"Abba!" the name escaped Aimee's mouth.

Aimee was upset and had been solitary for the past nine hours - although, she had slept through the last six. She could not see anything, although her eyes were wide open. She was so over the terror of it all. It was her fourth kidnapping, unofficially. As usual, there was nothing she could do.

The familiar situation had become annoying to her, but she could not even act as if she knew how to escape with the AIM tentacle still hugging her limbs. Her formerly clean body was now covered in dust and mud and she was no longer aromatic. But she had stopped complaining about her new smell no more than six hours ago - after bleating about how being dragged underground was the worst method of kidnapping her yet, especially since there were so many rocks along the way. She definitely cried, the evidence showed on her cheeks: parallel stripes as light as the colour of her skin under all that muck. She did nothing; she had no choice but to wait and listen to her sobs echo through the underground cave.

She was all she could hear.

A single tear fell onto the metal arm around her. All she wanted was to be out of the dark, even if it meant sitting with Abba at her dining table.

"Abba! I'm sorry for offending you, but you can't keep me here! This is crazy stupid," she murmured the last part for her own ears.

All of a sudden, there were footsteps. She gasped and looked up, as though she would be able to see who was there. She almost grinned, in the hopes that it was Stefan, but then she realised that he did not know she was there, underground. It could only be Abba - finally. Aimee shut her eyes; she thought it might help her tell which direction she was coming from, and it was difficult to lock-onto Abba's position, until she began their French dialog. It translated:

"Good morning, my darling."

Aimee put her French dialect to the test and asked: "Why don't you turn the lights on and look me in the eyes?"

"I am looking you in the eyes," she smiled through the dark. "Or I would be, if you would open them. No, keep them closed. You won't be able to see me anyway. I don't want this to be weird."

"Then turn on the lights!" shouted Aimee, and the words became an echo.

Abba's voice switched to a deeper tone. "We're in an underground tunnel, there are no lights," she affirmed. "I thought you would have established that by now." Aimee rolled her eyes. They were a vibrant red through Abba's goggles. "I saw that, Aimee."

"Bonne!" she barked, before her American tongue returned. "I'm glad you can see me because that means you know how angry I am right now! Get this freaking tentacle off of me!"

Abba laughed, "Que si vous comportez."

'Only if you behave.'

Aimee glared, her face red-hot, at what she hoped was Abba's silhouette. She tried to wriggle out of the tentacle, but gave up after a short while. She had made numerous attempts before - in those nine-or-so hours - and knew that it was pretty useless. So she inhaled and let out a scream. The cave walls were like a microphone, an amplifier to the sound.

"I think there are other ways to release stress," Abba still spoke in French. "And that is not very good behaviour if you ask me."

"The only thing I asked was that you let me go... and I don't care about what you think," she tested.

She could feel the tension at the bridge of her nose, between her eyebrows. That tension was becoming a frequent thing as of late. She breathed in again – and fortunately, for everyone and everything in that cave, she did not let out another piercing scream. She breathed out. Abba had come to a noiselessness that made it easier for Aimee to calm her nerves. But once they had calmed, she realised how starved she was (and that she really had to pee). And it was as if Abba could read her thoughts when she asked, in her French, malevolent tone: "Are you hungry?"

She did not answer, even though her stomach yelled yes! She would not allow herself to show weakness.

"I set this up for you," said Abba, in English.

That voice was still familiar to Aimee. She had all but forgotten Abba's accent, her pronunciation of words. Her finger had found its way under Aimee's chin. She used it to raise Aimee's head before putting goggles on for her. Aimee glanced over Abba's shoulder instantly. What had caught her eye behind her crimson face was, of course, a table and breakfast for two.

As hungry as I am, I don't wanna eat here! thought Aimee.

Her eyes trailed to Abba's right hand, which had searched in her pocket for a small, black remote control. Aimee was free at the touch of a button, and felt the temptation to pull the hairs out of Abba's head, but she pinned her hands to her sides instead like she was still in the tentacle's grasp. She waited in that position until her numb body could move without any stings, and then turned around to get a better look at that tentacle. Her jaw dropped; her fridge was bigger than the thing! She would like to know how it dragged her all the way to France – or at least to what she had guessed was France, somewhere beneath the AIM HQ. Abba must have created some sort of tunnel between Lorient and California. Aimee closed her mouth, swallowed some freshly accumulated saliva, and glimpsed over her shoulder and at her mother.

