Tom had no idea when he'd passed out, but the moment he slipped back into consciousness, it was with a huge pain to his face. His temple stung and both cheekbones throbbed in the rhythm of his heartbeat. Once he opened his eyes, it was much worse.

He really hadn't hallucinated. Angie was still there, leaning against the opposite wall, watching him, dark shadows under her eyes and dried blood on her neck. If she was there, then the kissing had been real, as had their conversation. Her apology.

The mere memory had bile creeping up his throat. He hadn't lied. He really did hate her right then. For getting caught. For waltzing back into his life and becoming real when he'd managed to kid himself that he would never see her again. For the relationship he'd built with his memory of her while stuck in that hellhole. For her dumb apology.

"Hey," she whispered.

He growled and looked away from her. This was the last thing he needed. He was fine without her, protecting her from afar, pretending they were okay. She just had to ruin everything by actually showing up.

"Didn't you have better things to do than come here?" he mumbled.

"This isn't about you, so get over yourself." She sounded almost amused.

He raised his eyes to her, squinting. "What?"

"I had other people to save. Kay, Sam, Kyle, Jerry and Sarah. Even Christine. They're still my friends." The heat of her gaze sent a shiver down his spine.

He recognized this person, this version of Angie because it was the one he'd fallen in love with, the one who he pretended was there for him after every round of torture. The fun-loving girl who was unafraid to speak her mind and tease him. The one he'd actually been in a relationship with before it all went to hell.

"Yeah, fair enough. Except you abandoned them, too." He couldn't help thinking about Sam and how disappointed he'd been with her. "And if you wanted to help Sam--"

"I did," Angie said with a shrug.

"Did what?"

"Before I came here, I hid your mother and Sammy to make sure no one gets to her."

His eyes widened and he pushed himself into a sitting position. His head throbbed even worse, but he made to stand. Predictably enough, his legs couldn't hold him and he fell back against the wall. She pushed herself off her own wall and rushed over to help.

He held his hand up, trying to drive the pain back. His left thigh burned, as if some of his sinews had snapped, sending lightning hot pain through his body. The thought made him feel strangely vulnerable. He needed his legs, his entire body. Without it, they were doomed.

She didn't listen to his request to stay away and wrapped her arms around him. Her citrus smell sent his head spinning, bringing him back to much happier times.

"I already told Sam," she said.

"Let me go."

"Why? So you can fall over?"

"So I can get away from you." The anger joined the pulsating pain, even if he couldn't tell exactly why he was angry. It wasn't like Angie's stubbornness was a surprise.

She still didn't listen and he was reminded of how she'd gotten upset when he'd decided to un-break up with her. Even if he'd raged at her fickle nature then, he finally understood. Life had been so much simpler when he had no choice, when it was her who wanted to stay away.

When he could pretend she was with him without it causing any harm because she would never be. Then, he could remember that paranoid girl who had opened up to him, who had climbed in his lap on a sling in a dark park what felt like a million years ago. And he could lover her because it didn't matter, because she wasn't real.

But now it was real and the choice presented itself when he thought there was none. "I told you this doesn't change things."

"You keep saying that," she mumbled.

"Because maybe you'll actually learn to listen."

"I do listen." She let him go and stepped back, her hands on her hips. "I listened when you said we were over. I listened when you took it back. I listened when you asked me what this was. Now I'm asking you."

He shouldn't find this amusing, but a big dumb part of him felt like laughing. At how stupid this whole thing was, at how much he'd missed this fiery Angie that somehow made sense to him.

"You didn't listen when we broke up and I had to be cruel. You didn't listen when I took it back because you never broke up with me afterwards."

"So what, does this mean we're still together?" She crossed her arms over her chest and watched him, her eyebrows raised.

The amusement left him completely, replaced by a dull ache in his chest. All the teasing and word games in the world couldn't fix what was broken.

"We're not," he said, finally letting his body slide down the wall until he was sitting. "And if it wasn't clear enough, let me fix it. I'm breaking up with you."

