[TIER 10] IATL: Chapter 17

Warning for drugs, violence and rape. 

---

"Ramsay."

"Lucas."

Lucas is sitting across from the pompous man, and they have been staring at each other for awhile now, both silently accessing. Ramsay smiles and leans forwards, elbows on the table. "So what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"How did your associates enjoy the party Saturday night? I assume my boys are accommodating?"

"Ah, yes," Ramsay nods, looking pleased. "They are very fine indeed. Especially Chase. He still has some fight in him, but that's what I like. To see the fire in his eyes but knows there's nothing he can do about it. I dare say Chase is my favorite. Alastair sure knows how to pick them." Ramsay leans back into his armchair. "But I'm assuming this is not just a social call? What can I do for you?"

"Always the businessman, I see. Good, straight to the point. I like it." Lucas pauses, pursing his lips. He has to choose his words carefully. The situation is delicate. Ramsay is his business partner and associate and like Zael, he doesn't want to piss the man off. But then again, he needs the info. He has to approach the matter with caution. "I need to find someone called Gordon Walker. And I've been told you might know where to find him."

At Walker's name, Ramsay's features stiffens, and his body language becomes frigid. But he composes himself fairly quickly and adjusts his position in his seat. "And what purpose do you have with this man?" At that, Lucas breathes a sigh of relief. At least, Ramsay isn't denying knowing the man. Lucas might still be able to pry Walker's location from him.

"He attacked Gabriel. He and his men gang raped him," he explains, making sure to emphasize on the severity of the situation, his tone grave and somber. Ramsay appears surprised by the news, shock coloring his face.

"What? When did this happen?"

"Last night."

Ramsay seems to process the information, brows furrowing. Then, he stares up at Lucas, expression serious. "How do you know it's him?" Lucas takes out his mobile phone from the inside of his jacket's pocket and unlocks the screen. Then, he looks up the picture of Walker Zael had sent over last night and hands the mobile to Ramsay.

"Bollocks!"

Ramsay curses when he sees the picture. He shoves the mobile angrily back at Lucas, face twisted in frustration and displeasure. "That man can't keep it in his pants for one goddamn second!" he rants. Swirling towards Lucas, he asks. "Is the police already involved with this?" Lucas nods and Ramsay lets out a string of expletives. He reaches out for his phone and pauses, glancing up at Lucas. "There's something I need to take care of. We'll talk later."

"If you could just tell me where Walker is currently at, I'll be out of hair."

"That won't be possible," Ramsay says, slow and deliberate, his eyes serious.

Lucas narrows his eyes. "He hurt Gabriel. He has to pay," he says in a quiet voice. They stare into each other's eyes, both determined to have their way. The air grows thick around them, the tension in the room increases tenfold. Ramsay's mouth thins and he sours. "You'll have the information. Just not now."

And understanding dawns on Lucas. They're doing the exchange right now. That's why Ramsay is so stressed. His heartbeat quickens. Should he wait and trust Ramsay to hand Walker to him later? Or should he try and pry the information right now? "I don't want him to get away, Ramsay. That's not how I work. You hurt my men; you pay the price. Tell me where he is."

Ramsay's nostril flares. "How dare you come into my office and demand things of me," he barks. "Do you know who I am?" he bellows. "I can crush you."

The sudden outburst from the man surprises him but does not scare him. Keeping his face calm and collected, he leans forward and says softly, almost a whisper yet commands the attention of the room, "So can I."

Ramsay looks outraged. "Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?" He points a finger towards the door. "Get out! Get out of my office!" he shouts.

Sighing, Lucas stands. He screwed up. The man is on the defense now, and there goes any hope of acquiring any information out of him. He hopes he hadn't just ruined their partnership. Giving Ramsay a slight nod of the head, he takes a step back. "Of course," he says demurely, hoping to appease the man. Lucas isn't afraid of him. Like he said, he can crush him like a bug if he wants to, but unfortunately, he needs Ramsay. He'll just have to suck up and play politics.

