A/N: I don't know where this originated - or what twisted part of my imagination came up with it - but it's more sinister than I would usually write anything, so I hope you can forgive me for putting them through the wringer like I'm about to! I would appreciate opinions on this, as it's so different to my normal writing.

Sarah x

The last thing she remembered when she woke was her hand colliding with his face with all the force could muster. She remembered being angry enough to break his scrawny neck, never mind just slap him. After that, everything was dark. She had fallen asleep soon after, or else been knocked out.

She remembered the voices behind her, thinking nothing of them as her anger with the man before her had grown exponentially. She remembered dismissing everything but herself and the man in front of her as irrelevant. But the voices had drawn closer with every time she had talked over him, and she realised now she had underestimated the number of them.

Now she realised, locked in the darkness, why he had been trying to interrupt her. He had not been arguing back with her as she had thought, but had actually been trying to warn her of the danger she now knew had been just feet behind her.

"Mr. Hanssen," she whispered. She heard a low groan from a few feet to her right and crawled over, feeling around for his body; that small action hurt her legs so much more than she had anticipated. She felt his flat stomach and moved her hands up until she found his face. On his cheek, her fingers met a sticky wetness she assumed was blood and her stomach turned, realising she had probably been the cause of that particular injury. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he said; he heard him shuffling himself upright. "Yes, I'm fine, Ms. Campbell. Are you?"

"Headache from hell," she admitted, realising her head was throbbing. She felt her head and found a cut on the back of it, her fingers sticky with half-dried blood. "Someone's smacked me over the head, I think."

"I remember someone hitting me across the face. It's the last thing I can recall," he informed her. Through the darkness she heard him struggle to his feet.

"Yeah," she answered, a pang of guilt hitting her suddenly. Why did she feel bad for doing something she had wanted to do for months? "Yeah, that was me. I didn't realise I drew blood," she confessed. She felt his glare boring through her. She didn't need to see him to know it. "You pissed me off!" she defended herself. "What did you expect me to do?!"

"I expect you to act like a professional grown woman rather than a bratty adolescent schoolgirl."

She made a face in his general direction, miffed that he was angry with her. "Aren't there more pressing matters right now?" she reminded him. "Like, oh, I don't know...getting the fucking hell out of here?!" she shouted at him. She felt around for her bag, and in her coat pocket for her phone, but found nothing.

"Calm yourself, Ms. Campbell," he said placidly.

"I am calm," she retorted, but it was a huge lie. Panic was bubbling away inside of her, threatening to show Hanssen just how frightened she was at finding herself in the dark, in pain with little to no recollection of how any of it came about.

"Your language suggests otherwise."

She rolled her eyes and walked around, feeling through the darkness for any hazards, but the room seemed fairly empty. She felt around the rough walls; they obviously had no paint or wallpaper on them, just bare brickwork. Her hands fell onto a button, and she wasn't sure of whether or not to press it. "There's a button here," she told him.

"Press it," he said decisively, his footsteps coming closer to her.

"But-"

He leaned over her and pushed her hand down, pressing the button underneath. There was a clunking noise as light flooded the room and a door rose, their hands still on the button. This was obviously a garage of some sort, but there was very little inside.

The light hurt Serena's eyes and head, so she put her free hand over her eyes, extremely aware of Hanssen's body against hers. It caused her rather a lot of pain. Her back must have been bruised, for whatever reason. "How odd," Hanssen said. "We appear to have been dumped in a disused garage."

"No shit, Sherlock," she retorted.

"I will put that down to you being hit over the head," he raised an eyebrow at her as he lifted his hand from hers. She noticed a bruise on his face – not the side she had slapped – and another on his temple. He had also been hit on the head, then.

She looked down on herself and was horrified. Her blouse was torn down the arm from the collar, buttons missing, the side of her trousers ripped, the button on the waistband missing. A wave of fear like she had never felt before fell over her as she fingered the black material of her waistband lightly. She looked up at Hanssen and saw her horror reflected in his dark eyes. "You don't think..."

"Are you in any pain?" he asked her.

Catching the meaning behind his words, she replied in what was barely more than a mumble, "A little." His face drained white but he remained calm and strong.

"I would not have allowed it," he promised her. "I promise you, Ms. Campbell, I would have done anything and everything in my power to prevent that."

"But you were knocked out," she reminded him. "We were both knocked out!" He would have been powerless to do anything to anyone after he was rendered unconscious, so how could he promise her that?

"There was obviously a struggle," he reasoned. "Perhaps you, being your normal charming self, put up more of a fight than I did, and therefore received more of a beating. That, and we were clearly unceremoniously dumped in here. Who knows how they got us in here?"

Her whole body was sore. Aching. There were bruises on her wrists and arms, and she could feel one forming on her neck and one on her chest. Her back was probably covered in them, judging by the pain she had felt at Hanssen's touch. She didn't know where the aching stopped and began. Her whole body just hurt.

"I don't know," she replied, her voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. The seed of the fear was still there in her mind, growing with every second she couldn't remember what had happened. There were so many horrible theories going through her mind, and she couldn't rule anything out. "How can we be sure what's been done to us when we don't even know what's happened?"

He kept silent, lightly guiding her outside into the light. "Bloody typical," she groaned, rubbing her head as the full light of day hit her eyes. "The one time I go to a conference on my best behaviour, not a drop of alcohol, and I end up chucked in some Godforsaken garage, not knowing who has done what to me."

"We were at a conference," he echoed. "I remember that. It was about the integration of more general surgery into the emergency wards."

"Yeah," she replied vaguely as they wandered down the street without direction or purpose. Serena glanced up at Hanssen; he looked concussed, beat up and generally worse for wear. Kind of like how she felt. "We've got no money, no credit or debit cards, no mobile phones," she listed their problems as they sat down on a bench on the street. "We've both been hurt. God only knows what they did to me when I was out of it," she added. She hated how vulnerable she sounded in that moment.

"I'm sure they didn't do anything but take your belongings," he tried to reassure her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something else had happened. "We will find a hospital and get checked over. That is the most important thing. Then we'll find a way home, we'll cancel our cards, deal with the police and everything will go back to normal."

She sighed and threw her head back, staring at the grey sky above, and gave him the harsh reality of their situation. "We are so screwed."

Hope this is OK!
Please feel free to review and tell me your thoughts!
Sarah x