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I'll Be Home For Christmas

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Just like before, Haddad was in the room, asking the questions which gradually grew more dangerous. When asking nicely didn’t work, Haddad left with a sigh, probably hoping some more time with Scarface and his younger colleague would change his mind.

It didn’t.

But after what felt like forever, Steve could feel himself drift. He was beginning to lose his mind and he wasn’t sure what was real and what was a dream. He’d lost track of how many times they had driven them to the unconsciousness and woke him up with a bucket of water again.

He was lying on the floor, the cold concrete beneath him. His eyes were shut, but he wasn’t sleeping, just trying to ride out the pain, hoping they were done for the time being. That they’d leave him alone finally.

“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll stop this,” Haddad’s voice came and Steve wondered when had he come back to the room.

He fluttered his eyes open and shook his head slightly. It sent a spike of pain down his spine. “There’s nothing to tell. I don’t have the answers you’re looking for.” It was true, partially. Some questions he could answer, some not. But even if Steve knew it all, he wouldn’t tell him.

“You’re not an insignificant man. A man with your rank and experience has to know something. You can’t fool me.”

Someone crouched down next to him, but he didn’t care at first. It was a new voice that got Steve’s attention. The man spoke to him in nearly perfect English. “I’ve heard you’re giving my men some hard time, Commander. Testing their patience. But I’m not like Major Haddad, you know? I am not a very patient man. But I guess you already know that by my reputation.”

The man’s hand grabbed Steve’s chin firmly and tilted his head to make him look at him. Steve swallowed hard when the new face came into focus. The recognition must’ve been written all over his eyes.

“Good, you know who I am,” he said.

Steve did. More than that. The man crouching over him was their HVT. The head of the snake they’ve been hunting for weeks. The very man who Steve’s team was after that night they had run into the ambush. Kaseem al-Asmar.

“Don’t look so confused,” al-Asmar said, holding Steve’s gaze. “You wanted me, didn’t you? So here I am. Unfortunately for you, our roles are quite the opposite from what you’ve intended.”

Steve could feel his heart beating faster, thudding against his hurting ribcage like it was about to jump out. He knew what this man was capable of, and if he decided to lay hands on him, he was better off dead.

“I won’t stay for long, don’t worry. I have more important things to do. A business won’t wait. But I wanted to see the face of a man who had been following me like a dog for this whole time." Al-Asmar scoffed, as though entertained. “You’d be surprised how many times you got close to catching me. But it’s hard to do when I know your every step before you even take it, isn’t it?”

Steve’s brain whirred. Did that mean what he’d feared? Was someone from the inside al-Asmar’s informant? Why the hell would anybody do that? And more importantly, who? Or was it a trick to play with Steve’s mind?

“But that’s not why I’m here now.” Al-Asmar’s dark eyes glimmered with contentment. “I came to check my prisoners are taken care of. And I was very displeased to hear that you don’t want to talk to my men. So I’ll give you a chance to talk to me before I go.” He let go of Steve’s chin and let his head slump back to the floor. “It’s simple. I’ll ask a question, you answer it. And maybe I’ll tell Major Haddad to allow you to live long enough to see the daylight again.”

It was bullshit and Steve knew it. They’d never let him free even if he spilled the beans, which he’d never do anyway. But he knew his situation would become even worse now with al-Asmar in the room, if that was even possible. He didn’t say anything, just kept drawing in ragged breaths through his clogged nose, bracing himself for whatever was about to come.

Al-Asmar cut straight to the point when no reaction came from Steve. “I suppose you’re quiet because you don’t know where to start. So how about you tell me more about American technologies? The drones. Surveillance. All of it.”

Steve took a deep breath, as much as his hurt ribs allowed. “I don’t know anything about that,” he croaked, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.

“The altitude of the drones. The fuel capacity. The frequency.”

“I don’t know,” Steve repeated, standing his ground.

“How can we jam the frequencies?”

“Can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“You have to know something.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Steve said. “Even if I told you what I know, it would be nothing useful. I’ve been out for six years. It’s all changed by now anyway.”