Ramsay gives him a harumph and indicates the door, showing his dismissal. But he does seem less furious and indignant. Lucas takes it as a good sign and leaves the office.

What a waste of time. And nothing to show for it. Michael is going to be so annoying, he laments. They have decided to split. Lucas on Ramsay and Michael on Hellhound. Part of him hopes Michael fails too, just so that he doesn't have to deal with his smugness; Michael is not going to let him live this down. Not for a while at least. But then he remembered. Michael won't even be around to rub his face in, long gone once the case is done. The prospect leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and a hole in his chest.

So deep in thought, Lucas didn't catch the swirl of red hair and walked straight right into another body. There's a gasp of surprise as they both get their breath knocked out of them. At least, they're still on their feet. The redhead brings her face up and shining green eyes widens as she recognizes him.

"Anna," he acknowledges, adjusting his leather jacket.

"Lucas." Anna casts her eyes downwards, long red curls cascading down over her face. Anna is pretty, almost ethereal like an angel. She's a favorite among the clients. Slowly, Anna raises her head once more, big eyes curious. "What are you doing here?" She claps a hand over her mouth, her expression stricken. Then, she ducks her head, trying to make herself seem smaller. Alastair trained her well. It pains him to acknowledge that.

"Something happened last night. Gabriel was hurt. He's at the hospital now so he won't be cooking tonight." Remembering that fact, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his wallet. "There's no more leftovers from Saturday. Could you prepare dinner for tonight? I might not be back until tomorrow," he says, handing her two twenty notes.

The group home works on a rooster. The children are responsible for household chores like laundry, cooking, cleaning and gardening. It gives them a sense of responsibility. Gabriel likes to cook, and he does a good job of it, so it's usually him preparing their meals. The rest rotates around chores. They're free to switch as long as the chores get done.

And ever since he started his side business, he had only trusted Gabriel with the money. Since the home houses a number of people, the amount of cash needed for groceries is substantial. Enough for someone to buy a bus ticket and skip town. But considering the current circumstances, he thinks he could trust Anna. She always had a soft spot for the little ones at the house. Especially little Amelia. He doesn't think she would leave her.

Anna's eyes widen, reflecting the fluorescent lights above them. "What happened? Is he okay?" she asks, concerned.

"He will be fine," he assures her, adding "I need you to do something else for me. There's a calendar book on my desk. There's a list of clients that will be coming in tonight. Make sure they're entertained. Beside their names are initials. A.M. stands for you, C.R. stands for Chase and so on. So you know who gets who. Can you do that for me?"

He knows it's sadistic of him to ask Anna to pimp herself, but the business needs to go on. He can't afford to throw everything to the wind, not when Michael will leave after. And he still needs the money. No, nothing has changed.

Anna is looking at him with fires in her eyes. Huh, she reminds Lucas of Chase. Guess Alastair never really broke them after all. That's a comforting thought. Nevertheless, "Make sure the clients are happy and satisfied. If I hear otherwise, I don't need to remind you what's going to happen." The fire dims and Anna nods, averting her gaze. "Good." He shoulders past Anna and continues down the hallway towards the exit.

Lucas doesn't like doing this. It makes him feel like a bad person. He knows he is a bad man, and has done enough bad things to warrant himself a place in hell. But still, he hates doing this. To children no less. But he can't be soft. Once the ball starts rolling, there's nothing he can do to stop it. Ramsay wants the children on the streets, wants them for himself. He can't deny the man. He can't afford to show vulnerability. No, this is the way it has to be. It's not like he hadn't had enough practice numbing himself.

Stepping out into the sun, Lucas slips on his sunglasses. He walks towards the back of the building where they parked the car. Michael is already there, leaning against a plain black Toyota Corolla. It's the rental car Michael had used while tracking Gordon from Sioux Falls. As he strides towards Michael, he finds himself absorbing the view in front of him. Knowing the sunglasses hide his eyes, Lucas lets himself stare.

