Curled up on his side, Jack heard someone fumbling with the lock on the door to his cell. He sighed, realizing that morning had come far quicker than he’d imagined it would. Dinner couldn’t have been more than a few hours ago, could it? His sense of time was all screwed up.

The door finally swung open to reveal Jack’s least favorite person. However, today Wayne did not look like a happy camper. That did not bode well for Jack.

Wayne headed directly to the metal cabinets along the far wall, unlocking them, his movements rushed and jumpy. This was a very different Wayne from the one that Jack had become accustomed to.

Jack remained silent, lying quiescent on his side, watching as Wayne strode from the room again only to return a few minutes later holding a metal box of sorts—about the size of a crate or a small piano bench. He placed in the middle of the room, spacing it between two recessed hooks in the floor.

It was only once Wayne was satisfied with its placement that he turned his attention to O’Neill—surprise flickering across his face when he realized that Jack was awake and watching his every move.

"What are you staring at?" Wayne growled, striding forward and roughly pulling Jack up to a seated position.

"You. Have a bad night?" Jack asked innocently, only to be awarded with a backhanded slap across his face that rocked his head back.

"None of your business," Wayne snapped, his hands unlocking the clamp that secured Jack’s ankles to the floor.

"Sorry," Jack muttered, holding his hands up to his face, trying to see if Wayne had drawn blood when he struck him. From what Jack could tell, there was no blood on the fingers he pulled away from his mouth. "Just trying to be friendly."

"Why is it that people have to be so manipulative?" Wayne asked several minutes later. Wayne had been working at releasing the cord that secured Jack’s wrists to the floor. The question surprised Jack and he turned his head, flashing a puzzled look toward his captor.

"What?"

"Why do people have to be so demanding? He wants you dead and he won’t listen to reason. I’m not finished with you yet." Even though Wayne had responded to Jack’s question, it was as if Jack were not in the room. Maybe if Wayne continued to unlock his hands, he would be able to scoot away while Wayne contemplated whatever it was that was bothering him.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

But maybe, Jack would be able to use this new mood of Wayne’s to his advantage. The only question: how?

A few beats passed before Wayne turned his head to Jack, his clear hazel eyes meeting Jack’s brown orbs. "We’re going to have to have a short session this morning, Jack. I have an appointment this afternoon. I’m sure you’re disappointed. We had just started to have so much fun yesterday," Wayne said, finally unhooking Jack’s wrists and dragging him forward toward the bench in the middle of the room.

Jack—his strained and sore muscles protesting violently—had little choice but to let him.

"You know, Wayne, we could just forget the whole thing today if that fits into your schedule better…" Jack said as he was pulled forward, his chest coming to rest on the top of the cold metal bench. The sensation of cold metal on his skin sent chills through Jack’s body.

But Wayne wasn’t finished.

He pulled Jack’s arms so that they were stretched beyond his head, pulling Jack’s muscles painfully once again into a fully extended position. Tugging on his wrists once more, Wayne angled Jack’s arms down toward the floor. With a quick move of his hands, Wayne clamped Jack’s wrists in place securing him to one of the recessed hooks in the floor.

Before Jack could move to try and ease the pain in the muscles of his shoulders and back, Wayne had moved around pulling Jack’s legs straight. Much like his wrists, Jack’s legs were stretched until Wayne eventually secured them to another point on the floor. Apart from his chest lying on the metal bench, nearly his entire body was off of the floor, his hands and feet gently touching the floor, but offering no support.

Okay, this hurts, Jack thought, trying to crane his neck to watch Wayne. He didn’t trust him and Jack felt very exposed, lying as he was, stretched taut between two points in the floor. Unfortunately, because of the way he was placed, Jack was unable to see what Wayne was doing, but he had a pretty good idea—and it probably involved Wayne’s favorite form of torture.

The sound of the activating stun gun confirmed Jack’s musings.

Jeez, Jack thought to himself, trying to push his physical discomfort to the back of his mind. Maybe if he were prepared for what was to come, he’d be able to block out most of the pain. Thoughts rolled around in Jack’s head as he tried to figure out a way to get out of this…unfortunate situation.

