Characters: Beck, Heather, OCs
Rating: PG - Strong Language
Disclaimer: No, still don't own Jericho...I'm just playing with the characters. I'll return them relatively safe and sound .
A/N: Well, this is it - the final 5 chapters of this particular story. I suspect that I will be writing more in this universe - not only do I want to share Beck's side of the story, but I think there's more story to tell. I have to warn you that this didn't quite go in the direction I expected (in terms of tone, even if the outcome was the same).
The first thing Heather noticed was the blinding pain in her head. She cautiously opened her eyes and then groaned as the pain expanded and her stomach roiled with nausea. She was lying on the her side, and she was in a vehicle - she was aware of movement and the sound of tires over pavement. She tried to bring her hand to her head, only to come up short, her arms handcuffed behind her back. The panic hit, even through the pain and disorientation and nausea, and she abruptly tried to sit up, only to have the sudden movement cause the pain to balloon and overwhelm her, and darkness swallowed her again.
The pain was less when she came back to herself, although it was still nauseating to have her eyes open, or to move. She was still in the vehicle, still moving and her panic returned when she attempted to move her arms and realized she really was restrained. As the panic swamped over her, a small part of her was telling her to calm down, and THINK, damn it. That part was difficult to hear, but it was pointed, and caught her attention. It sounded, she thought, dazed, like a combination of Beck and Hawkins, and even through the pounding headache and nausea, she could imagine both sets of dark eyes willing her to regain control and get herself out of the mess she was in.
And the part that was pure Heather reminded her that this was what she had expected; what she had planned; what she had wanted a century ago. Now she was here, and she'd better find a way to get out again - in one piece. She owed it to Beck, and Hawkins, and herself.
She stilled, and took deep, even breaths, concentrating on her breathing and trying to ignore the desire to rip her arms out of their sockets to get away from the handcuffs. She also fought against the nausea caused by the pain in her head and increased by the motion of the vehicle. If she kept her eyes closed, it seemed to lessen the nausea or at least hold it at bay. She focused on the sound of the engine and of the tires rolling across the ground. They needed a tune-up, she thought bemusedly, allowing herself to be soothed by the steady sounds. Her captors weren't talking, and she had no idea how long she had been unconscious or where they were. She carefully slitted her eyes open, trying not to cause herself any more pain or nausea, and looked around her. She was facing the front of the vehicle, and she saw two men in the front seat. They hit a particularly large hole that abruptly jostled her; she groaned and closed her eyes as the pain swelled again.
"Jeez, Trev, how hard did you hit her? Constantino didn't want her hurt - just captured."
Heather started and frowned at the voice, but was too busy struggling to keep her stomach under control to open her eyes.
"I hit her hard enough to knock her out. Who knew she'd have such a soft head?"
Heather's eyes flew open at the second voice, the voice she had been hearing in her dreams for far too long.
"Ah, she's awake," the first voice said. She squinted forward and saw he was the driver, and he was watching her in the rear view mirror.
"Back in our loving arms," Trev responded, turning in the passenger seat to look at her. "My old schoolmate, Heather." He looked at the first man, a thin smile on his lips. "She used to have this sad little crush on me in high school and follow me around with those puppy dog eyes. Everywhere I went, there she was."
Heather licked her dry lips, her eyes closing again. Her lips moved as she murmured.
Trev cocked his head. "What was that?" he asked.
"I said," Heather forced out through dry lips, "that if I had known how much of an asshole you were, I would have let that drill slip when I had the chance."
Trev glared at her while the first man gave a cold laugh. "Feisty," the first man said. "Hey, Trev, isn't this the one who kicked you so hard you were pissing blood for a week?"
Even through the haze of pain and nausea, Heather could see Trev's rage as he flushed and turned back to Jim, swearing loudly.
"Only a week?" she asked, groaning as they hit another bump.
Trev turned back to glare at her again. "Watch your mouth, Heather. You're not being sent to Blackjack this time around - and don't expect anybody to come riding to your rescue from our camp."
Heather stared at him, her eyes reflecting her pain and fear, and she watched the look of satisfaction on his face at her expression. She closed her eyes, biting her lip, her mind finally starting to work through the haze of pain and nausea. Trev liked the fear on a woman's face, she thought. He was a bully and if she had been less blinded by her hormones in high school, she would have recognized it then as well. The Attacks had only given him the opportunity for his tendencies to flourish and come out into the light.
"You know Constantino's orders," the first man said, his voice cold and whip-sharp with authority. "We don't touch her - we don't hurt her - until he says we can. Got that?"
There was a long silence, and then Trev responded, his voice sullen, "Got it."
Heather opened her eyes again and met the first man's gaze in the rear view mirror.
"Nobody's going to hurt you, Heather," he said, his voice as cold as his eyes.
"I've heard that before," she replied. "Forgive me if I don't exactly feel comforted."
"It won't happen on my watch."
She steadily stared at him. In spite of the situation, she believed him. "What's your name?" she asked him.
She nodded carefully and closed her eyes. After awhile, worn out by fear, pain and nausea, she fell asleep.
She awoke when the vehicle stopped. The pain was manageable until Trev opened the back door and pulled her roughly upright.
"Don't - " she gasped.
He laughed, and yanked her out of the car. She stood, swaying, blinking at her surroundings, her stomach roiling.
"We'll take you to Constantino as soon as he gets back," Trev said, and yanked her forward - and Heather finally lost her battle with her stomach.
Trev was still swearing under his breath 20 minutes later when he and Jim shoved her into the storage room that had been set up as a makeshift prison cell, including, Heather was grateful to see, a cot.
Jim turned her around, not ungently, and unlocked her handcuffs. "You may as well get some rest." He shot Trev a sour look. "I'll bring you some water, and some food - in case you can eat it," he added hastily as Heather's face turned green and she made faint gagging sounds.
Heather swallowed hard, then whispered, "Thank you. If you could also - " she paused and breathed deeply, "bring a pail or...or...something - "
Jim nodded and hastily backed away.
By the time he returned, Heather was curled up on the cot, so lost in her own misery she didn't even stir as Jim and Trev dropped off some water, food and a pail that Jim put close beside the cot, and then left her alone.