The man before him is the epitome of casual and relaxed as he leans on the side of the car, long legs crossed in front of him and hands in the pocket of his jeans. Michael has his face tilted up towards the sun, eyes closed unaware of his approach. Lucas is determined to keep it that way, slowing down. There's a light scruff, just enough to give him a touch of shadow on his jaws. His black hair gleams in the sunlight, curling around his forehead, softening his features.

Michael had taken off his leather jacket and is now clad only in a plain black t-shirt. It doesn't hang off his body nor does it clings too tight. Fit just enough to hint at the muscles underneath; the broad shoulder and flat stomach. Lucas lets his gaze wander to his sturdy arms, admiring the strength in them. They've sparred before, and he knows how it feels like to be wrapped in those arms. In contrast with his dark hair, Michael has pale skin. A mixture of peaches and cream.

Michael sucks in a deep breath and Lucas stutters in his movements. The dip in his collarbones hollows and Lucas wonders what it feels like to press the flat of his tongue there. To lick a wet stripe up Michael's neck and lap at the salty skin. To be able to taste his heady musk instead of just smelling it. Imagine what it's like to kiss up that long thick neck. Marvel at the bizarre feeling of someone else's scruff rubbing against his own. Then, he would dip down and take those soft pink lips into his mouth-

Lucas blinks, stopping in his tracks, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. There's a tightness in his pants, and his breaths are shallow and haggard. He feels hot and he thinks he can feel his cheeks burning. Did he just sexually fantasized about Michael? Was that a twitch he felt in his pants? He shifts, trying to adjust himself. But as his half hard erection presses against the zipper, he can't help but shudders, the friction doing nothing to curb the sudden stirring in his guts. For the love of all God, control yourself!

He prays Michael is still oblivious to what's going on in his pants. Closing his eyes and biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, he takes in a deep breath and exhales. He thinks of dead bodies and mutilated remains of tortured victims. The pressure against his zipper subsides immediately. Opening his eyes, he can feel his mortification mellow out and the heat on his cheeks subside. Feeling much steadier, he approaches Michael, who's blissfully unaware of the earth-shattering moment he went through.

Michael chooses the moment to look down, probably sensing Lucas's distress by proximity. Lucas schools his expression to one of appropriate frustration, not that it's hard to do considering. "I've got nothing. Ramsay refused to budge," he sulks. "The only thing I managed to glean off from him is that the exchange is taking place now."

"I know," Michael says simply. He's radiating smugness and Lucas's eyes narrow, giving him an unimpressed look. "I talked to Hellhound. He mentioned that, and he also said he's willing to tell us the location." Feeling relieved, Lucas asks. "So where is it?" Michael nods at something behind him. Turning around, he sees a figure approaching them. It's a boy. Dark brown skin. Perfectly styled spiky hair.

Michael straightens up. "Hellhound," he greets. "You said you have something for me."

The boy nods, his eyes darting around the place. "It wasn't safe to talk inside."

"I understand. But nothing is stopping you out here. So, where's the exchange?" Michael asks. Lucas stands back and stays silent. This is Michael's show now.

The boy reaches into his jacket. Lucas tenses, hand automatically flexing to reach for the gun he keeps holstered at the bottom of his right leg. The boy notices the twitch and smirks, brown eyes cocky. "Tell your buddy to relax." He pulls out a folded piece of paper. "Here," he says, handing it to Michael.

"Why are you helping us all a sudden?" Lucas asks, can't help but be suspicious of the kid's motive. The smile on the kid's face is villainous. "No one replaces me." He flicks his eyes back to Michael. "Just promise me you screw up the exchange. Screw it up big time, I don't care how you do it," His expression is angry and bitter. "Just that you do."

