no idea!" Annoyance and frustration were both evident in Joīs voice as she gave the mattress a slap for emphazis. "I know Iīm not well enough to get back on duty anytime soon, but thatīs not what Iīm asking. All I want is to be allowed out of bed for more than five minutes every day. How am I supposed to get better if I donīt move, but lie on my goddamn back all the time?! And my legs need the exercise, too, they are not any getting stronger by not being used. It also seems to me like they are a lot more concerned with my mind than with my body."

"Well…" Basil began carefully, biting his lip as he searched for the right words. He was aware of Joīs refusal to discuss anything that had taken place in St. Peterīs, but he also knew she would have to sooner or later whether she wanted to or not. However, he really didnīt want to get caught up in the middle of that ongoing argument between her and Mickey if he could help it and instead spoke placidly, "Iīm sure Mickey is only doing whatīs best for you. Just because youīre feeling better doesnīt mean youīre fit enough to be running around. She only wants to make sure you donīt push yourself too hard too soon."

"Maybe," Jo admitted reluctantly. "But itīs driving me insane. I donīt like being treated like a child."

Basil met her eyes, watching Jo raise a questioning eyebrow as he didnīt speak. Then he said quietly, "Jo, do you have any idea how close you came to dying?"

"Of course I do," came the exasperated answer, but Basil interrupted her before she could continue. "Do you, Jo? Do you really? And do you know who was here all the time, who never left your side or gave up hope when everybody else thought it was only a matter of time before you were gone?"

Looking directly into her eyes, he concluded softly, "Have you ever tried that, Jo? Do you know what itīs like? What it does to a person?"

Jo opened her mouth to speak, but then slowly closed it again, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

"In that case, I think you should cut Mickey some slack, let her fuss over you. After all, sheīs only doing it because she loves you."

"I…" Jo finally spoke after a moment of silence. "I hadnīt thought of it like that."

"Thatīs okay, Jo," Basil reached out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze before getting to his feet. "You have been through a horrendous ordeal and itīs hardly strange if you are a little more concerned with your own needs right now than everybody elseīs. Just donīt forget that Mickey went through this, too, and although it canīt be compared, she needs to recover as well and taking care of you is one way of achieving that… Okay, Iīll drop by later tonight, try not to drive the nurses insane until then."

And then Basil left, leaving Jo to ponder his words.

***************

As carefully as possible, Jo swung her legs down on the floor. Taking a moment to absorb the light pain the action caused, she then manoeuvred herself forward until she was sitting on the very edge of the bed. Once there, she turned her head, fiercely determined eyes staring at the pair of crutches leaning on the wall a small distance away. Leaning her upper body forward as far as it would go, she reached her arm out, her fingers just grazing one of the crutches. But instead of getting a good hold as she had intended, her fingers accidentally gave it a light push and it felt to the floor out of her reach. Muttering a low curse, she was just about to make a go for the second crutch when the door to her room was opened and Vlad stepped in.

"Hey Delaine! How is it-."

"Vlad!" Jo exclaimed before the aide could speak further, giving him a happy grin. "Just the man I wanted to see. Help me get to the crutches, will you? I want to take a little walk around."

"Ah, Jo…" Vlad dutifully picked up the crutch lying on the floor, hesitating slightly as Jo gestured for him to give it to her. "Donīt you think thatīs a little too soon? I mean, doesnīt Mickey want you to-."

"Vlad," Jo interrupted again, forcing herself to be patient in spite of her irritation. "Iīm fine, I really am, walking down the corridor isnīt going to kill me. Besides, if it gets too much then Iīll just go back. Please…" She looked at him beseechingly, "Iīm going crazy in here, I just want to get out for a few minutes."

"Well…" Vlad spoke reluctantly, gazing at the crutch in his hand and then back at Jo again. "If you promise not to strain yourself."

"I promise," Jo replied instantly, smiling broadly at the prospect of finally getting out of bed. "Iīll be good, itīs not like I have a desire to injure myself anyway."

"Okay then," Vlad handed her the crutch and then went over to get the one at the wall before giving it to her. "Do you want me to help you, or can you manage on your own?"

"I think I can manage, "Jo replied absently, adjusting her hold on the handles and testing the strength in her arms.

Vlad nodded and stepped back to give her room, anxiously watching as Jo slowly got to her feet, her face abruptly draining of all colour.

"Are you okay?" he asked with concern, prepared to step forward any moment and catch her if necessary. "Does it hurt?"

"No, Iīm fine," Jo spoke out through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the fact that she was starting to sweat and that her body wasnīt at all happy about the new development. "Just have to get used to being upright again after so long."

Vlad studied her face doubtfully, but decided to let it go. He knew from experience how stubborn Jo could get and was pretty sure there was nothing he could say that would make her change her mind. Also, he had never been any good at saying no to her, but whether that was out of fear of her reaction or because he just wanted to accommodate her in every way possible, he had never been able to tell. She was important to Messina after all, and what was important to her was important to him. It was that simple.

Just as Jo had collected herself enough to attempt to take the first step, she heard the door to her room open again and as she disinterestedly glanced up, she stared directly into Mickeyīs eyes. For a very long moment, they held each otherīs gaze then Mickey inquired, her voice utterly calm as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, "What exactly do you think youīre doing?"

Suddenly at a loss for word, and feeling very guilty, Jo stared at her, but then her previous irritation began to take over and she answered sullenly, "What does it look like Iīm doing?"

