It didn't fix anything. Or at least, it shouldn't have. Tom couldn't tell. But the words had slipped out of his mouth and now he couldn't take them back.

He wished he could. A tiny part of him even felt they should have died. The perfect, poetic ending to a life and a relationship that had been imperfect from the start.

But they were still alive, him resting with his back against one wall, her against the other, both blankets draped over her shoulders.

They hadn't talked since waking up. He'd come to his senses first, wrapped his blanket around her and crawled to the opposite wall. His left thigh still burned, and he was convinced he was unable to stand. Unable to protect her and himself.

Inadequate.

When she'd woken up, she'd asked if he was okay. He hadn't answered and she got the message. They've both been drifting in and out of consciousness since. This was a rare moment in which both of them were awake.

The words still lingered between them. His and hers as well. A declaration of love forced out of their mouths by fear and the conviction it would be the last thing they said to each other.

Unfortunately, it didn't make it less true. He still loved her. But that didn't mean he could keep dancing this dance with her. He was way past that. And still, he couldn't think past her, couldn't imagine being with someone else. But, to be fair, he couldn't imagine getting out of that cage either. What made it worse was that he wasn't sure he wanted to. It would be so easy to die there, because then he could allow himself to love her.

"Tom?"

He looked away. His eyes burned with unshed tears and he wished he could think of something else, but he was too exhausted to control himself.

Exhausted from the beatings and the torture, exhausted from pretending that he was okay. Exhausted from loving her when he knew he shouldn't.

She crawled on all fours to him, the blankets on her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Go back to your side."

"Your voice... Tom?"

His chin trembled and his vision blurred, but he refused to look at her. Just another second. If he could hold it in just another second...

She leaned against him, took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. The tears slid down his cheeks, and with them all his self control.

"You ruined me," he blurted out. "And now you come and act all caring and noble and... and..."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I don't care that you're sorry! I don't need a fucking apology, I need--"

"What? What do you need?"

Her. He needed her. But the Angie he thought he knew, the one he'd build a life with. The brave one who was there for him and didn't run away. The one who had kept him company inside his head while he got tortured.

"You said you loved me," he said instead.

"Because it's true." Her voice was barely audible and she leaned closer to him. The heat of her body warmed him up better than the pathetic blanket ever could.

"I need more than that."

She pulled back, her eyes wide and curious. "What?"

"You've loved me before and look how that turned out." He sniffed, trying to pull himself together.

She leaned against him again, her head on his chest. "You have a point there."

"I can't do that again. I'm way past it. I'm..."

"You said you wanted to start over--"

"I was an idiot. We can't start over."

There was a pause, and for a moment he was sure she'd go back to her corner. It was a shock to realize he didn't want that. Holding her gave him solace.

"Tom, I don't want this to be over," she suddenly said. "I don't want to get over you, to forget you. I don't think I could anyway."

The despair in her voice cut through him worse than the knives of the goons. As much as he tried, he couldn't stop loving her either.

"You said we were toxic," he said.

"I was an idiot, too. We're not perfect, but we're not toxic either."

As much as it pained him, as much as he wanted to find a reason to justify keeping her away from him, he had to admit that she was right. Even with his obsessive jealousy, she'd helped him grow. That couldn't be toxic. And he liked to believe that he'd done the same for her.

"We can't go on like this."

She nodded into his chest. "I agree."

"What do you want from me?"

She lifted her head again, her green eyes glistening with tears. He'd always been fascinated by the color, the darkness in it, the way it seemed to reflect her very soul. He'd known from the start she was broken. Just like he'd been.

And yet it had all been so beautiful. His life was colorless without her. For some insane reason, she had so much power over him.

Don't throw it all away if you don't have to. You're the last person to go against your instincts just to conform with what society expects you to do.

That had been Skye's last advice. To be himself and trust his feelings. Trust Angie.

"What do you mean?"

Her question broke him out of his miserable thoughts and memories. Because now was the time to decide where to go, to seal his fate and hers. Before Cannon marched in and murdered them both.

"I mean where do you see this going."

"I'm taking you're asking in case we don't die here."

He nodded, realizing how unlikely that option felt to him. Maybe he'd resigned himself to the idea that they were never getting out of those ruins. But even so, he needed her to think they would.