Michael nods. Hellhound gives them a mock salute, turns and walks away without another word. Once he's out of earshot, Michael turns around and shrugs, "I guess once Ramsay knew he was compromised, he sent someone else." He starts to unfold the paper. "See? It's not all a loss," he says, frowning down at the maplike printout. It's a set of directions printed from Google Map. Lucas moves closer.

"You've got to be kidding me," he mutters. He can't believe this.

There, on the destination box, it reads: Lullaby Blues Motel.

---

Voices filter through his consciousness. Just noises, harsh and loud and angry. Chase can't make out what is being said. They sound distant, far away. Like how the radio in the car sometimes gets when his dad drives down a long stretch of highway in the middle of nowhere. Static filtering in at odd places. Music distorted, sounding eerier than they have any right to be.

He tries to focus, to listen, but his head hurts like a stampede had come and went leaving a steady pounding that echoes on and on. In fact, it does feel like he'd been run over by a herd of buffaloes; his body heavy and limp. Chase groans and tries to open his eyes. What happened? He moves to rub his eyes but realizes he can't. Something is holding him back. His eyes snap open, panicked as he automatically starts to struggle.

He trashes when he realizes that he's tied to a chair. Dread fills him slowly as he takes in the unforgiving tie-rip around his wrists and ankles. Chase snaps his head up, his eyes darting around the room, landing on the black man by the foot of the bed. His back is facing Chase. There's an open duffel bag on the bed beside him, stuffed full with clothes, cash and what appears to be packets of white powder. Drugs.

The man shifts then, and Chase's eyes widen at the sight of a gun in his hands. He doesn't seem too bothered by Chase's struggles nor even hint at noticing him. There's a click as the man reloads the gun. Alarm bells ring in his head, adding to the cacophony already there. Chase is starting to panic. Is the man going to shoot him? Oh god, is it going to hurt? It's going to hurt like a son of a bitch, isn't it? He tenses when the man turns around and only relaxes when he just tosses the gun into the duffel bag.

The voice that woke him up continues to drone on even though the man doesn't seem to be speaking. For a while there, Chase thinks he's hallucinating. He must have hit his head harder than he thought. But then he notices the lighted mobile phone lying on the bed and realizes that the voice he's hearing comes from the speaker. And that voice has a British accent.

Ramsay!

Chase tries to yell for help, but what comes out is a muted cry. Screaming in frustration only to be muffled by the gag in his mouth, Chase sags. Breathing hard, he tries again, getting frustrated when nothing happens. He starts crying, twisting and struggling against the tie-rips. It's getting harder to breathe. His nose is clogged with snot, and he can't breathe through his mouth. The cloth is sucking all the moisture there and he feels dry and parched. At the same time, he can't stop drooling; saliva steadily leaks down his chin.

"What's that sound? Is that Chase? Bloody hell, what did you do to him?" Ramsay's voice sounds tiny coming from the small device. A small spark of hope soars through Chase and he clings to it. Ramsay knows where he is. He's not going to die. The man wouldn't dare kill him. Not when there's a witness. Right? He's not going to be leaving Sam. And Gabriel. Ohgod, Gabriel!

The video. His stomach roils as he remembers, gurgling dangerously. He's going to be sick. Panicking but unable to stop the lurch in his stomach nor the bile that rises up his throat, Chase pukes. I'm going to suffocate, he thinks once he realizes there's no place for the vomit to go. He makes a gagging sound, choking around the cloth in his mouth, dribble of puke seeping out at the corner. He coughs and splutters violently, unable to stop the seizure as his stomach continues to heave.

"Oh mother fuck, hang on." The cloth in his mouth is yanked out and Chase spews bile all over the floor as he gasps, trying to suck in as much air as possible while still coughing and floundering. Tears roll down his face as snot, saliva and puke cover the front of his shirt. There's a puddle of sick on the carpet between his legs. His whole body is trembling as small hiccups bubble out of him. Despite that, Chase manages to choke out. "Help..." His voice is raspy, more like a croak.

