See Part One for Disclaimers

Straker frowned in his sleep.  He moved restlessly under the sheets.  It was dark.  It was always dark.  He was being followed.  He could sense them -- them?  Them.  There were several of them.  He could hear them moving around him, circling, herding him toward -- toward what?  He looked ahead, through the darkness, trying to make out what lay ahead of him.  Something shining and metallic gleamed in the dark.

The moon broke through the clouds.  A part of him chided that this was a fallacy.  The truth was that the clouds had moved on and the moon was as ever above him.  He looked again.

Nooooooooooooooo!  No!  Not that!  Never that!

A gleaming, conical thing sat on the ground ahead of him.  He veered right.  No, the hunters were there.  He veered left.  Again, they were there.  He dropped to the ground, exhaustion taking him down.  He would not let them take him.  He searched his clothing frantically for the weapon he knew should be there.

They were upon him.  Alien looking guns pointed at him.  Silver gloved hands reaching for him.  He struggled, but no longer had the strength to fight them.  He went limp.  He would die at their hands.  He knew this.  Knew it as though it had already happened.

He was thrown into a bare silver room, dumped on the floor and left.  Half conscious, he lay there wondering why he was still alive.  He lay there for a long time, a very long time.  The circle of silver that was their lift inside the ship descended.  Two of the aliens brought more humans.

He was surprised when the humans came over to him, lifted him off the floor and shepherded him out of the ship.  This was wrong.  He tried to pull away from them, but they were stronger than he was.  They led him to a small installation, all smooth walls and innocuous looking people.  None of the people they passed exhibited any curiosity about the worn, dirty man the two were bringing in.  Business as usual.

A cold feeling settled in his belly.  These humans were working for the aliens -- or with them.  Why?  Why would humans work with these monsters?  Reasons flooded his mind.  Most of them could be discarded.  It was unrealistic to think the aliens held the lives of family members over all these people.

"They must pay well," he muttered.

One of his captors backhanded him.  Apparently silence was wanted.  He'd give it to them.

They finally stopped walking.  He suspected they had walked in circles inside the building.  It had not looked large enough to contain the amount of corridor through which they had passed.  With the usual bad attitude, they thrust him into the room, slammed the door behind him and left.

He lay there for a moment, dazed.  He looked around.  An 8x8 square room devoid of furnishings, devoid of blemishes, devoid of -- door.  He sat up and stared at the walls.  There had to be a door.  He'd just come through the damn thing -- hadn't he?

Laughter, dimly perceived, everywhere and nowhere.  A figure formed in the room.  Tall, darkly handsome, an aristocratic countenance with dark eyes that burned like hellfire.  The man smiled, white even teeth a slash in his olive complexion.  Straker shuddered and got to his feet.

"Who are you?"

"The name is Rand.  Dr. David Rand.  And you, my friend, are Commander Edward Straker of SHADO."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He tried to sound bland, a little worried, but not even close to bravado.  There was something horribly off here.

The smile widened into almost a Jokeresque travesty of the idea.  The man laughed, a deep, disturbing sound.  "Of course, not.  And my friends from the stars wouldn't know their keenest enemy, would they?  You are safely tied up and stowed away.  You will never leave here until I have stripped all the information from you that I desire.  And I will do that however painfully or gently  you decide to make the experience." He had moved closer as he spoke.

Straker held his ground, yet there was something so intrinsically creepy about the man that he wanted to bolt for the door and out.  Only, there wasn't any door, was there?  He tried to control the shudder that shook his body.  He realized he could see his breath.  He frowned.  He shivered.  He looked down.  There was snow on the floor.  There was frost on the gleaming walls.  He shivered.  The man was gone.

Gone?  He sat down where he stood, all the energy he'd pulled suddenly flowing out of him.  What the hell was this place?

Ed Straker shivered under his covers, curled into a tight ball and tried to get warm.  He frowned in his sleep, clenching his fists on the sheet, sweat starting to sheen his skin.  The dream continued.  Time unrolled like a sheet of slippery oiled paper.  And always, there was Rand.  He knew a deep seated horror and an equally deep seated need to pound that smiling face to a pulp should he ever get the chance.

