Wayne slowly raised his arms above his head, relishing the feel of his muscles as they stretched, relaxing his body. After returning from the store, he’d gotten back to business. He took an hour to sort through the footage that he’d collected over the past day and selected several images to forward to his employer. He’d have more again tomorrow, but according to his contract, he was required to provide daily updates—both written and visual.

Wayne didn’t mind doing the reports—it gave him a chance to relive key moments of his sessions.

On the whole, this assignment wasn’t difficult. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before. But something about this assignment was different—the subject was different. Maybe that’s what made it all the more entertaining.

He’d glanced at the monitor when he first got back in the house and noted that O’Neill was conscious once again. Even though the lights were off, the night-vision camera gave him the perfect picture of what was going on in the room.

Right now, Wayne noted that O’Neill was resting quietly, his head leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed, and his breathing regular and even.

Within a few minutes, Wayne would make sure that that would change.

He closed his email program after the last picture went through. He’d finish today’s report later tonight just before he climbed into bed.

Picking up his glass of water, he padded into the kitchen, placing the glass neatly on the top shelf of the dishwasher, in it’s designated spot. Wayne knew that he’d have to feed O’Neill tonight—especially if he wanted this to continue for a while. There was no reason for O’Neill to die of starvation or dehydration. That wouldn’t be any fun anyway.

There were much more interesting ways to die.

Sleep was difficult—especially sitting up, his hands dangling in the air before him. Jack knew that at any moment Wayne would return and the torture would start once again. He knew he needed to save his strength. There still could be a way that he could get out of here—although that possibility seemed farfetched, especially the way his feet were feeling.

Wayne had been relentless earlier, making sure that every surface of his feet—even between Jack’s toes—felt the bite of the stun gun. Even in the dark, Jack knew that they were swollen and covered with red welts and electrical burns. The coolness of the room helped to numb them a little, but both feet throbbed in time with the beating of his heart, sending a constant pain up his legs.

The last jab of that stick, though, had been malicious. Even now, it was difficult for Jack to move without sending sharp pangs of agony through him.

The more Jack sat and thought about things, the less hopeful he became of getting rescued.

What day was it? Jack had no idea. He’d been kidnapped Friday night and for all intents and purposes, the first time anyone would have realized that he was gone would be Monday morning when he had to be at work. It wasn’t as if Daniel would have checked up on him this weekend—especially not after the words they’d exchanged. Jack wasn’t sure how long it would take before Daniel would speak to him again.

But in the time that had passed, Wayne could have driven anywhere. They could be in Canada for all he knew.

Finding him now was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Granted, his team had gotten him out of more scrapes than he could count, but they’d at least had something to go on. This time he was on his own.

He was alone.

He was helpless.

There was no one watching his back this time.

Jack sighed, trying to get comfortable but finding it impossible to do so on the cold, hard metal floor. He winced as he shifted his hips slightly, holding his breath as the pain slowly subsided along with the nausea—another lovely side effect of the stun gun. As if the pain and involuntary defecation and urination weren’t enough, Jack thought with a grimace, twisting his nose at the odor permeating the cell.

The lights came up suddenly in the room, blinding Jack as he scrunched his eyes shut, trying to block out the glaring lights. Trying to shade his eyes with his bound hands as best he could, Jack blinked furiously, trying to get his watering eyes to adjust. Jack watched Wayne enter the room with a swagger and a broad smile, heading directly to the metal cabinets.

Wayne was silent as he unlocked the door and rummaging around inside. For a minute, it reminded Jack of Daniel. It reminded Jack of the way Daniel stored things. Daniel was always looking for something deep inside the storage closets, pushing through the artifacts he’d accumulated over the past two years. Jack pushed the memory back, clamping down on his emotions and his thoughts. Right now, memories were the last thing he needed. He had to concentrate on getting through this, lasting long enough for his team to find him before Wayne decided he was bored with his new toy.

The sound of a motor brought Jack’s attention quickly back to the present as he felt his arms being tugged higher into the air. This was different, Jack thought, as he scooted forward a little, wincing at the movement. The motor didn’t stop when Jack’s arms were fully extended above his head, but instead began to pull the rest of Jack’s body upward.

Jack was going to have to put his weight on his bruised and battered feet. Moving quickly, Jack rolled his body, coming up on his knees. At least now, his wrists weren’t suspending all of his weight. He could already feel small rivulets of blood running down his arm from where the metal cuffs had dug in deep.

"Wayne," Jack asked, shifting his gaze to the man standing at the cabinet, one hand on the switch that was pulling Jack’s hands higher and higher, while his eyes were locked on Jack’s body, watching as he was pulled to a standing position. "Wayne, what are you doing?"