He regretted his answer immediately, realizing just then what he’d implied. He wasn’t active anymore, not for more than this one op, but Lynch and Richardson were. And Steve hoped they wouldn’t pick up on that and use it against them. Not that they had that kind of information anyway. The operators were supposed to kick the door. They had someone else to take care of the technology.

Al-Asmar clicked his tongue. “Wrong answer,” he said. Immediately, Steve saw two pairs of feet walking toward him. He didn’t look up at their faces. He didn’t have the strength.

One of them bent down, stuffed something in Steve’s mouth. Food? No, he wasn’t that lucky. It was a linen gag. The other man taped it in place. The sack came next, over Steve’s head.

They pulled him up to his feet, oblivious to the agony spreading through his limbs, and dragged him across the room, his feet and ankles scraping across the hard floor. They hauled him up onto the table and secured his ankles and wrists so he was lying flat.

Suddenly the table tipped at an angle and Steve’s head was pointing downwards. He began to struggle against the restraints. Weak, pathetic attempts. He didn’t know why he bothered, simply an instinctive reaction to what he knew lay ahead.

Moments later, without a single word spoken, water gushed down onto him, covering his face and soaking the hood, which clung to his nose.

Steve tried to breathe, but his brain was stopping him. An automatic reflex to stop him from inhaling the water. He writhed and struggled against the ropes, more power in his body now, his brain calculating and responding to the risk that he faced. The ropes cut into his wrists and ankles, which was its own form of torture, especially on his left leg where a bullet hole didn’t have a chance to heal properly. Blood poured down Steve’s legs and arms from the wounds that once again opened up after rubbing away the scabs from his previous visit.

But no matter how much he struggled, there was no way out.

The water seemed to go on for ages. His lungs were aching for air. He couldn’t hold out much longer. Steve had been subjected to water torture countless times before. The instinct is for his brain to believe he was drowning, even though he wasn’t. And he’d already rationalized that they were trying to break him, not kill him.

But it was going on too long this time.

They might not have been trying to kill him, but if they didn’t stop and give him a chance to breathe, Steve was toast.

After holding out for as long as he could, he took a quick breath – he had to. As he did so there was nothing to stop the water pouring into him, filling his nostrils. His throat. His lungs.

And that was when Steve started to panic. Because he didn’t know whether he could stop it. He had to keep breathing. But with the water still pouring, he was drowning.

His body writhed violently against the restraints, desperately trying to break free. No use. He couldn’t move.

He gulped, swallowing the water that was pooling in his throat, then inhaled again through his nostrils. More water poured in. Nothing to stop it now.

Then, when it seemed like Steve was on the brink, the water suddenly stopped.

He immediately took heavy breaths. His nostrils hurt from the force as he tried to replenish his lungs with fresh air. The soaked bag was taken off his face. He opened his eyes, his vision blurry, his eyes darting around frantically, trying to find something to focus on. But all he could see was the glare of the spotlights.

From somewhere out of view, a hand came toward him. The tape was ripped off his face, the gag pulled out of his mouth.

Steve breathed even harder, spluttering and retching as he tried to clear the water that he imagined was sloshing around inside him.

After five deep breaths, he opened his mouth to speak. But before he got the chance to say a word, the wet sack was placed back over his face.

And the water began to pour again. Heavier and faster than before. Steve pursed his lips, as tight as he could. He tried to resist, tried not to breathe, but after a while he couldn’t stop it. He opened his mouth and swallowed the water once more, gagging and gasping to try to stop it filling his lungs.

He didn’t know how much longer he could take it. It went on for even longer than before and he was certain he was dying. He was drowning and he was helpless to stop it.

Steve had been on the receiving end of such torture before. But it had never lasted this long. Surely he was dying? Why wouldn’t they stop?

He tried to moan. To scream. A signal to let them know it was going too far, that he couldn’t take it anymore. That he was on the brink. But he could do nothing to stop them. His lungs were almost filled right up. No room left for air. He struggled some more. One last attempt to stay alive. He kicked and bucked, his bound and aching body worming up and down on the board.