He awoke with the coming of daylight.  He felt tired, wrung out.  He wanted to go -- no, not back to sleep.  He wanted to take the day off.  He picked up the phone next to his bed and dialed Maddy's number, then cut off before she picked up.  No.  There were things to be done.

He pulled himself out of bed, scowling at the sheets.  He stripped the sodden sheets off and dumped them in the hamper, pulling fresh ones from the closet.  He set the neatly folded stack on the end of the bed and went into the bathroom.  He stared at himself in the mirror and frowned.  There were very, very faint crows feet at the corner of his eyes.  When had they arrived?

For just a moment, he had a flash of himself someplace else.  He looked around wildly.  The bathroom was the same.  Yet for just a moment, it had alien and silver, one wall slightly curving, and very utilitarian.  He snorted.  As though this wasn't utilitarian.

He showered, letting the hot water sluice down his body, relaxing tensions he hadn't even noticed.  He washed slowly, letting his mind wander.  He frowned.  Odd, he hadn't been aware of a scar there before.  He continued to wash.  Or there?  He frowned and looked down at the place on his thigh where his fingertips were telling him he had been hurt at some time in the past.

It wasn't a very long scar, but it was a hard ridge where he could not recall having been hurt.  Suddenly, he became very aware of every scar he carried.  He could place most of them.  Viet Nam.  The car accident that ended his career.  But there were others that he couldn't place.  And they weren't the sort of scars you didn't remember getting.

He toweled off and stood in front of the one full length mirror in the house.  Very deliberately, he noted the scars he could not explain.  There was a part of him that wanted to ignore them, wanted to retreat from this exploration of himself.  His scowl deepened.  He methodically ticked off the ones he could remember, from the very faint scar on his shin caused by leaving his bicycle abruptly when he was ten to the couple across his shoulders from the car accident two years before starting Harlington-Straker Studios.

There were half a dozen he could not explain.  At least two of them were life threatening -- well, the scars weren't, but the wounds that caused them would have been.  Why couldn't he remember?  What was he missing?  And if he was missing something as important as that, what else was he missing.

Pain slammed through his brain and his body, hammering him to the floor, curling him up.  No.  No more.  No more.  A pale face hovered in his pain distorted vision.  He knew that face.  No.  No.  No.  No.  He couldn't face that.  Anything else, but not that.  He surrendered to the pain and passed out.

Maddy entered her office, ran through the usual first of the morning rituals including getting her schedule for the day and received a phone call from Straker's apparently immortal secretary.

"Miss Madigan?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Straker is not in his office and he has not arrived."

Blink.  Maddy looked at her watch and frowned.  "Would you reschedule my appointment with him, please?"

"I'd be delighted."

Click.  Maddy frowned at her watch some more.  She called Straker's home number as she switched on her computer terminal.  Four rings and the ubiquitous answering service.  "No, that's quite all right.  I'll catch him at the office."

Security showed nothing.  Well, that wasn't quite correct.  Security showed that Ed Straker was still home.  "Shit."

"Ms. Madigan?" her ever correct secretary inquired.

Maddy scowled.  "Nothing.  I'll be back."

On her way out, she collected a small, select security crew.  Something was wrong.  She hoped it was wrong the correct way.  She frowned at herself over that.  She'd stop and untangle the thought processes later.  The immediate problem was Straker.

Maddy and security checked out the grounds, the car and then Maddy let herself into Straker's house.  She stopped inside the front door.  His living room was so jarringly Spartan it always gave her pause.  There was a time -- she shook her head to order her thoughts.  Quietly, she looked around and headed for the master bedroom.

Groan.

She stopped.

A second groan.

"Ed?" she called softly.

Muttered sounds.

She proceeded cautiously to the door of the bedroom and pushed it open.  He was lying on the floor.  The spasm of pain had passed and he was pulling out of the tight curl into a ball he'd managed.  He wasn't all there quite yet.  His eyelids fluttered up and down.