The man turns away in disgust, striding back towards the duffel, picking up his pace now. Zipping up the bag, he picks up the two briefcases from the floor and tosses it onto the bed.

"Gordon, what in the bloody hell is happening over there? Answer me!"

"Your boy just decided to puke all over himself. Where's Hellhound? I missed the guy." The man- Gordon sounds flippant, amused even like he's not in the least bothered by everything that's going on in the room. He flashes Chase a smile, a grin from ear to ear that not so much as even touches his eyes. Chase's blood chills. This man is a fucking psycho! "The bitch you sent me got balls. I'll give him that. He kicked me in the nuts!" he laughs. The hair on the back of Chase's neck stands.

"I'm doing business with morons," Ramsay mutters. "Alright, listen. There are some pretty awful people coming after you. And I don't want to get stuck in the middle as you can see how that would be bad for business. So here's the deal," he pauses for effect before letting out an impressive shout, "Give Chase my coke and get the hell out of dodge!"

"Chase? You're Chase?" Gordon cocks an eyebrow at him. "Not as fierce as Hellhound, but okay, Chase is cool." He smiles that crazy smile again. The light catches in his eyes. Both pupils are dilated. Shit, the man's high as fuck. Gordon turns his attention back to his mobile. "Who's coming after me?" he asks, voice serious, his gait alert. Chase blinks at the sudden change in demeanor.

"Lucas. Apparently you attacked one of his whores yesterday. Blue eyes? The face of an angel?"

"Ah, yes I remembered. Sweet boy. A friend of yours, right?" Gordon nods at him, smirking before moving towards the bathroom. Chase frowns after him pumped full with nervous energy. He tries to keep Gordon in sight, but the man disappears behind the door. What is he doing in there?

Chase tries to calm himself down, ignoring the foul stench surrounding him. Ramsay mentioned Lucas. So Lucas knows too. And he's coming for Gordon. Does that mean he knows where they are? Is he coming? Does he know Chase is here?

"Lucas is determined to hunt your ass. And I daresay he will most likely succeed. Normally, I wouldn't give a rat's ass but I do consider you to be a good ally and I don't want to lose my supply. So, why don't you just do what we agreed upon, hand over the goods to Chase and we can forget this ever happened and meet again next month. Preferably in better circumstances. I don't think I'm asking too much. So why are we still talking?" Ramsay seems to be at his wits end if his shouts are any indication.

Gordon walks back out the bathroom, a bottle in one hand and a cloth in the other. His face is dark, displeased. "Lucas," he scoffs. "Never heard of the guy. I'm not afraid of him. He wants to come, let him come. I would love to pick his bones," he says, pouring the content of the bottle onto the cloth.

"Morons," Ramsay mutters again.

"Tell Hellhound to come to the Denny's around the corner. Wait out back. Be there in-" He looks at his watch. "10 minutes. You'll have your goods then."

"And Chase?"

Gordon smiles. "Chase is staying." The dam that has been holding back his panic and fear, the one that is still harboring hope breaks, flooding him with icy cold terror. "If Lucas is so riled up when I hurt one of his little whores. What happens when I hurt two?" Gordon grins as he approaches him, his movement predator-like. He pours more of the content in the bottle onto the cloth, soaking it.

Staring at the cloth, he finally gets it. Gordon is going to knock him out. And there's no way Chase can stop him. He's dead. Chase's done for. With that final thought, he finally breaks. It's all or nothing. Chase doesn't give a fuck anymore. He laughs, a booming sound, shoulders shaking. It doesn't matter that he's sitting in his own sick and covered in puke, he laughs, boisterous and loud.

"Lucas is going to rip you to pieces, you son of a bitch. You're so dead, and you don't even know it," he spits out, sobering. He scoffs, shaking his head in pity. "It's so sad, it's funny." Chase can't believe he's placing his chips on Lucas, the man that started his nightmare in the first place, but he does. Right now, Lucas is like a lifeline and he's holding on tight, desperate to see a way out of this impossible predicament.