Jack’s voice seemed to bring Wayne out of his revere a little and his vision focused on Jack’s eyes. A ghost of a smile played around his mouth as he answered. "I was considering something a little different this afternoon. What do you think?"

"Well, I usually do think that variety is the spice of life and all that but—"

"Wonderful," Wayne beamed. "Then we should be ready to start in a few minutes. I just needed you standing, if that’s all right with you?"

"I don’t have much choice in the matter," Jack said sarcastically, realizing that he was going to have to stand, putting all of his weight on his feet.

"No, you don’t," Wayne said calmly, his eyes still fixed intently on Jack. For a brief moment, Jack was uncomfortable at the way Wayne was staring at him. There was a hunger in his eyes that Jack didn’t like. A wild hunger.

He was relieved when Wayne finally turned away, searching again through the cabinet.

The agony that rose from Jack’s feet when he finally stood was nearly unbearable, sending wave after wave of pain shooting up his legs. Jack locked his knees in an effort to keep himself upright, so he didn’t pull at his wrists any more than he absolutely had to.

The motor above his head, however, continued to pull his wrists upward, even when Jack was fully upright. Stretching himself to the limit, Jack was forced to stand on the tips of his toes to try and balance himself.

But soon, he was unable even to do that.

Wayne finally turned the motor off once Jack was hanging from the ceiling, suspended by the cuffs on his wrists, his feet off the ground but anchored in place, the clamp around the thick chain between his ankles securing him to the recessed hook in the floor.

The torture really hadn’t even begun and Jack was already starting to see stars.

This was so not good.

"So," Wayne said, clamping his hands together, his eyes filled with delight. "Are you ready?"

"For what, exactly?" Jack asked, his voice harsh. He was finding it difficult to concentrate, but forced the words out of his mouth through his gritted teeth.

"Well, I figured we could pick up where we left off. There are so many other places I have yet to explore," Wayne replied, that wild look coming back to his eyes. He turned around briefly, reaching back to grab the recharged stun gun once again, before he paced around Jack, his hands lightly touching Jack’s body.

Jack closed his eyes, trying to block out the sensation of Wayne’s hands upon his skin. His fingers lightly traced the scars Jack had all over his body before following the lines of Jack’s muscles. Sometimes the cold hard tip of the stun gun would replace the warm touch of Wayne’s fingers. Wayne had yet to activate it, but Jack knew that that would come soon enough.

He tried to keep his breathing even, although it was hard. Hanging as he was, made difficult work of breathing.

"So, Wayne…" Jack said, trying to draw him into a conversation. Maybe he’d be able to distract Wayne for a while, put off the inevitable torture. "Anything exciting going on in the real world?"

Wayne didn’t answer immediately, but he walked around Jack’s body, coming to a stop before him. "Not that I noticed," Wayne said, his eyes roaming down the front of Jack’s body.

"Nothing’s going on?" Jack asked, trying to get Wayne’s attention front and center. "That’s hard to believe."

"News really doesn’t interest me," Wayne said absently. He had started licking his lips, moistening them, as his fingers ran up and down Jack’s chest.

This was so not fun. With his feet anchored in place, Jack knew he had to try something to break Wayne’s concentration a little. Even though he knew it would hurt, Jack shifted his weight a little, his body swinging scarcely an inch away from Wayne’s touch, enough to bring Wayne’s eyes up to meet his. "And why is that?"

Wayne’s hazel eyes narrowed, annoyance clearly evident on his face. "You ask a lot of questions, Jack."

Jack flourished the most winning smile he could muster. "I’m a curious kind of guy."

"I don’t like that," Wayne said, his voice a low growl, his breath coming in small little pants. Wayne shoved the words out, his tone getting stronger and deeper as he continued, his eyes becoming less fixed on the here and now. "You ask too many questions. You’re demanding. You always want to know where I go and what I’m doing."

Jack wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if Wayne had gone a little dark-side on him. And, in his current position, it wasn’t as if Jack had much in the way of protection. This might not have been one of his more brilliant ideas.

"I don’t answer to you. You have no right to know what I do, where I go." Wayne’s voice had almost fallen into a mantra. There was a certain singsong quality to his refrain. But it was getting louder and louder.

"Wayne…" Jack said, trying to bring him back from wherever he’d gone. "Wayne?"

While Jack’s voice did move Wayne to action, it wasn’t in the way he was hoping.

Fists rained down on him, striking him all over his body in a frantic expression of anger and hatred. Jack tried to hold back his cries of pain and agony, but when Wayne snapped a rib it was too much to bear.

"God damn it!" Jack howled.

And the blows stopped.