Maddy backed away from the door.  He was coming around on his own.  Technically, she didn't have a key to his place.  She waited patiently for more signs of returning consciousness.

There was a sharp intake of breath and the soft sound of a body coming up off the floor.  She bee-lined for the door and pulled it softly closed before he could catch her inside his home.  She told the rest of the team to hoof it and knocked on the door.

Thok.  Thok.  Thok.

What the hell?  He looked around his bedroom, disoriented for a moment.

Thok.  Thok.  Thok.

The noise was insistent.  He grabbed his robe and pulled it on, the thick terry cloth providing warmth and an aura of security.  He looked out.  There was a shadow on the front door window.  Warily, he moved silently across the livingroom floor and took a look.  Maddy.

Maddy?

He opened the door and looked at her curiously.

"You look like hell," she greeted him conversationally, her smile taking the sting, if any, out of the words.

"I feel like it.  What are you doing here?"

"You're late.  Someone needed to come find out if you were all right and I got elected."

"Phone?"

"Tried that.  You refused to answer.  Highly unlike you, y'know." Her eyes searched the pale face.  "You really aren't feeling well, are you?" Her voice softened with concern.

For a moment, he stood there staring into her face, searching for something, some reason why this sweet faced young woman was standing on his doorstep being concerned about him.  The world pulled back into focus and he gave her a wan smile.  "Sorry.  Rough morning.  -- Come in." He backed away from the door, pulling it open as he did so, letting her back into his life.

She walked in, closing the door behind her.  She didn’t let him get across the living room alone.  She ran her arms around him, pulling him close, nuzzling the back of his neck and enjoying the clean smell of him.  "Go back to bed?" she suggested huskily and sitting on her immediate instinct to slip him out of that infernal robe.

He gave her a raised eyebrow look.  Her gamin grin assured him that yes, she was responding to touching him as usual, and that no, she wasn't really suggesting seducing him -- not right now, anyway.  He shook his head.  "I have things to do --"

She released him, pulling him around to face her.  "Edward Straker -- has anyone told you lately that the world will continue to revolve without your personal supervision?  And that Harlington Straker Studios, as much as it relies on your day to day input, will muddle along nicely for 24 hours without you if it needs to do so?" // And that SHADO, much as it longs for your hand on the tiller, will wait a little longer before writing you off permanently?  //

He relaxed a little and regarded her with a warm smile.  "All right.  Help me remake the bed."

He didn't explain why he had the bed stripped when he was already feeling lousy.  He did appreciate that she made meticulous hospital corners just the way he did.  He slid back between the fresh, clean, welcoming sheets with a small sigh of contentment.  His eyes began to close as soon as his head touched the pillow.  Maddy watched him, worry creasing her brow.  This was unusual in the extreme.

She made certain he was fully asleep before slipping out of the room to call Alec.  She regretted waking him, but this was serious.  She needed have bothered, Alec was awake.

"What happened?"

"Good morning, Alec.  How are you?  I'm fine," Maddy responded.  "He isn't feeling well.  I think his doctor may be needed.  He's asleep again."

"Again?" Alec ignored the banter at the beginning of her call.

"He was coming 'round on the floor in the bedroom when I got here.  He'd been up, the bed was stripped and ready to be re-made.  He looks -- stressed.  We may be hitting the end."

Alec ran a hand over his face.  "I hope so," he said fervently.  "I don't think I can last much longer."

Maddy's face saddened.  "I know," she said softly.  "You know you can call it quits any time."

"No, I can't," he shot back harshly.  "Not until we know.  One way or the other." He took a shaky breath.  "I'll make it until then."

Maddy blinked back tears.  "I know you will," she whispered.  "Send his doctor."

"Done."

She replaced the receiver and stood staring at nothing for a few moments.  "Greater love hath no man," she murmured, wiped her eyes and took a calming breath.  "Oh, Alec.  I hope this is all worth it." She blinked, looked around at the bedroom door and smiled.  "Of course, it is.  After all, there isn't anyone else, is there?" There was a bitter touch to the words, but there was no one there to hear them.