Her expression didn't weaver. "Why?"

"Um, let me see." He put a finger to his chin. "How blunt should I be about it? Could it have something to do with you sleeping with me and then disappearing?"

"So that's your reasoning," she said, her tone even.

"Isn't it good enough?"

"It is. Mine was better."

He winced at her words.

"Until I realized that it wasn't."

"What?"

She sat down in the middle of the cell and rested her forearms on top of her knees. "I didn't want to break up with you when you were cruel because I could see beyond it. It was the only way you could end it. Finding out that you cheated... That was the deal breaker for me. Except I've given it a lot of thought, especially after you said I had to accept it. And you know what I found? That I've been an idiot. You never cheated on me."

He waved her away, her denial annoying the life out of him. "Don't get technical. I think we can both agree that me breaking up with you over text when I had your phone didn't count."

She shook her head. "I agree, it didn't count. And I'm not denying what you did. I just don't qualify it as cheating."

He stared in shock for a few seconds. "If sleeping with someone else is not cheating, then what is?"

"Did you want to sleep with her?"

"No, I thought I made that perfectly clear--"

"You were drunk," she cut him off. "Were you an idiot for being drunk? Yes. Did I have a part in that? Also yes. Did you consent to sleeping with someone who wasn't me?"

Her reasoning had Tom biting the insides of his cheeks. He'd never thought of it like that, had never gone beyond the fact that he'd done it, no matter how. A weight he wasn't even aware of lifted off his shoulders.

"That's what I thought," she said with a nod. "So while I'm angry at the fact itself and wish it didn't happen, I can't pretend I don't know what it was. She took advantage of you, confused you on purpose to get something out of you. She basically raped you."

"I wouldn't go that far," he mumbled, but his mind spun as, for the first time, he saw what happened in a different light. 

Angie was right. He was guilty of getting so drunk that he couldn't tell up from down. He was also guilty of having sex in a club bathroom. What he wasn't guilty of was sleeping with someone who wasn't her because he wanted to. The mere memory of it made him sick to his stomach.

"I would," she said. "So I decided that it's something I can accept. I also decided to acknowledge my own guilt in all this. You're not an irresponsible drunkard. It was my leaving without telling you which drove you to it."

"Which you keep on doing."

She nodded. "But I don't want to anymore. Because you were right. It doesn't make me happy, it doesn't make me grow. You do. So this brings us here. To a point where we both face our shortcomings. You once mentioned you wanted to start over. Well, I don't want that. I want to pick up where we left off and be better for it."

He hated her again. It couldn't be this easy after months and months of poor life choices. "I'm not getting back together with you."

"If that ends up being your choice, I will respect it." She scooted back until she was once again against the wall. "But I'm not leaving again. Because you guys are my family now, and I think I proved it more than once that I'm garbage at being alone."

Why did that make him want to laugh? Hysterically. Her words hurt. Just when he'd managed a form of balance, she waltzed back in and threw words at him that were-- His thoughts screeched to a halt when he realized she hadn't used her most powerful weapon against him. She hadn't told him that she still loved him. But he wasn't a fool and could read between the lines. She was implying it.

"I just want you to be sane and functional," she whispered. "And maybe, just maybe, actually happy. God knows you deserve it after everything you've been through."

"Just stop talking," he mumbled.

"Is it weird that I sort of like you this grumpy?"

"Yes, it is, you freak."

She actually laughed. He looked away from her, his entire body tense with muted anger. Even if he'd processed her words on an intellectual level, his stupid heart was still doing jumping-jacks, unable to compute what this all meant.

Well, there was an obvious answer, but it couldn't be that easy. He never got what he wanted, not without massive strings attached. So there had to be something that would lead him to complete misery, except he couldn't see it.

Angie actually respected his wish and stayed silent, her eyes closed and that small smile curving her full lips. All he could think about was kissing her again, even as he rejected the possibility with all his being. It was easy for her. She'd come and said what she had to and was now at peace, placing the fate of them on his shoulders.