Hanging limply from the ceiling, trying to catch his breath and control the pain wracking his frame, Jack lifted his head in an effort to see what Wayne was doing. He was standing several feet from where Jack hung, breathing heavily, his eyes unfocused, the stun gun still in his hand.

As Jack watched, Wayne’s head came up, his eyes as cold as steel. "How dare you take the name of God in vain."

Jack’s eyes widened in surprise. That was not the reaction he expected. "What?"

"You took the name of our Lord in vain."

"I heard you the first time," Jack said sarcastically. "And?"

"That is not allowed." Wayne approached slowly, clasping the stun gun in his hand, a gleam of excitement once again coming to his eyes. "I’m going to have to punish you for your indiscretion."

"Okay, this reminds me of a bad movie. Who talks like that?" Jack quipped, watching as Wayne moved closer, each step careful and deliberate.

"If you continue to defy me with your words I’m going to have to do something about it," Wayne said, finally stopping mere inches from Jack.

"Yeah, you and what army?" Jack thought to himself, but he remained silent, his snide comment hovering at the tip of his tongue.

Jack’s eyes hardened as Wayne quickly turned away, striding to the cabinet, and hunting around inside. When he didn’t find what he wanted, he moved to another door, fumbling with the key a little before he was able to pull the door open, revealing an entire assortment of leather bindings and restraints. Jack’s eyes widened a little at the amount of stuff that Wayne had. He wasn’t really surprised. He could tell Wayne was a little off, just by his choice in profession. Just the volume surprised Jack.

Wayne turned with a leather gag in his hands. The stun gun was sitting on the shelf where Wayne had left it a few moments earlier. Now this was not your regular everyday gag—as if there was one. Oh, no, of course not. This one had a hard piece of plastic attached to it that fitted into the victim’s mouth, the leather cupping the chin, and fastening securely behind the head. Jack had seen this kind of gag before—several times actually—over the course of his military career. He’d even been forced to wear it once before—for the same reason that Wayne pulled it out now—mouthing off one time too many.

"Okay, look, I’m sorry," Jack said as Wayne approached, a fervor in his eyes. It didn’t look as if Jack would be able to talk his way out of this one. "Why don’t we just forgive and forget and move on?"

"I don’t think so," Wayne said, his voice steel-like and determined.

Jack, though, was not going to cooperate.

Turning his head to avoid Wayne’s advances, he managed to fight him, refusing to open his mouth even when Wayne tried to shove it in, bruising Jack’s lips in the process.

Jack was determined, just as determined as Wayne apparently.

Unfortunately, Wayne won out.

Reaching down, Wayne dug his fingers into the one spot on Jack’s side that was already turning black-and-blue from the day before. The spot where Jack thought he had a bruised or broken rib. The first few times, Jack managed to hold in his cry of agony, his eyes tearing in pain. The fifth time, however, Wayne hit a tender spot. Jack saw stars and screamed.

Wayne rammed the gag home, quickly fastening it tightly behind Jack’s head even as he fought to spit it out.

"Now then," Wayne said, his chest heaving a little from the exertion. "Where were we?"

He paused looking at Jack for an answer. Jack glared at him, his brown eyes full of rage.

"Oh, yes," Wayne said, clapping his hands together and stepping quickly to the cabinet where he’d left his weapon of choice. "I believe we were just about to start our next session." Wayne looked at Jack for a minute, tilting his head slightly, his eyes regarding Jack carefully. "I will miss hearing your screams, though, Jack. Oh, well."

Jack watched as best as he could as Wayne circled him again, the stun gun in his hand. Wayne had tied the gag too tightly and the hard leather edges were cutting into Jack’s face and making it hard for him to breathe properly.

He heard the sound of the stun gun activating behind him and braced himself for the pain that he knew was coming.

It didn’t take long before Wayne began, slowly at first, just as he had done to Jack’s feet earlier, covering his back with small welts.

When the tip of the stun gun hit a sensitive part of his armpit, he screamed through the gag, the sound muffled. Wayne stopped, walking around so he could look in Jack’s eyes. "Oh, you like that, do you?" Wayne taunted, pressing the tip of the weapon again into the flesh of Jack’s armpit.

Jack howled in pain as the agony rolled through his body, a broad smile of delight coming to Wayne’s face. "See, I told you we’d get to know a lot about each other. I’m finding all the places where this does the most amount of good," Wayne said, beginning again, this time on Jack’s chest.

He continued for hours, sometimes giving Jack a few minutes to rest and catch his breath before he’d continue. A number of times Jack passed out, only to regain consciousness a few seconds later and find Wayne staring at him, waiting patiently for Jack to be ready so he could begin again.

When Jack thought he could take no more, Wayne finally stopped, stepping back, a look of triumph and satisfaction settling across his face.