"I see it..." She tapped her finger to her lips. "The truth is, I don't see it going. I see it staying. Both of us staying. I'm tired of running. I need a refuge and I was such an idiot not to realize that I found it."

Her words sent a fresh wave of tears down his face, but he kept it together, beating down the sobbing that came with them. It was enough, and yet, it wasn't.

"I'm done playing games, Angie."

"You? Never!"

Her answer actually drew a smile out of him. Yes, it seemed unlikely and she knew him too well.

"You know what I mean."

"Are you proposing?"

This time he actually huffed because it was further proof that she got him and it brought him the strangest peace. There was someone in the world who knew him better than anyone else, and it had to be her. The bane of his existence. His kryptonite.

"Should I be?" he asked.

"You know I'd say yes in a heartbeat."

"You just took the fun out of it."

She grinned at him. Then nibbled on her lower lip and looked away. "I meant it when I said I love you, when I said I wouldn't run away again, that I've finally understood what you all meant when you blamed me for it."

"I hope you also understand that I'm dead serious. It's all or nothing now."

"That's easy. All."

No, it wasn't. He grabbed her shoulders and squeezed. "It's not easy. There are no magical words to fix this. We have to work for it and work hard. You have to want it."

Her gaze filled with a longing and lust he'd missed so much. She opened her mouth, but closed it at once, her muscles tensing, her eyes widening with fear. He'd heard it too, the distant sound of a door closing, of footsteps.

"Go," he breathed.

She didn't need telling twice. She scurried away from him, taking the blankets, and flopped on the floor next to the opposite wall, feigning sleep.

He didn't have time to do the same nor the intention. There was no point.

It took Cannon and one of his goons less than a minute to reach the bars of the cage and stop next to them.

"Awww," he cooed, "look at the sleeping beauty." He shook his head. "That won't do."

"Leave her alone, asshole," Tom growled. "Didn't you have enough fun when you almost killed us last time?"

Cannon turned his soulless black eyes to him, the grin on his face resembling the rictus of a corpse. "You should thank me for patching up your relationship."

"You patched up nothing, so don't flatter yourself."

"Then you won't mind if we take her for a spin."

The blinding rage and burning jealousy combination were so familiar it put a smile on Tom's face. They couldn't be more wrong.

With inhuman effort, he got to his feet. He hadn't been wrong, his left leg was a mess, his muscles burning at the slightest weight he tried to put on it. But he didn't care. He limped to the gate, his gaze trained on Cannon, sending him all the hate in the world.

The man watched his progress, his scarred face twisted with sick satisfaction. Tom knew what he was doing was crazy, but Angie was not the only issue which needed an all-or-nothing approach.

He reached the bars, wrapped his fingers around them, and looked down at Cannon.

"I told you once, dipshit. You cross her, you cross me."

Cannon's grin was pure evil. Then Tom's right thigh was on fire as the man plunged a knife into his good leg. The pain blinded him, sent bile into his mouth, and he wasn't even sure when he fell to the ground because he didn't even feel the impact.

The sound of Angie screaming filled his ears, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. Everything was hell and pain, until he was completely dunked in water. Unprepared, he took in a mouthful. His lungs screamed in protest and he burst into a coughing fit before they could pull him out.

On the floor, his entire body aching, coughs tearing his throat open, he just wanted to die already, make it go away. The thought was immediately followed by raging protest.

He was not giving up. Not now when there was the tiniest hope for happiness.

A kick collided with his side and he ended up on his back.

"You're so battered, you're no fun at all." Cannon crouched next to him, holding Angie pressed against him, a knife to ger neck. There were bruises on her face which made it clear she'd put up a fight. "I mean that would be mostly my fault." He held up the knife which was covered in blood.

Tom's vision finally focused and his eyes darted from the knife to Angie, his heart thumping madly. They were out of their cage, in one of the tiny torture rooms.

"Oh, don't worry. This is yours." Cannon grinned and licked the blade. "Delicious."

Tom's stomach turned over, but he was grateful the psycho hadn't touched her.

"Then again, didn't you want to mix your DNA anyway?" He drew the blade back and nicked her shoulder.

Angie sucked air through her teeth, but otherwise didn't acknowledge that she'd been hurt. Tom forced himself into a sitting position. The moment he was upright, he almost threw up from the pain.

