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Lee Stetson sat, gazing at the slender hand held carefully in his own. Bruises covered it where they had started the IV. A plastic, fluorescent-green, bar-coded bracelet stuck out at an awkward angle from the wrist. The nails were torn too, but he didn't care. It was alive and warm and it was her hand, Amanda's hand.
She'd been awake, briefly, just a few minutes before. They'd quietly talked, about nothing really, just small words, words he'd almost never had the chance to share with her again. Then she'd drifted asleep, almost in mid-sentence. For the first two days this had occurred often. Now it happened less and less frequently. The doctor said this was "normal," that her body was continuing the process of recuperating... As if anything that happened to her in the past few days could be classified as normal, Lee thought.
He'd come so close to losing her. He could still feel the fear pushing at his chest, like a sudden heavy weight, after dashing from the warehouse. He'd realized the van containing Amanda was missing. She'd been taken by a madman... by Addi Birol.
He pressed her hand against his cheek as the terror of the past eight days washed over him once again. He thought about how he'd almost lost her. He'd even gone to her house to find some small part of her, but she wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere. None of his contacts could find a trace of Addi's safe houses. Even his own mole hadn't been able to get word to him of where she'd been taken. The knowledge that he might not be in time, that Birol might do to Amanda what he had done to countless others in grainy black and white photographs... it had nearly driven him insane.
Through it all had come the pressing realization that Amanda was special, unique. The truth had overwhelmed him during the darkest hours while pacing the floor of his apartment. She was someone he couldn't bear to go on living without. He needed her, he'd realized, as he'd stared blindly at a surveillance report on Karbala's movements. He needed her more than he needed air to breathe or food to eat. He needed her to share her optimism and her joy in people. He needed her for the way she would straighten his tie in that careful manner, for the way that she would take his hand when they walked so that he'd know he wasn't alone. He needed her for the way she would look up at him so breathlessly, love shining wondrously in her eyes when he kissed her.
He opened his eyes and silently watched as the blankets covering Amanda's chest gently rose and fell. He tucked her hand under the covers so that it would remain warm. Reaching out, he stroked down her cheek with just the tips of his fingers. The dark lashes rested peacefully against her pale cheeks.
In his mind's eye, he could still see her leaping up like an over-wound doll from the army cot in the corner of her cell, nerves drawn taut by instinctive response, but eyes dazed and unfocusing.
He could still feel her flinch against his back as she waited for that cruel taunting voice to let loose a stream of bullets, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop them from ripping through him to her.
She had been so brave, even at the very end, so stubbornly valiant. And despite the minute trembles he could feel shuddering through her starved body, she had boldly declared that they were the two luckiest people on earth when he had asked her to marry him. It had been that indomitable spirit that Addi Birol couldn't crush. Lee brushed a brown curl back from Amanda's forehead. It was that spirit he intended to cherish for the rest of his life, if she would let him.
Leaning forward, despite the fact she couldn't hear him, he whispered, "I love you, Amanda King."
Standing, he pulled on his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged his shoulder muscles so his gun holster would re-settle to a more comfortable position. Wearily he ran a hand through his hair and stood, gazing down. In the background the reassuring rhythm of the heart monitor seemed to beep over and over again, in its own electronic language, "alive and well, alive and well". If he could have, he would've wrapped his love around her to keep her safe.
"I'll be right back. There's something I need to take care of," he said instead.
* * *
As Lee entered the interrogation room, his eyes remained solely focused on one objective. He didn't notice the graffiti littering the walls. He didn't see the wire mesh enclosed clock that stated that it was well past midnight. He didn't even seem aware of the M.P. at the door snapping to attention upon his entrance. His gaze, his entire being, was focused on one thing and one thing only: Addi Birol.
The terrorist sat in his chair carelessly, almost as if to deny his prisoner status. One finger idly tapped the scarred tabletop, while his other hand remained handcuffed to a metal loop in the seat of his chair. His dark eyes met Lee's and he smirked at what he saw. "I see you have come to visit me at last."
Lee ignored the acerbically accented comment and took a seat in an empty chair across from Birol.
* * *
Charlie, the M.P. assigned to guard Addi Birol during the night shift, watched from his post beside the door. He watched as an hour passed and Birol continued to try and goad the agent into some sort of response, but Stetson just sat motionlessly in his chair without a hint of expression on his face, studying the terrorist. If he heard the slyly made remarks and subtle threats that eventually died away to uncomfortable silence, he made no response. It was as if Stetson was looking for something, some shred of humanity.
"Charlie." The word, when it finally came, took the guard by surprise, so quietly was it spoken.
He straightened his spine. "Yes, sir?"
At that point, Lee looked up at the military police officer for the first time since entering the room two hours before. "Do me a favor? Take a walk."
Charlie glanced at the dark skinned terrorist, whose eyes reflected less human emotion than a rabid animal in the wild, and then back towards the agent. The M.P. had been assigned to the Agency for over three years now. In that time he'd grown to know a little something about all the agents operating out of the home office. He knew Lee Stetson, code named Scarecrow, knew him to be a crack shot, and a master at kickboxing. He was a hothead who'd buck the brass for a fellow agent. He was a good soldier.
Charlie's blue eyes met Lee's hazel ones, eyes that were currently circled by deep lines of shadow and pain. Charlie also knew Amanda King.
Briefly he nodded his head. "Yes, sir." And despite the fact that it was against every regulation, he left his prisoner alone with the agent.
* * *
Lee waited until the reinforced steel door firmly clicked shut behind the guard. He waited as Addi Birol shifted restlessly in his chair, his gaze darting from the closed door to the shuttered expression of the man sitting across from him. He watched as the pupils in Birol's eyes dilated slightly, signaling a rush of fear-driven adrenaline. Then Lee stood.
Laying his hands flat against the table top, he leaned forward, every inch of his being radiating menace. Though his words were softly spoken, they left no doubt as to the promise they carried. "It... will... happen."
Then he carefully lifted his hands from the table. Walking to the door, he took hold of the knob and only then swung a final glance at the dark man still seated. "Don't bother hiding."
And Addi Birol believed him.