It is what it is. That's how it had always been with them. Two messed up souls who understood that happiness was something they could give each other for short periods of time. But was it worth it anymore?

The sound of footsteps had them both tensing. Angie's smile vanished and she frowned. He tried to sit up straighter, look a bit more threatening, but his heart was already thumping against his ribs painfully. Steps meant torture.

He wasn't wrong. Cannon stopped in front of their cage, that disgusting leer on his face. He took Tom in for a second, then his hungry gaze turned to Angie.

"I missed you."

"What the hell do you want?" Tom asked as one of the men accompanying Cannon unlocked the gate. "You don't need information out of me anymore."

"This isn't about you, cheesecake. I'm here for her this time." And he stepped in, licking his lips.

Terror exploded inside Tom's chest, more painful than any torture in the world. The girls hadn't been tortured so far, but he wasn't as stupid as to believe that rule applied to Angie when Cannon was involved.

Angie stared at him with wide eyes and her entire body twitched, as if she wanted to escape somewhere behind the solid rock wall. To her credit, she didn't cower or move.

He pushed himself off the wall and onto the floor, then twisted and caught Cannon on the small of the back with a kick. He cursed and stumbled forward. Angie caught him with a punch in the stomach, then stepped back and faced the freak, her fists raised, her knees bent. Determination mixed with fear on her face, but she stood her ground.

Cannon growled at her. "Oh, you're asking for it, you little bitch."

"Come at me, asshole," she snapped back.

"Get away from her!"

Tom's words had Cannon throwing him a interested glance. "What is this? After all the hard work you put into convincing us that she's no longer your girlfriend, now you changed your mind?"

"We're not together anymore. Haven't been for almost two years," Angie said, picking up on the plan with the speed of light.

Cannon just grinned, even more satisfied. "Oh, but this makes you useless. Do you know what we do to useless?"

Tom had no idea he could feel even more afraid, but he did. The sound of the gun unloading, Herrison's blood on the floor... Without really thinking it, he turned again and knocked the legs out from under Cannon. This time he plummeted to the floor and smacked his chin against the hard stone. Angie took advantage to charge at him and kick him hard in the ribs.

"You mess with her, you mess with me," Tom said between his teeth.

"Move away!" One of the other two goons stepped inside, gun out and pointing.

Angie froze, but Tom couldn't help throwing another kick into Cannon's side.

"Oh, you little shit, now you're asking for it." Cannon got up, leering at them.

Tom wished he could kick Cannon's teeth in, but his mobility wasn't what it used to be, so he settled for crawling away as fast as possible.

"Fine, if you insist, we'll take you both." And with a wave of his hand, the two goons entered the cage and grabbed them while Cannon took out his gun. "I was trying to give you a break. Looks like you enjoy my company too much."

He didn't. He didn't think he hated anyone more in his life than the sick bastard holding a gun on them.

"Leave him alone!" Angie yelled as one of the goons wrestled her out of the cage.

It was useless. They'd both kicked the fallen psycho, so they were about to get seriously hurt. But in some strange way, he was glad he got to go with Angie. Unless they got separate tortures, in which case he'd figure out a way to follow her.

It wasn't the case. The moment they reached the corridor filled with torture chambers, they were both thrown into the room used for hosing them down. He was instantly confined to the floor as his bad leg hit against the rough stone, sending a jolt of pain through his body.

Angie crouched next to him and opened her mouth, but didn't get to say a word before a powerful jet of freezing water smashed into her and sent her against the wall. The next one hit him head on, rolling him further inside the room.

Even if he was familiar with this precise form of torture, it wasn't easier to bear. He grit his teeth while she let out a small scream of shock. The moment the water stopped, his muscles were already tense and shaky.

He rolled on his side and tried to see where she was, but water hit him again and threw him in the opposite direction. It was so cold, it felt like a whip tearing though his flesh.

Somewhere in the land of the living, Cannon laughed, the sick sound surrounding them like a blaring alarm signaling danger they couldn't avoid.