One thing that he always remembered when it came to captivity and torture was that there was always a way out—no matter what anyone else believed. Granted, Daniel would probably argue with him until he was blue in the face, but Jack would have the final say on the matter—especially now.

The touch of the active stun gun on his already sore and bruised back brought Jack’s wandering thoughts back to the present. There was a way that he could get through this. Jack just had to figure out the best way to put his plan into place. For it, he needed to be in control.

Wayne began in much the same manner as he had done the day before, lightly touching the skin on Jack’s back with the tip of the stun gun, shooting red hot agony through his body. Jack sucked in a great gulp of air and tried to push the pain away, shoving it to the back of his mind. He’d done it before. He could do it again.

But it was difficult.

Wayne moved his attention further down Jack’s body, assaulting the back of both of Jack’s legs, making sure nothing was missed. Moving upward, the back of Jack’s arms finally came under the constant onslaught of the stun gun.

And just when Jack thought he couldn’t take anymore, Wayne paused, turning the weapon off.

"That was fun wasn’t it?" Wayne asked, as he knelt down next to Jack. The only thing that Jack wanted to do right now, however, was catch his breath. He’d managed to hold in his screams and howls of pain—even when Wayne had touched the sensitive skin along his inner thigh.

"Don’t worry, Jack. We’re not done yet. I still have a little more to do before I leave you to your own devices." Without turning his head to look at Wayne, Jack could have sworn that there was a broad grin on Wayne’s face.

Jack could feel Wayne fumbling at his ankles, releasing the clamp, before moving to his wrists. For the first time in days, Jack was not secured to the floor and there was nothing he could do about it. His body was exhausted and week, the muscles still twitching from the electrical charges. He was still trying to catch his breath, to regulate his breathing.

He was truly alone and helpless.

Somehow, Jack knew, he had to take control.

Wayne roughly flipped Jack onto his back, the raw and blistered skin sending waves of pain along Jack’s nerves.

"Agh!" Jack cried, trying to hold it in as Wayne secured him once again, starting with his ankles. With his broken ribs protesting, Jack’s hands were stretched above his head and secured to the floor, his back forced to arch uncomfortably over the metal bench, leaving him open and exposed to whatever Wayne was planning.

Jack blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears of pain from his eyes as he watched Wayne circle around him, the stun gun clasped tightly in his hand.

Jack took as deep a breath as he could, trying to calm his rising emotions and curb the edge of pain filling his mind and his body. "Don’t," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper.

For a brief second, he thought Wayne might have heard him, that he might show a small degree of mercy. He was wrong.

Wayne only gave him a few minutes reprieve before he approached Jack again, the activated stun gun moving in and out, sending wave after wave of agony through Jack’s body. As if the torture yesterday wasn’t enough, Wayne dug the tip into the already bruised flesh of Jack’s armpit.

Jack rewarded him with a howl of sheer agony.

"Well, well," Wayne said after the echo had died. "I though the cat had gotten your tongue."

Jack gasped for breath, his pain glazed eyes watching as Wayne moved in again, the stun gun working its magic.

While he still had the presence of mind to speak, Jack knew that it was time to take control. Jack knew what had to be done. Jack knew what choices had to be made—and he was ready.

"Are…you…done?" Jack asked, finally finding the strength to push the words out his mouth.

Wayne turned from his work, gazing at Jack in puzzlement. "What?"

"I asked, are you done yet? I’m getting tired of this." Even though Jack’s body was wracked with pain, he knew that there was only one way to end this quickly. Unconsciousness would bring blessed relief—even if it were only temporary.

Even though his pain glazed eyes, Jack could see the rage building in Wayne’s eyes and in his body. The artery at Wayne’s temple bulged and throbbed. Jack knew then that he’d hit a nerve. Hopefully, it was the right one.

"Are you mocking me?" Astonishment filled Wayne’s voice.

"I think I’m talking to you, although you’re probably too slow to comprehend what I’m saying. It’s not like there’s anyone else in the room to talk to," Jack shot back.