She sat down to wait.  Her thoughts drifted.  She remembered the first time she met Alec.  It was dark.  It was chilly.  A half moon hung heavy in the sky.  She was aware of being naked, but not bothered by the lack of clothing.  She was aware of a dark woman and her pale skinned companion, both looking pleased and tired.  Alec looked -- drained, exhausted, terrified and still satisfied.  At her feet lay a cairn of stones.  She stepped carefully down and regarded Alec curiously.

"The joining is done," the dark woman intoned, the warmth of Jamaica in her voice.

"Mary?" Alec's voice was strained.

She shook her head.  No.  Not Mary, although Mary was a part of her.  It was the red head who named her with a wild laugh that carried on the rising wind.  Madigan.  Edward Straker's watch dog, his guardian, eventually his lover.  Everything Alec could give his Commander to keep him safe until he recovered.  Neither of them had expected it to take this long.

Dr. Schroeder was swift.  He'd consulted with Jackson on the situation and agreed that he would take no course of action unless it was immediately necessary, or he had time to discuss it with Jackson before hand.

Straker was restless, half awake and not very cooperative.

"I'm fine.  I just need to sleep," he snapped more than once to Schroeder's questions.

"And have you been?"

Ed looked angry at that.  He sat on it.  "Yes -- but not well.  I've still got a touch of that fever we discussed."

"And the dreams?"

"I still don't remember any of them."

"Well, let me give you something to help you get the rest you need and we'll talk when you're feeling better."

He accepted the small pill, swallowed it obediently and lay back.  His eyes closed.  His breathing evened.  Maddy, just outside the door, looked in and raised an enquiring eyebrow.  Schroeder moved across the room and out the door, pulling it closed but not latched behind him.

He shook his head.  "I don't know.  I suspect you are right.  He is very close to a break through, but whether it will kill or cure -- " he shook his head again.

"Understood.  I'll keep you posted."

A nod and he was gone, leaving Maddy to keep watch.

 

Shimmer and shift, the walls wouldn't stay one shape or color.  Like the wall screen in his office, everything was hazy, outlines soft and rippling.  He pounded on the deceptive walls.  He didn't know what day it was, how long he'd been here or where here was.  He was tired.  He was -- he stared at his hand -- losing weight, he thought.  He turned and rested his back against the wall.  He'd laugh, but his throat was too raw to do so.

This was madness.  Somewhere, he was tidily wrapped up in a straight jacket, rolling around padded walls and floor.  He had to be.  The thought was a comfort in a strange way.  Well, he had to give it to them, they'd won.  They hadn't gotten anything out of him, had they?  But they'd pushed him over the edge into madness and that was a victory.  He prayed Paul and Alec had not been captured.  The only comfort he had was the thought of them continuing the work, finding these bastards and paying them back.

He jerked awake.  For a moment, he just lay there on the cool metal floor.  He rolled over onto his back.  Thunk.  Ow.  He looked around with a frown.  Hallucinations shouldn't feel that solid, should they?  A table leg.  A round, metal, tubular, table leg.  Next to a round, tubular, metal chair leg.  He sniffed.  His mouth watered.  He sat up slowly.  He stood up.  Food.  Hot food.  Breakfast.  Eggs.  Toast.  Bacon.  Coffee.  He homed in on the cup before anything else could happen.  Hot, sweet, creamy, coffee.  He nearly scalded his mouth as he gulped the first mouthfuls down.

A door opened behind him and the familiar sound of someone being shoved into a room came to his ears.  The door closed.  Slowly, dreading what he would see, or, more precisely, who he would see, Straker turned.  Slender fingers shoved masses of disheveled pale blonde hair back out of the newcomer's face.

A woman.  She looked up.  Shock registered on her dirt streaked face.  The cup in his hands fell to the floor, unregarded.  No.  He shook his head.  No.  They couldn't do this to him.  Please God, no.

"Ed?" she said uncertainly.

"Mary --" The world went dark.

Continued

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