"Well, I think you’ve had enough for today, what do you think?"

Jack nodded wearily, too tired to care what Wayne thought of him.

"Good," Wayne said, walking briskly to the cabinet where he replaced the stun gun on it’s charging stand. "I think it’s time to get you cleaned up for the night and then we can get you some dinner. This sure works up an appetite, don’t you think?"

Jack looked at him through a haze of pain, watching as Wayne dug a hunting knife out of the cabinet. He approached Jack and quickly cut the boxers from Jack’s body, letting them drop to the floor. Wayne kicked them aside and returned the knife to the cabinet.

"Now, don’t go anywhere," Wayne said, throwing the words over his shoulder as he walked out into the hallway. He returned a few minutes later another pair of boxers in his hand. "Now then, I think it’s time to get you cleaned up."

Dropping the boxers near the door, Wayne reached for the hose and nozzle he’d left in the room the day before and, turning it on, began to hose Jack down, the cold water reawakening every nerve ending along Jack’s body.

By the time Wayne was finished Jack was sobbing into his gag.

"Now, Jack," Wayne said, coming close to Jack’s face, looking him directly in the eyes. "I’m going to take good care of you tonight, but that is based on the way you behave right now. Do you understand?" Jack nodded. He was too tired to try anything anyway.

Wayne knelt at Jack’s feet; his hands fumbling a little as he unlocked the restraints. Jack swung free, his body turning in a circle as Wayne retrieved the boxers he’d left at the door. A few moments later, Jack felt Wayne’s hands along his body and his legs, stopping his motion, and pulling the boxers into place.

Jack let him do whatever he wanted.

A few seconds later, Jack could feel Wayne fumbling at his ankles once again. His limited time of freedom was already gone, as Wayne shackled his ankles together once again.

Jack whimpered.

God, he was so tired and he hurt all over.

What had he done to deserve this?

A commotion at the door to the cell brought Jack’s attention back to the present as he watched Wayne bring the threadbare mattress back into the room—the same mattress he was laid on when he first arrived.

"I thought you’d be more comfortable with this," Wayne said, placing it on the damp floor slightly behind Jack’s dangling form. "I’m going to let you down now. Do you understand?"

Jack nodded once again in reply as Wayne moved quietly to the control cabinet and gradually lowered Jack back down to the floor. Jack could barely sit; his body was just a mass of pain and agony.

Once Jack’s bound hands rested in his lap, Wayne turned the motor off and unhooked the steel wire from the motor in the ceiling, removing it from the short chain between Jack’s wrists. He returned a few moments later with another cord—a shorter one—which he fastened between Jack’s wrists and then secured to a ring recessed into the floor.

With his ankles still shackled together and tied as they were before, Jack was effectively locked into place. He had just enough slack so he could lie down for the night, but that was about it.

Wayne knelt beside Jack gesturing for him to turn his head. Jack complied and he could feel Wayne’s fingers as he unlocked the gag and finally pulled it free.

"Better?" Wayne asked, his tone strangely compassionate.

Jack glanced up, surprised etched into the lines of his face. He nodded slightly. "Thank you," he whispered, turning his head quickly so Wayne couldn’t see his relief. For a brief second, Jack had nearly choked up, Wayne’s kindness sliding past his defenses in a bizarre way, but as soon as he took another breath, the pain returned with a vengeance, reminding him all the more, of what’d he’d just experienced. He pushed the feeling down, smothering it completely.

"I’ll be right back with your dinner and something to drink," Wayne said, rising to his feet. "Don’t go away."

Jack felt the urge to laugh as he watched Wayne walk out of the room, disappearing into the darkened hallway beyond. Don’t go anywhere. Sure, Jack said, chuckling to himself, like he actually could. He leaned back carefully, trying not to aggravate the welts on his back and his chest, finally settling down on the mattress in a position that didn’t hurt too badly.

He must have dozed off because the next time he woke the lights had been dimmed and a plate full of finger foods—a sandwich, some vegetables, and fruit—had appeared beside the mattress along with a tall glass of water.

Jack looked around, half expecting Wayne to be hovering, but he was nowhere to be found. The door to his cell was closed and, Jack figured, locked tight. He sat up slowly, the room spinning a little. He was nauseous, but he knew he had to eat when he had the chance. He had to keep up his strength.

He moved closer to the food and began eating. The food and the water tasted heavenly. It was difficult to eat with his hands bound the way they were, but he managed, completely clearing off the plate.

He left some of the water in the glass so he’d have something to drink in the middle of the night if he wanted it.

Jack settled back onto the threadbare mattress, his eyelids heavy with fatigue, his body shifting as he tried to find a comfortable position.

Minutes later, he was asleep.