Tom knew the drill by now. They'd keep doing it until they passed out. But it didn't stop him from at least trying to move every time there was a short break.

At one point, he opened his eyes and she was there, next to him. He took her hand. Her entire body shook, but he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or if she was crying. He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her right before a new stream of freezing water covered them.

Every nerve in his body screamed. It seemed to never end. The pain, the cold, the fear that the few seconds of break would never come, then be over too soon.

Again and again and again... His mind abandoned him and stretched into a sort of blankness that served to protect him from the worse. Terror. Agony. Death. Darkness.

By the time he became aware again, the water had stopped and Angie was on top of him. It was freezing cold. She actually had frost in her hair. His own skin felt too tight, about to break with every movement.

"How long have we been here?" he whispered. Vapor came out, joining his words.

"I don't know." Her teeth clattered. "I blacked out long ago, and now I'm just-- Did they do this to you before?"

"Yes, but never for this long." Never so violently. It had never been so cold.

They used to take him to his cage straight after, which was much warmer than this room. Maybe it was over. Maybe they'd just waited to catch Angie before letting them both freeze to death. It felt like it. He couldn't feel his body, couldn't feel any heat from hers or the pressure of her weight.

The silence pushed on his eardrums. The cold felt like death, engulfing him in a numbness that was too inviting.

"I think I'm dying." Her voice was weak and grainy. "I can't focus on anything."

"Me neither."

And yet, the thought didn't scare him. It was better than to keep suffering. He wished he could've taken Cannon along, but that seemed irrelevant. Even the pain in his limbs was frozen.

"I wish you weren't here with me," she said.

"I wish you weren't here with me either." 

But they were, because no matter what, they always did everything in their power to save each other. From danger, from loneliness, from a life that wanted to crush them.

"But..." She took in a shaky breath. "I'm glad you are."

He just hummed in approval, unable to produce words. They stayed like that for a while longer, frozen in a world where nothing mattered anymore. A world in which the seconds or hours ticked by as they headed for the end of the line. The silence was freezing them.

"I always thought we'd go together," she finally said what felt like decades later.

"Me, too." And there was no other way he'd have it.

"I love you, Tom." Her voice was barely audible, so much so that for a moment, he was sure he was imagining the words. "I always have and I always will, until the moment we die."

"You mean the next five minutes?" But her words warmed his chest in ways nothing else ever would. Because now, at the end of all things, nothing else mattered. It was over. "I love you, too. And there's no one else I'd rather die with."

She tightened her hold on him the tiniest bit, and then there was nothing but frozen air.

🏯

The darkness reeked of blood.

And through it, the moans of the dead rose, filling Sam's being with the desire to vanish. But he couldn't. He was trapped in a nightmare he knew well, one in which Herrison reached out claw-like hands and stared at him with empty eyes and a gaping mouth.

Why didn't you save me?

It was a question the ghost of Carlos, the first man he ever saw dying, had asked him repeatedly. His answer was the same.

He couldn't.

On an intellectual level, he knew he couldn't. He was tied up, in a cage, far away, unable to move. There were reasons. And yet, his failure didn't let him rest. No matter how hard he denied it, people were dead. People he knew.

It made his insides squirm and pushed vomit up his throat.

"Sam."

The voice was soft and concerned. Even so, it reminded him of the way Skye used to say his name to wake him up on lazy Sunday mornings.

"Sam, you're moaning, are you okay?"

His eyes shot open and all traces of sleep disappeared with the speed of light. Well, if he could call vivid nightmares sleep.

Christine knelt next to him, one hand on his forehead, the other holding his, her amber eyes filled with concern. "You never get to sleep properly now, do you?" She let go of him and moved away.

He appreciated the sentiment, but resented the lack of touch. It felt calming after his encounter with zombie Herrison.

"I guess not." He sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

As much as he tried to suppress it during his waking hours, the horror of what he was going through caught up with him when sleep made him vulnerable. His nightmares went anywhere between Herrison's execution to the torture and Skye's death, sometimes even churning out a combination of the three. Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid succumbing to these dreams, the shier exhaustion of their capture digging into him.