A slow growl started deep in Wayne’s chest before becoming a full-bloodied screech. "How dare you mock me!"

Wayne moved in quickly, the stun gun aiming for Jack’s most sensitive spots. Jack tried to brace himself for the pain that he knew was coming, but nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating assault of the stun gun as it came in contact with his groin—for the second time.

Jack howled in pain, not caring if he was feeding directly into Wayne’s delusional fantasies. As the darkness closed in, Jack was proud of himself. He’d taken control of a no-win situation and he’d won.

He’d gotten Wayne to do exactly what he wanted him to do. There had to be some kind of satisfaction in that, Jack thought as the blackness finally closed in around him, taking him away from the pain and the torment.

He’d won.

He’d found his peace.

Wayne towered over Jack’s still form, the active stun gun still in his hand, his breath coming in deep gasps as Jack’s scream continued to echo throughout the room, distorting as it bounced off the metal walls providing Wayne with his own personal obscene memento.

How could this be?

As Wayne stood there, his body rigid, his thoughts were wild and scattered. Even alone and obviously helpless, Jack did not know when to stop, to shut up, to surrender. Jack didn’t know that he was supposed to submit to Wayne’s power, that he was supposed to cower under the hand of a much stronger and more powerful man.

What had Wayne done wrong?

This had never happened before. Every other time he’d gotten an assignment and the victim lasted this long, it had only taken a day and they had understood, deep down in their souls, that Wayne was their master. Some had pleaded and begged for their lives, but it made no difference. In that instance, Wayne was their god. He held their lives in his hands and he relished the feeling of power and supremacy.

Why was O’Neill so different? Why has he so difficult?

Shaking off his shock and astonishment, Wayne deactivated the gun and carefully placed it back on the shelf, making certain that it was seated properly in the base, allowing it to charge to full capacity. He might need it again before the night was out.

Turning back to O’Neill’s now limp form, Wayne was at a loss. What could he do? He had no time, but yet, Jack had to be punished. He had to understand who was in control, who was in charge.

Narrowing his hazel eyes as his mind churned over possible consequences for Jack’s indiscretion, his eyes freely roamed Jack’s muscular body, taking in the lean form and its every subtle nuance. Unfortunately, nothing would make an impact until he was conscious, and that might not be for quite some time.

Finally coming to a decision, Wayne began moving, his hands sure and steady as he began unfastening Jack’s restraints, pulling his arms and legs free before finally dropping him roughly on the old mattress.

Jack’s wrists and ankles were badly scarred and gashed, the wounds on his ankles scabbing over. His wrists, however, were another matter. Stretched out as he had been this morning had caused his wrists to bleed once again, the dried blood now covered Jack’s hands.

Wayne turned the cuffs over and over in his hands, taking in every detail, relishing the tint of blood on the inside.

They would have to be cleaned before their next use, but until then, he would enjoy gazing at them, remembering how they came to look they way they did.

Wayne sighed and placed the cuffs on the table just outside the door. He’d bring them upstairs with them when he went up. Right now, he had a job to do.

Moving the metal bench out into the corridor, Wayne tugged the mattress into place in the center of the room where the bench had stood only minutes before. Jack, still deeply unconscious, was limp, his head lolling to the side as the mattress shifted.

Digging deeper into the cabinet, Wayne pulled out another set of restraints, a set he had been saving. The cuffs were attached—welded actually—on either end of a three-foot wide bar, effectively spreading the victims hands and legs so they could be arrayed in a spread-eagle position.

Wayne smiled broadly as his plan fell into place.

Working quickly and efficiently, Wayne stripped Jack of his black boxers and began tightly fastening his wrists and ankles in place. Once that was accomplished, Wayne secured Jack to the hooks recessed in the floor.

Shutting the cabinet doors, Wayne strode out of the room, but paused when he got to the doorway, turning to stare at Jack, bound and manacled as he was. Jack was the perfect specimen—if only he’d cooperate.

Wayne’s chest swelled with pride and desire.

But, there would be time for that later.

Right now, there was work to be done.