"Now that I have your attention, where should I cut her next? Her pretty face? Or maybe I should cut her stomach open and remove her baby maker."

This time she shuddered, but thankfully stayed silent. Tom couldn't. He wished he could get to his feet or at least to his knees, but since his body was shattered, his smart mouth was all he had left.

"I'll kill you, you sick fuck. If you touch her, I swear to God, I'll literally kill you."

Cannon grinned and backhanded him across the face. "You, sweetie?"

Tom gathered the blood in his mouth and spit it in his face. "Yes, me."

Cannon pushed Angie to the side and straddled Tom. The force of his punch almost knocked Tom out, but he'd become used to it. So instead of focusing on the pain, he looked past Cannon, to Angie who'd scurried back and grabbed a chair.

"No!" he called out.

"No?" Cannon growled. "You should've thought about that before you spit in my face!" And he punched him again.

It was all he managed before the chair broke over his back. Two goons appeared and grabbed her while Cannon stayed on top of him.

Angie struggled, trying to break loose and come to him.

"No. Save your strength," he whispered.

Cannon watched her and let out a manic growl. "Wait your turn, bitch!"

Angie glared at him, then her terrified gaze fell on Tom. He shook her head. There was nothing she could do. If she kept fighting, they'd hurt her or cut her and make him watch because there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

She seemed to understand because she did the next best thing. She crumpled against the goons and started crying, wailing loudly.

The noise stopped Cannon's punches and he glanced over his shoulder again. "Disgusting! What's wrong with her?"

"We didn't touch her," one of the men said, looking very uncomfortable.

"She's annoying. Get her back to her cage. I'll deal with her later."

Tom fought with all his might not to grin. Angie was a genius and he was more than happy to take the punches as long as she was safe.

The moment the goons dragged her out of the room, Cannon's attention turned to him.

"Don't think you have me fooled, sweet pie." He held his knife up again. "I have big plans for you. I saw those pretty vines on your back. How rude of you to cover my masterpiece." He lowered the knife and cut the sleeves of what was left of his shirt. "Oh, look, you have a pretty flower. Let's make some roots for it."

And just like that, he sank the knife into Tom's shoulder and started drawing.

🏯

Sam was sick and tired of this. The guilt was smothering him, together with a sense of dread he was aware wasn't his own.

Why did they keep doing it? Taking Tom and Angie, leaving trails of blood in their wake? How could Snitch Gravel let this happen? He wanted to scream, to demand justice, but he was too terrified that they'd torture him again as well.

The paralyzing dread at the mere thought of it made him sick with himself.

"Sam, calm down. This isn't helping," Christine said.

"I can't stand it anymore."

"I know, but you need to keep a cool head."

"Why?" He stopped pacing and turned to her, his fists clenched. "What the hell for? What does it matter anymore?" His voice rose with each word until he was practically yelling.

Christine didn't even flinch. "Because you're the only one who can get us out of here."

He huffed and resumed walking around the cage. "Bullshit, I'm useless."

She stood and got in his path. He tried to step around her, but she sidestepped together with him until they fell into an awkward dance.

"Will you just stop?" She put her hands on his cheeks and squeezed hard. "Look at me. Listen to me!"

He did and for the first time in what felt like ages, her eyes looked like pools of sunlight again. He shook away the thought and tried to tap into his hatred for her. It was impossible and exhausting because that Christine didn't seem to exist anymore. This one meant business.

"Snitch Gravel has called you to talk to him twice now," she said, her voice even. "He'll most likely do it again. You said it yourself that he doesn't want to kill us. You're the only one who can make him let us out."

Her words defused his anger and his shoulders slouched. Yes, she had a point, but waiting around, watching them torture Tom was too much for him.

"I understand," Christine whispered. "Do you think I like this? What they're doing to Tom, what they're doing to Angie? But I try to look on the bright side."

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"That Sammy is safe. Sarah and Kay are alright, that no one is hurting them. That as far as I know, Kyle and Jerry haven't been tortured anymore either. That Jimmy and Jessie are most likely out there. Or so I want to believe."

Sam just nodded, trying not to point out that Jimmy was as imprisoned as them. Unless Jessie had managed to break him out and that was why she hadn't shown up. In spite of himself, a little bit of hope nestled inside his heart.