And, as if in answer to Steve’s desperate, feeble protests, the water finally stopped and the bag was taken away from his face.

He coughed. He spluttered. Water and vomit came out onto him but he didn’t care. He filled his lungs with air. Big gasps. It felt so good to be alive. He wanted to speak out. To say something. But he didn’t have the strength.

He took in more breaths, his heart pumping so fast it felt like it would explode. He felt the rush of blood in his body. The oxygen diffusing into his brain. He was breathing too fast. Hyperventilating. But he couldn’t stop. He had to breathe to stay alive. Had to be fully stocked before they started the water again.

He kept on taking heavy breaths. But the water didn’t come, and his frantic breathing was too much, too soon.

Unable to stop himself from gasping for more and more air, his terrified brain soon left him and he drifted away from that place.


Danny was sitting on the floor, his mind wrestling with worry and desperation. Somehow, against truly staggering odds, they were all still going, mostly in one piece, except for the shot Davis took. But the rescue mission was one huge failure anyway.

They didn’t have anything but a bunch of phones, which Kono, Lou, and Chin were working on right now, trying to find something useful in there. It would be easier if there was someone who could actually speak Arabic, but the only one of them who spoke the language was barely conscious at the moment.

Joe and Martinez were taking care of Davis and his injury, ignoring their own for the time being. Gutch was constantly on the phone, trying to find out anything he could about the missing SEALs’ whereabouts.

And Danny had never felt less useless in his life.

His head felt like it was about to split into halves and his back was sore from the impact of the fall. But it wasn’t nearly as painful as the ache in his heart. It’s been nine days since Steve’s capture, and there was no doubt his captors knew who he was. Which, given Steve’s rank and his past in the teams, couldn’t mean anything good for him in the hands of an enemy. Danny’s only hope was that whoever had Steve and his teammates knew they had hit the jackpot by taking the SEALs, and they’d keep them alive until they found them. But in what condition would Steve and his buddies be by then? Danny could only imagine.

He picked Steve’s dog tags out of his pocket and stared at the piece of metal for a good few minutes, turning it in his hands as though it’d give him a clue where his friend was and if he was still alive.

Back home he wouldn’t just sit around and wait for others to find something out. But here, in the land he knew nothing about, his detective skills were useless. The fact they had no leads, and he didn’t even know where to start looking for them, was eating him up from the inside, filling him with hopelessness he’d never felt before.

“You good?”

Danny lifted his head to meet Joe’s gaze. The older man’s wound on his forehead still needed stitches, yet here he was, asking him if he was all right. He dropped his eyes back to the metal chain in his hand, fighting the tears burning in the back of his eyes. “No. Not really,” he said.

Joe didn’t say anything. Instead, he sat on the floor beside Danny with a sigh.

“How is Davis?” Danny asked. “Is he gonna make it?”

“The artery wasn’t hit. But he’d lost a lot of blood by the time we got him here. Martinez hooked him up on IV and we managed to take the bullet out and stop the bleeding, but he’s weak. The time will tell.”

Danny’s heart sank. He hoped Davis would be all right. The body count of this mess was already high enough and the last thing they needed was another life lost. Which brought him back to Steve. He wished he knew whether he was even still alive.

“I know what’s going on in your head,” Joe said. “And you can’t think that way, you know? Not if you want Steve back. You need to clear your head and focus. To be ready when the time comes.”

How he was supposed to stop fearing for his brother from another mother, he didn’t know. But he knew Joe was right. He couldn’t let the fear cloud his mind. Not now. “Yeah,” he said. “I know. It’s just… It bothers me that we have nothing. No trail to follow, no idea who actually has him. And all I can do is sit around and wait for some intel to come to us without even leaving this house.”

“I know you’re climbing the walls, but we need solid intel before we can actually do something. I’m gonna make a few calls, ask around.”

Danny just nodded, knowing it meant nothing to do for him.