"Is your idea of breakfast as unhealthy as your idea of lunch?" she queried.

"Crêpes and English breakfast tea," answered Abba. She sighed, "I really should stop spoiling you like this."

"Oh, no, don't," responded Aimee, sounding as casually rude as she had 'accepting' Molly's grounding, with the classic sarcastic smile. "I might just stop liking you."

She spun on the heels of her socks and swanned passed Abba and to the dining table. It was nicely laid with elegant lace napkins and placemats beneath every porcelain plate and mug. Aimee smiled a little, hardly at all, but it was nice to get to sit at a table so flawlessly laid. The thought that maybe Abba did care crossed her mind, since she laid the table and baked for her, but Aimee shook her head quickly at the thought.

She wouldn't do that. She probably asked one of those creepy guards to set it all up, or her slave husband.

"Where's Benjamin?" she turned her head to Abba, her hand gentle on the embossing on one silver fork.

"He's looking after our baby while I'm here," She must mean... AIM, Aimee thought as Abba approached her and corrected herself saying: "While we're here."

"Okay, let's just eat instead of talk," Aimee replied with discomfort. "I like it better, when you don't talk."

She pulled a chair out quickly, sat down and pulled it in again. A part of her was waiting for a scolding of the parental sort, but Abba sat quietly.
Aimee watched anxiously as Abba removed the thin glass dome that covered their crêpes. She used her fork – one that matched Aimee's rose-embossed pair – to serve her daughter and herself two crêpes each. She was slow-moving, almost unbearably so when she put the glass covering back over the remaining crêpes stacked on the platter. Her hand gradually moved over to the large, pearly-painted teacup.

"I'll pour the tea!" Aimee stood up edgily. She heard her voice bouncing around the cave. "I-I'll pour the tea," she said quieter.

The handle of the teacup felt fragile and hollow, even more than she thought it would. She almost empathised with Abba's slow-motion and almost matched it, too. She was careful not to crack Abba's mug or the teacup itself as she tipped it. Steam rose from the cup when she filled it. Aimee saw how high the red-appearing steam could ascend before completely evaporating. She sat down and poured her cup to about a centimetre from the brim. It smelt amazing. Its aroma blocked out the wet, damp cave, although that wet, damp smell was more comforting as it reminded her a little of GINM. The cave only needed a few rotten vegetables to complete the compost garden feel. But the tea was a suitable substitute; she was trying to eat. The sound of their forks corresponded with the water dripping elsewhere in the caves. It was an awkward and silent meal, but Aimee would not have had it any other way. Her stomach grumbled, and she was sure to fill it.

Abba had made plans. To keep Aimee there until she felt it was necessary to let her go, which was unlikely to be ever. She watched her as she ate, but Aimee's eyes only left her plate when she sipped her breakfast tea. Soon, their crêpes were finished – Aimee ate quite wildly – and Abba patiently waited for her cup to empty.

"When you are done I would like to show you the rest of AIM," she tested.

Why would I want to see it? Aimee questioned internally. She chugged the last of her tea and delicately placed her mug on her lace coaster, as Molly would have. Molly would love this tea... she thought.

"I-I'm done," she breathed the words mutedly.

Abba smiled, looking at her and then at the crêpes. "You do not want more?"

"Non, merci," she smiled, and then motioned her body out of her seat. She wanted Abba to trust her – things would be easier if she trusted her – so she kept smiling.

Abba replied in French, "The elevator is that way," and gestured to her left.

Aimee allowed her to lead. It appeared to be some form of respect, but it was more a lack of trust in the woman. The elevator was already open and it had intense light. Abba and Aimee removed their goggles to save themselves the blinding glare.

Aimee looked at her arm cast, just for a second, and unknowingly whispered "Stefan."

He did not know where she was, and she did not know where he was. She could only pray that nothing bad had happened to him while she was being dragged on muck or eating crêpes. She leaned against the horizontal pole on the back of the elevator, with her hand on her cast, watching as the button on the elevator was squished under Abba's index finger. Aimee tossed her goggles through the elevator doors seconds before they came to a close. There was no need for them if they were headed upstairs. Abba ogled the goggles on the ground, confused and speechless.

"Are there guards waiting for me upstairs?" queried Aimee.

They refrained from looking at one another.

"No, no, they have other orders," replied Abba, in her English. "But I told Ben that I would be here. You will see him."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" mumbled Aimee, once again unaware that she was thinking out loud.