Sammy is safe. And Skye is not going through this. The others are mostly safe.

His entire being hurt for Tom and Angie, but it could've been much worse. They could've continued to torture them all.

And he had Christine.

He turned away from her and started pacing again. He didn't want to look at her. Being locked up with her, having her be his only comfort was a form of torture on its own. For both of them. For him who still missed Skye like crazy and was grieving and for Christine who obviously still felt something for him.

Do you love me? He was seconds away from blurting the words out, but he held them in. Because it didn't really matter. What if she said no? What if she said yes?

He felt sick. With himself and this entire situation. He needed time and space and he had none of that. He needed to be back with his daughter.

At least she's safe.

The sound of footsteps had him charging at the bars. The pavlovian fear was still there, but his hope that they were bringing Tom and Angie back was stronger. He needed to see his twin, make sure that the smothering sensation inside him was his alone and not Tom's.

No such luck. The two goons approaching were alone and definitely coming for him. Christine had been right and he wasn't ready to convince anyone of anything.

The men stopped in front of the bars and didn't have to say anything. Christine and Sam already knew they had to step back and he came out obediently. The silence as they took him to Snitch Gravel's office was deafening.

Once he entered, the first thing Sam noticed was the breeze coming in through the broken window. He couldn't tell what time of day it was. The grey clouds rumbled and lightning bolts cut through the sky.

Snitch Gravel stood behind his desk, one hand leaning on it, massaging the bridge of his nose with the other.

"You're brother is an idiot," he said the moment the goons closed the door behind them.

"Is that why you keep torturing him?"

Snitch Gravel's eyes shot open and zeroed in on him. "I meant Kyle."

The broken window suddenly made sense. The torture however did not. "Why do you keep torturing Tom and Angie and not the rest of us?"

"I see you're here with questions. Strange, since I thought I was the one in the position to ask things." He dropped in his chair, looking exhausted.

Even if he wasn't invited, Sam took a seat as well. That office chair was quickly becoming his biggest form of comfort.

"I really do want an answer to that before we can talk about anything else."

"And why would I oblige you?"

Sam swallowed heavily. This was it. The chance to prove his ingenuity. "Because then I will cooperate and tell you all you want to know."

Snitch Gravel tilted his head and Sam couldn't tell if he'd bought it or not. But after whatever Kyle did, the offer had to be tempting.

"Huh," was all he said.

"So?"

Snitch Gravel leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the edge of the desk. He wore black jeans and boots. "Let me see how to explain this to you. Let's say that you have a subordinate you can sense is dangerous, but you still need them to do their job. Like, I don't know. Lee Hannigan?"

The name made Sam wince, and he was sure it was a mistake, but he nodded and waved at Snitch Gravel to go on.

"So you need the bastard, not because he's particularly valuable, but because you know that he can fuck up your plans. You don't like it, but you have to keep up the front, keep him happy until you can squash him."

"That's one way to put it," Sam mumbled.

"Working with people isn't easy, Sam," Snitch Gravel said, crossing his hands behind his head and stretching his elbows out. "I think you've realized that by now. Politics are a bitch. And sometimes, you have to do things you don't necessarily want just to save face and keep the right people happy."

"So you're doing this to appease Cannon?" Sam asked, outraged.

Snitch Gravel dropped his boots off the desk and straightened in his seat. "I'm doing this to appease everyone who doesn't agree with my change of policy. Is it ideal? No. But you have to admit your twin has some mouth on him."

Sam knew, but he didn't care. "Leave him alone. You've broken him enough. If you need a guinea pig, use me."

Snitch Gravel smirked. "You know, it's this selflessness of yours that fascinated me from the first time we met. How you asked me to kill you instead of that guide of yours who you'd known for a few weeks, even if you were shitting your pants with fear. I think that's when my determination to kill you first wavered."

"His name was Carlos," Sam said between his teeth. "And he was innocent."

Snitch Gravel narrowed his eyes. "If you come to think about it, so were you."

These were the words Sam had been served the first time he'd raised the issue. Except at that point, Snitch Gravel had used present tense. Now there was no innocence left.

"You're scared now, too, probably the least equipped to take this except for Jerry."

"You have no idea what I've been through." Because he was tortured either way. In the brief moment in which Snitch Gravel and the Agency had left him alone, life stepped in and punched him in the face.