"I thought I told you it was still too early for you to start using the crutches."

"Yeah well," Jo mumbled defensively, looking away to avoid Mickeyīs eyes. "Then you shouldnīt have left them here."

"Oh, I see," Mickey responded dryly, her voice significantly less calm than earlier. "So itīs my fault then, thinking youīre actually mature enough to listen to what youīre told and not do anything to harm yourself." Before Jo had the chance to reply, Mickey turned to Vlad and continued testily, "And you, Vlad, I thought you knew better. How could you let her do this?"

Vlad squirmed under Mickeyīs accusing stare, looking to Jo for assistance which he promptly got. "Itīs not Vladīs fault," she objected, her tone defiant as Mickey turned to look at her again. Letting herself fall back down on the bed, she clarified, "I talked him into it, he didnīt want to, but I didnīt give him a choice. I would have done it no matter what."

Mickey nodded slowly to herself, her face a picture of exasperated disbelief, then she commented scathingly, "Well, that hardly makes it any better, does it, Jo?"

"Um…" Vlad spoke hesitantly in the uncomfortable silence that followed Mickeyīs remark, the aide clearly ill at ease. "I think Iīll leave you two alone to discuss this. Iīll…" He nearly ran to the door, "Iīll see you both later. Take care, Jo."

After Vlad had left, several minutes passed with neither of them speaking, then Mickey sighed and said quietly, "Why do you have to be so stubborn, Jo? You must know Iīm not doing this to antagonize you, Iīm only trying to do whatīs best for you. Why do you keep making it so difficult?"

"I…" Jo faltered, rubbing her forehead tiredly as she stared at her feet for a moment. Then she spoke, "Iīm sorry. It was stupid. I should have listened to you."

Without a word, Mickey walked over to her, kneeling down before the bed. Taking Joīs hand into hers, she said softly, "Itīs all right, Jo, just donīt do it again, okay? I know itīs frustrating to be here, but I promise it wonīt be long before you can begin rehabilitation. Just give it a few more days." She smiled gently as Jo at last raised her head to look at her, "Can you do that for me, sweetie? Give it the time it takes?"

Jo regarded her for a minute, then nodded, "Yes." She paused slightly before continuing, "Itīs not that I want to make things difficult, Mickey, I know you are stressed enough as it is looking after other patients as well, itīs just…" She sighed deeply, "I go crazy here. I donīt want to be in the hospital anymore. Canīt I come home with you? I promise not to do anything stupid, I just want to get out."

"You want to stay with me?" Mickey appeared a little caught off guard by the request. "In my quarters?"

"Yes, please," Jo looked at her hopefully. "Iīm fine, Iīm hardly getting any painkillers anymore and I donīt need to have the nurses checking on me all the time. Whatīs the difference whether Iīm in a hospital bed or yours, except for the fact that Iīll be a lot happier being with you."

"Hmm…" Mickey smiled involuntarily, but then gave Jo a pointed look, "If I agree to that, do you promise to do as youīre told? To behave?"

"Well…" A small lascivious grin flickered across Joīs face. "When it comes to not attempting to walk before itīs safe, then yes, I promise to behave, but in regard to anything else…"

Mickey laughed out loud, "Donīt even think about it, Jo! Youīre by far not well enough for that. Youīre going to sleep nicely beside me and thatīs all."

"Aw…" Jo gave her a mock pout, but was too elated that she was finally getting out of the hospital to keep the act up for long. "Is that doctorīs orders?"

"Absolutely," Mickey said with a smile, rising to her feet. "However," she leaned down to place a light, teasing kiss on Joīs lips. "Iīm sure weīll find the time to make up for that later once youīre fully recovered."

Jo grinned at her, "I feel better already."

Mickey returned her grin, "I bet you do." They smiled at each other, both of them realizing how much they had missed being able to do that, but then some of the merriment left Mickey and she grew serious. Looking into Joīs eyes, she said quietly, "Jo… you know the thing we have spoken about…"

Abruptly, Joīs face became guarded and her smile faded, "Yes… What about it?"

"Well, have you thought about it?"

"Yes, I have."

"And?" Mickey looked at her inquiringly, patiently waiting for Jo to elaborate a little further than that.

"And my answer is no. I have already had the five compulsory consultations with the hospital shrink, I donīt need any more than that."

"Jo," Mickey vexed with a low sigh. "I really think you should consider seeing the base psychiatrist as well. I have been told sheīs very competent."

"No," Jo stared at her, a vague, but unmistakable edge to her tone. "Thatīs not necessary."

"Jo-."

"No!" Jo repeated almost angrily. "I donīt need that. If youīre so keen on her why donīt you go see her yourself? Iīm sure the two of you will have a lot to talk about."

Mickey straightened up a little and was silent for a moment, then said evenly, "Iīm not the one whoīs having nightmares every night."

Joīs jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed, but she didnīt reply and just turned her head away. Then suddenly she spoke, "Are you going to make it a condition for me to stay with you that I talk to her?"

Mickey didnīt speak for a very long time, then she let out a low breath and said quietly, "No. Iīm not going to force you."

"Good," Jo leaned back in the bed, pulling the covers up to her waist and making herself as comfortable as possible. "Then thatīs settled, thereīs no reason for us to talk about this again."

***************

To Be Continued…