“Look, I want him back just as bad as you do.” Joe’s words were followed with silence for a moment, and when Danny turned his head to the side to look at him, the older man’s gaze was fixed in the distance in front of him. “You know, I’ve never got married. Never had kids. Didn’t think I needed that kind of thing in my life,” Joe kept going after a while. “Then this young kid, so angry at the world’s injustice, grieving his mother’s death, wanting nothing more than to go home and be with his family, showed up in my life.”

Danny’s senses sharpened. He’d heard Steve’s stories about the importance of Joe in his life, but never witnessed Joe talking about it.

“I promised his father I’d protect him, but I knew I couldn’t always be there for him,” Joe continued. “So I did everything in my power to get him ready to handle anything life throws at him. And somewhere along the way I… I realized he was more than my friend’s kid. It felt like he was my son too.”

Patiently waiting for anything Joe had to say, Danny listened in silence.

Joe’s lips curled into a smile, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed his real emotions. “I can’t even count how many times he’d made me proud. How many times he’d beaten the odds and proved to everyone that he would always come out on top of every situation, no matter how hard it was. That he wouldn’t let anyone and anything beat him. That he’d stand up after each fall.”

Danny nodded, but remained silent. Joe’s flood of emotions was surprising but understandable. Always wearing a strong mask, hiding his true feelings in fear it might be used against him. That’s what his best friend was like, and there was no doubt Joe had his share of guilt in that.

“Steve isn’t that angry teenager who just wanted out the Army and Navy Academy at all costs. Not anymore. He’s a fighter. One of the best I’ve known. And I know that right now, wherever he is, he is working the problem. That’s what I’ve taught him to do.” Joe’s eyes met Danny’s. There was something else than sadness in that look, though. Hope. Determination. Faith. All of it. “So if there is any way to escape, he’ll take it. If not, he’ll hang on until there is one. Or until we get to him.”

“How can you be so sure he’s even still alive, Joe?” Danny asked. “Those dog tags-”

“Don’t mean anything. Trust me. Steve is out there somewhere, doing everything he can to survive. And he needs us. So we’re gonna keep our heads up, go find him and bring him home, Danny. Alive.”

“Yeah, right,” Danny said, thinking about Joe’s words, desperately trying to believe him. “I’m gonna go ask the guys if they found something in those phones. You make those phone calls you’ve talked about.”

“Leave it to me.”

Danny stood up and walked to the group huddled around the small table in the corner. “You got something useful?” he asked.

“We were just about to go get you, brah,” Chin said, passing him one of the phones. “We managed to find this in one of the emails exchanged between the owner of this phone and someone else. Luckily, it seems like encryption is not their strength. We think the message says something about transferring the prisoners, but it doesn’t say where.”

Danny glanced at the screen and at first, he thought it was just a bunch of text in Arabic, but then he noticed three attachments. He opened the first one and a photo filled up the screen. The man on it looked tired and beaten up, but not defeated by any means. A couple of scratches and bruises on his face were complemented by dark circles under his eyes.”

“Where did you get this?” Martinez’s voice came from behind him.

He turned around to Martinez’s wild stare. “Not me. They did.” He gestured toward the team. “In one of the emails.”

“It’s Lynch,” Martinez said, confirming what Danny had thought.

Danny opened up the next attachment, and a similar picture showed up. “Let me guess. Richardson?”

Martinez nodded, his nostrils flaring in anger.

Knowing what he’d probably see in the last attachment, Danny braced himself, not even realizing he’d been holding his breath. And sure enough, Steve’s face, obviously twisted in pain popped up on the screen next.

“The message had been sent a day after the capture,” Kono said.

Swallowing hard, Danny kept staring at the bruised face of his best friend. The pain was visible in those hazel eyes and he couldn’t help but wonder how bad the pain must’ve been for Steve not to be able to hide it.

“Maybe we can find a way to trace the messages,” Lou chimed in.

Yeah, maybe. And maybe not. But Joe’s words penetrated Danny’s skull and rolled over in his head. He’d been right. Steve needed them. And he wasn’t about to let today’s failure stop him from helping his friend. He wouldn’t let him down. He’d find him and bring him home alive and in one piece. No matter what.