Christine didn't look much better either, even if she at least hadn't been tortured or witnessed anyone dying recently.

"Any news?" he asked, trying to push the guilt down.

She shook her head, her eyes watery. "They haven't brought Tom and Angie back. Is this normal?"

Sam shook his head, the terror of his nightmares clawing out into the real world. They'd never kept any of them for so long. "Maybe they moved them to another cell?" Even he didn't believe that. What would be the point?

"Sam, I'm scared," she whispered. "I hate to say it but--" She took in a shaky breath, then let it out and closed her eyes. "At least Sammy is safe. And your mom."

He nodded, even if her eyes were closed and she couldn't see him. That news had brought a peace of mind he hadn't thought possible, and all his bad blood against Angie had instantly vanished. It helped that there were no screaming matches coming from the cell she shared with Tom, even if sometimes they could hear them talking.

What mattered was that Angie hadn't abandoned them. She'd gone astray, but just like Jessie before her, had returned to pay her dues and accept who she really was. A good person who cared about her friends. Whether she and Tom would get back together, well... That was definitely none of his business.

"I think it will be okay in the end." He didn't, not this time, but she needed to hear that.

She obviously didn't believe him, but she nodded, staring at her hands. He scooted over and squeezed her forearm. Her eyes rose to his, weariness and fear mixing with a determination he'd never seen in her. A decision to hold on, no matter what.

"How long do you think we'll be in here?" she asked, her voice now even and calm.

"I'm not sure. Snitch Gravel wants something from us, but he didn't mention what."

"I see..." And for once she really did seem to. "You know, I've sort of been here before, but this time, it weighs much heavier. I resent him for interrupting the much more important thing I had to do."

Sam had to agree. It felt so odd for her to be the only human contact he'd had in a long while and actually get along with her. It wasn't a turn-back-time moment, but rather building something completely knew with someone he'd always known was there, but could never find.

Finally seeing the person you were actually in love with, Snowflake?

He pulled away from Christine and got to his feet. His head pounded and he gritted his teeth, cursing his stupid mind for coming up with something like that. He loved Skye. End of story.

We both know you've got enough love in your heart for everyone. Loving her doesn't mean you won't love me anymore.

"Shush." He pressed his hands over his temples.

"Are you okay?" Christine asked, sounding worried.

He refused to look at her, suddenly resenting her for that kiss, for throwing him into this mess. He didn't need this, now or ever. And that wasn't Skye inside his head, but himself, trying to justify the disgusting feelings developing inside him.

Now you're just being stupid. Didn't you think this way about your feelings for me as well?

"You should sleep," he said to Christine, trying to distract himself with the only available thing.

"I could try, though I'm too worried about Angie and Tom."

Shit, so was he. He started pacing, his hands behind his back, fighting his groggy brain and his need to find comfort in another human being.

The distant sound of footsteps had him stopping in his tracks. Christine stiffened as well, aware of what it meant for them. Sam fought the panic inside him, aware it could just be Tom and Angie finally being returned to their cage. So he stood and willingly walked to the bars to have a look. Christine backed away and made herself as small as possible in a dark corner.

He'd been wrong. The two men heading for him weren't carrying Tom and Angie, so it was obvious who they were coming for. Though an instinctive wave of fear made every nerve in Sam's body scream for him to get out of there, he didn't move. No point delaying the inevitable.

He took one step back, allowing one of the goons to open the gate while the other took out his gun. It was already protocol, and Sam saw no reason to get punched for disobeying.

So he stepped out and walked with them, leaving Christine behind. Safe.

Once he realized they weren't going down to the torture chambers, but up, relief took over.

In no time at all, he was pushed once again inside Snitch Gravel's office. The window showed it was night, though this time Sam couldn't tell how late it was.

Just like last time, Snitch Gravel sat at his ornate desk, writing something down. The men left them alone at once and Sam didn't even wait for an invitation before sitting on the chair. His butt really needed that tiny bit of confort. His entire body ached from sleeping and laying on stone.