Gordon comes to a stop in front of him and leans down, putting his face incredibly close, their nose almost touching. "We'll see about that," he sneers.

Chase has been expecting it but it still shocks him when Gordon covers his mouth and nose with the cloth. The strong smell of ether and chloroform hit him hard. Determined not to struggle, knowing there's no point for it, he holds Gordon's gaze. Chase holds his breath for as long as he can and tries not to inhale the chemical. But it's fruitless. Soon, he can feel the chemical fumes burn up his nostrils and down his throat. Even as he stares into the blackness of Gordon's eyes, he feels himself losing consciousness for the second time today. The darkness calls to him. Chase closes his eyes.

---

"The whole time, Walker is right under our noses. Do you mind explaining how this managed to escape your notice?" Lucas knows his tone is accusing but it is not like Michael at all to be so careless that he failed to detect that the target is staying in the same motel as he is. He never makes such mistakes. Michael is too thorough.

Blue eyes widens, and Michael opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He looks like a lost puppy. Lucas doesn't have the heart to rub it in even if he's angry. Which he isn't. Instead, he feels a stab of concern. "Michael, this is so unlike you." He stares at the man in front of him, bewildered. "Is everything alright?"

Michael blinks up at him, devastated and Lucas almost, almost reaches out and pulls him into a hug. But he didn't. And then, Michael schools his expression, snapping his mouth shut, lips set in a thin line, eyes hard. He can physically see Michael closing in on himself; the change is that obvious. Blue eyes turn cold, face impassive. It's like watching a warrior putting on his steel plates of armor. The helm sliding into place.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. How I got to be so distracted that I-" Michael shakes himself. "Walker had been coming to this town for three months but each time he stayed in a different motel. Lullaby Blues is one of them. I assume he would continue in this pattern. That's my fault. I should have been more aware." He looks Lucas right in the eyes, face stoic. "I apologized. That will never happen again. I swear." The look on his face, the seriousness in his eyes, the adamant clench of the muscles around his mouth. It seems more like he's making a promise to himself than to Lucas.

Without another word, Michael gets into the driver seat and starts the car. The sound of the engine roaring to life spurs Lucas into action. Sliding into the passenger seat, he buckles himself in. Michael pulls out from the lot. The car ride is silent, tense. Lucas chances a glance at the man beside him. Michael's eyes are sharp and alert, his movement sure and deliberate and Lucas knows, knows that he had lost him. Job modus Michael is different from the Michael who complains about cold feet in the winter. He doesn't know why he's whining. Maybe it's because he misses the easy camaraderie between them.

Although they're on a time crunch, Michael drives at the speed limit. He flicks on the signals when he has to make a turn, making sure to stop at red lights and slows down for road bumps. Basically, he's obeying all the traffic rules to a fault. It's standard procedure. Michael doesn't want to give the police any reason to stop him.

It's a pretty short drive, plus minus 10 minutes. When they reach the motel, Michael puts the car in park, and they step out into the afternoon sun. The motel seems more intimidating than it was when he's here this morning. Even with the prospect of facing Michael. Crouching down on one knee, he pushes up the hem of his jeans and unholsters his gun. It's a Glock 19, his preferred weapon of choice. Standing up, he tucks it into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, taking comfort in its reassuring weight. He's ready as ever. Glancing over at Michael, who nods in affirmation, they proceed to the motel side by side.

The cool air of the motel prickles at the sweat clinging to their skin. They glance around surreptitiously, on the lookout in case Walker is in the area. "We still need his room number," he reminds Michael. They both turn to look at the receptionist. "Okay, you'll distract him, and I'll get onto the computer," Michael informs him.

"Why do I have to distract him?"