Snitch Gravel squinted at him some more and he actually smiled. "Fair enough, but that doesn't make my men perceive you as more dangerous. I hate to break it to you, but no one hates you."

"Von Crooken does. I sent him to jail."

"True. But if he had to chose someone to inflict physical pain on, it wouldn't be you. It would be Kyle. So your noble offer has no real value."

Sam gritted his teeth, hating himself for being relieved that he wasn't about to get tortured again. "Cannon is going to kill Tom."

"Not if Tom kills him first," Snitch Gravel said with a shrug.

"What?" The answer totally threw Sam off.

"There's a general rule in life that we reap what we sow. In Cannon's case, his obsession with Tom combined with his self-sufficiency will be his undoing. I trust that your twin can handle it."

"You trust? You--" This was beyond words. He couldn't believe that Tom's choices were to die or become a killer.

"It is what it is and I have very little power over it. I will, however, try to make sure that Cannon doesn't exaggerate."

Sam bit his lip, trying not to scream or start crying. Losing his head right now would only plunge him back inside his cage. He could take more from this meeting.

"What are you planning for us?"

"What I first said hasn't changed."

"Yes, it has." And Sam did his best not to yell it.

Snitch Gravel tilted his head. "How so?"

"You're starving us, we're hurt and getting weaker. Tom's half-dead, Sarah must be scared out of her mind and for me, it's just another goddamn day that I spend away from my daughter."

He'd managed not to shout it out, but the impatience and the hatred had been crystal clear. Snitch Gravel just watched him, a pensive expression settling over his face.

The silence got on Sam's nerves. "So you can maybe understand why I don't give a rat's ass about your feelings right now. Don't want to say it more than once? That's fine. Tell me and I'll pass it on and we can all get on with our lives."

Snitch Gravel still didn't react except there was now a tiny, very annoying smile on his face.

"You know what I've learned?" He finally said. "There's nothing ever certain about life. Sometimes we believe we're winning when, in fact, we only trap ourselves deeper under ruins of our own making."

"Huh?"

Snitch Gravel stood and rummaged inside his desk. Sam thought he'd pull out the jewel again to make some point, but instead he took out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses down.

"I always do this, you know," Snitch Gravel said, opening the bottle and pouring amber drink in both glasses. "Start off big, in style, with this impressive drive and a daring, brilliant plan to match. But I always end up failing." He pushed one glass towards Sam but left his own untouched. "And you know why?"

Sam shook his head as he took the glass and glanced at the drink. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but he needed the damn drink, so he took a sip.

"Because I change my mind halfway through." Snitch Gravel heaved a sigh. "And when I do, I usually try to make up for it with a major fuck up." He reached over and pour more drink into Sam's glass, even if he hadn't finished it. "Last time, it was kidnapping Jimmy and Tom. Wonder what it's going to be this time."

Sam forgot all about the glass in his hand and stared at the man before him instead. The words made their way through his exhausted mind and he could finally see beyond their literal meaning. He'd changed his mind.

"Wait, you want to tell us the truth?"

Snitch Gravel leaned his hands on the desk and nodded. "As much as I know of it, at least. It's a three part story, and one part of it is already buried in the ground."

Sam had no idea what to say to that. It was hard to keep his jaw from hitting the ground. He'd been so used to the truth dying with his father that he'd never even considered there was still a chance to hear it from someone else.

"The truth about everything," Snitch Gravel said, waving his hand in a circular motion. "The family, the Counters. Everything. But I have to say it to you all."

"You can't if some of us are dead," Sam pointed out.

"I'll take care of that." Snitch Gravel pushed the button on his desk which indicated that their little session was over. He picked up his full glass and toasted to Sam before his men came in. "And then I can go to ruin."

🏯🏯🏯

What more appropriate way to enter the new year than with a title bomb chapter? Things are picking up speed and Snitch Gravel's intentions are finally revealed. He wants to tell the truth! Can you believe that?

Also... As much as some people might hate it, Tangie is back on track. If they work for it and if Angie doesn't mess up again. I guess they're bonding over danger just like they're used to. But they need to be able to be happy in times of peace as well.

Any thought on this oh-so-important chapter are more than appreciated! Happy New Year and hit the star for luck.