"You're making yourself at home," Snitch Gravel said, putting down his pen and closing the file. "Probably wise, since this will apparently take a while."

"What do you mean?" Sam tried not to sound too interested.

"This is taking longer than I anticipated." He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. 

Sam noticed he was no longer wearing the scarlet dress shirt, but rather a much simpler black one and black jeans. The image startled him, a reminder of their chat in Chennonceau where he'd gone for jeans and boots.

"What do you want from us?" he asked again.

Snitch Gravel hummed. "Do you know why you're after the jewels?"

That was an interesting question. Long ago, maybe even last year, he would've repeated the Agency line. Undepleatable, pure energy. Now, after everything that happened, he wasn't so sure.

"Because the Agency wants them," he finally said.

"That is a correct answer, but lacking all essence."

"You're trying to find out what the Agency wants with them. Or do you already know?" he added as an afterthought, because if Snitch Gravel did, he really needed to find that out too.

Snitch Gravel sneered at him, as if his question was beyond stupid. But then, all bravado vanished and he let out a long sigh.

"I have my hunches."

"Can I know what they are?"

"No."

Then why am I here? He wanted to scream, but wasn't as stupid as to throw a hissy fit. He didn't want back inside the cage, at least not yet.

"Why do you want them?"

"I don't. Not really." He turned with his back to Sam and looked out the window.

Once again, Sam was left to contemplate the Katanas on the wall and the very real possibility to stab Snitch Gravel in the back. But he knew it wouldn't serve any real purpose except maybe a fleeing taste of victory. Sam didn't want that. He wanted the truth. But Snitch Gravel didn't seem willing to come forward with it. Sam knew what would happen if he asked.

It was fairly clear. Snitch Gravel was trying to stop the Agency getting the jewels, yet he denied any personal gain from it. Which Sam believed to be true for some reason. A weird sentiment took hold of him as his heart started beating loudly. Could it be possible that they'd been on the wrong side all along?

No, impossible. Snitch Gravel kills and tortures people. Look what he's doing to us!

And yet, the unease didn't go away. There were too many variables and he needed them all before he could make a fair assessment. But for that, he needed to figure out what Snitch Gravel was really after. And there was only one way he could see to get him closer to the answer.

"Did you know what we were doing when you took us?"

The question had his enemy turning back to him, a look of surprise on his face. "Not really. What were you doing?"

"How much have you been fallowing us for the past year?" Sam asked instead.

"Not as much as usual. Go on."

"Why not?"

"You sort of got boring. Why were you all there?"

"Why do you want us all?"

"I already told you that."

"Where are Tom and Angie?"

The question seemed to throw Snitch Gravel off, and as he opened his mouth, Sam was sure he would ask if they weren't in their cage. But he stopped himself and narrowed his eyes at Sam as if sensing trickery.

"You now have something I want," he said. "Which makes you a lot more interesting."

"You have a lot of stuff I want." Sam squinted back at him. "So I'm hoping you'll invite me here more often."

The grin on Snitch Gravel's face was almost friendly. Without saying another word to Sam, he pushed the button on his desk which summoned the men meant to take him back. As he walked obediently down the hall, he only wished Snitch Gravel would now look into the Tom and Angie issue. 

His only comfort was that he knew he'd feel if his twin was no longer alive.

🏯🏯🏯

I know this chapter is huge. Sorry about that. But I do hope the content makes up for it since I basically killed off Tangie. Screw those guys!

In all seriousness, I loved writing their interaction. For once, Angie knows what she wants and Tom is the confused one. But maybe it was about time for that to happen. Well, not that it matters.

But you did get more Sam and Snitch bro time. And Christine... Poor Sam is also confused, being stuck with only her for support. But at least he knows Sammy is safe.

Things are getting serious again! And no, I'm not taking you out of the cages next chapter either. You need to suffer more! Mwahahahaha!

Vote and comment for support!