"Because you're the more charismatic of the two of us. Now go." Michael nudges him forward with his shoulder. Then, he moves towards the edge of the room, pretending to be busy with his mobile phone. Flustered, Lucas arranges his jacket and walks towards the counter. The boy behind it immediately stands up when he senses his approach. He has ginger red hair, a fair complexion, and bright blue eyes. He looks eager to please. This should be easy.

"How can I help you, sir?" the boy asks, all polite manners. Lucas glances at the name tag on his white button down, with red collars and button. Alfie it reads.

"Alfie, is it?" At the boy's nod, he continues. "Well, my partner is in room 4d, and there seems to be a problem with the water. It's not heating up. And he really needs a shower if you get what I mean. We're all," Lucas lifts his hands and rubs his fingers together. "Sticky."

Alfie blushes, splotchy red coloring his cheeks. "Oh! Yes, um. Here, let me check them for you." Alfie picks up a toolbox from under the counter and gestures towards the elevator. "Come on then. You can show us where the problem is," he says smiling.

Lucas smiles. "Thank you, Alfie." He follows the boy, the corner of his eyes catches Michael darting behind the counter. He makes sure to stand between Alfie and his view of the computer. Not that it's necessary because the boy's gaze is fixed ahead of him. His mobile beeps. Taking it out, he says, "Oh, it seems like my partner got it fixed. I'm sorry to trouble you and waste your time."

"No worries, sir. I'm glad it's solved." Alfie smiles at him and nods. "Have a good day, sir." He walks back towards the counter and after a moment, Michael appears beside him. "Room 5c," he mutters. "And what did you say to the boy? I can see him blushing from here. You didn't flirt with him, did you?" Lucas had already pressed the up button and they're currently waiting for the elevator to arrive.

"I just mentioned that we had sex and needed a shower, but there was no warm water." He doesn't know why he said that but once it's out, he can't help but glance over at Michael to see his reaction. Michael has a stunned look on his face, then a slight blush creeps up his face. The man narrows his eyes at him, annoyed. "You didn't." The blush looks adorable on him, and Lucas finds himself egging him more.

"I did. And you're the bottom." The blush darkens, and Michael scowls at him. Lucas winks just as the elevator dings. The both of them automatically step to the side as the elevator doors open. Lucas has a hand inconspicuously on the butt of his gun, ready. When the doors slide open all the way, revealing it to be empty inside, he relaxes. They get into the elevator, and Michael presses the button for the fifth floor.

"I can't believe you told him that," Michael grumbles as he looks up at the blinking light.

"Why not?"

Michael shrugs. "Because he'll think we're gay."

"Does that bother you?" Even if he's not gay, his heart throbs as he waits for Michael's reply. What if Michael is homophobic? And from how uncomfortable he looks right now, he guesses that Michael is straight. He had always wondered about the man. The two years they had spent together, he had never seen the man get laid. Granted, they're not allowed to bring their hookup back to the house but he had always wondered. That knowledge doesn't do anything to lighten his mood. Instead, it deflates it.

Michael shrugs again. He can tell that this bugs Michael, but he's pretending to be casual about it. His curiosity peaks. "No. But some people believed it to be a sin." Lucas frowns. "Do you believe that?" he asks. Before Michael could answer, the elevator dings again. The two of them move to the side in sync like they're doing an old dance routine. Seeing the empty hallway, they step out together. The tension is piling up, and Lucas can feel the familiar adrenaline rush coursing through his veins.

As they approached the door with number 5c hanging from it, they could hear soft cries coming from the room. They look at each other, both drawing their guns. Then, Michael steps in front of the door and with one swift kick, with the heel of his foot landing beside the knob, the door crashes open. Already familiar with the layout of the room, Michael moves inside, swift and graceful, his arms out in front of him. He first secures the small hallway and then the bathroom. Lucas follows close behind, walking past Michael to secure the main room.

The room is empty. Walker had already left. Lucas lowers his hands as he glances around the room. It smells like vomit in here, and it's immediately confirmed when he sees the puddle of sick drying on the carpet floor. He puts a hand over his nose and tries to breathe in through his mouth. The stench is sour and nauseating. It doesn't take him long to identify the source of the cries. It comes from a movie playing on the wall tv. Moving so that he's standing in front of it, he watches the scene unfold.

Red hot rage seeps into his every pore. His heartbeat races, pumping blood through his veins. His breaths quickens, chest heaving. His throat feels clogged, eyes watering from how intense his gaze is trained on the screen. His jaw hurts from how hard he's grinding down, his teeth gnashing together. The veins on the side of his head throb. The cries die down only to be replaced by a deep buzzing, steadily getting louder and louder in his ears until it threatens to deafen him.

He can't move. His body feels stiff, his back tensed, his spine feels like lead. But his hands, they tremble at his side, shaking so hard his grip on his gun loosens. There's a loud panting noise accompanying the buzz, someone wheezing and gasping. With a jolt, he realizes it was him. It's getting harder and harder to breathe, the air in the room so thick, it feels like he's underwater.

Gabriel is naked and bloody on the restroom floor surrounded by men. The blood stains on the floor and those smearing the wall stand out at him like a flashing neon light. The blood. So much blood. The scene before him blurs, replaced by a familiar setting. Four walls. No windows. A metal door. The smell of human excrement, urine and feces assault his nostrils. His throat bobs, bile threatening to rise up. He knows he's imagining the smell, knows he's in a motel room and not in some 4 by 4 cell lying in his own mess. Consciously, he knows that but he can't stop himself from shaking and the tears from spilling out.

A warm hand on his shoulder draws his attention away from the screen. Michael is standing in front of him, face concerned, blue eyes worried. He's talking, his mouth opening and closing, but Lucas couldn't hear a single thing, the roar in his ear is too loud and all he can do is stare. And stares as tears fall freely down his face. Both of Michael's hands are on his shoulders now, and he's leaning close, keeping eye contact.

Before he knows it, Lucas is being pulled into a hug. Michael wraps his arms around him and grip him tight. Lucas's stunned, momentarily breaking out of the nightmare he's stuck in. His muscles unclench, and suddenly he can't hold himself up any longer. Like a marionette with its strings cut, he collapses. Michael supports most of his weight as he leans heavily into the man. Michael's arms are solid around him, his strength real. With trembling hands, he wraps his own arms around Michael's body, hugging him back with what remaining strength he has.

He shoves his face into the space between Michael's shoulder and neck and closes his eyes. He lets Michael's warmth, so real and so there soothes him. He's afraid, he realizes. He's so afraid. His grip tightens, and Michael hugs him tighter, pulling him in closer. He doesn't know how long they both stand there like that. But it must have been awhile because when he resurfaces, his legs feel wobbly, and his whole body aches like he had been running a marathon.

Throughout his episode, Lucas had remained silent, not letting a single noise out. But as he leans away from Michael, standing on his own two feet, he whispers a hoarse, "Thank you." Michael is still looking at him, concerned, one hand still holding onto Lucas's shoulder. He doesn't say anything, just gives him a small smile and stands back. And for that, Lucas is grateful.

They never talked about what happened to Lucas during his captivity. They both acknowledge that it happened, that it is Lucas's past, his history, but they never talked about it. Michael never asks and Lucas never tells. Michael lingers for a moment, eyes on Lucas like he's worried he might collapse again. He recognizes Lucas's episodes for what it is. A PTSD episode. It happened frequently during the first few months he stayed with Michael.

Still with a wary eye on him, Michael turns around and walks towards the desk. There's an envelope lying on top of it. He picks it up, lifting it up for Lucas to see. On the front of the envelope, in capital letters, is Lucas's name. Shakily, he stumbles towards the desk. They both share a look. Then, reaching for the envelope, grateful that his hands are no longer trembling, he rips it open and takes out the piece of paper inside.

On it are two hand written words. 'Game on.'