The Long Way Home

Chapter Four: Patience

Hold on to the past tense tonight
Don't say a word,
I'm OK with the quiet.
The truth is gonna change everything.

David Cook – Lie To Me

Patience had never been Cass's strong point, even now when the chips were down and the situation dire was she still blessed with her famous inability to wait. Her hands were wrought with agony, the indentations of their organic prison cell were etched into her palms. Her forearms and shoulders ached from the strain of the yanking and pulling that had occurred when her and Sergeant Stackhouse had attempted to dismantle the webbed door to their confined space.

Their escape attempts were thwarted by the steel-like rigidity of the door, Cass had flinched originally upon touching the fleshy consistency. It felt like skin beneath her fingertips and when her she wrapped her hands around the bars they reminded her of bone. There were claw marks in the walls from where the Atlosians they were trapped with had tried to scratch their way through the vacuous surface. There had been very little success on either front and now they had resigned themselves to sitting on the floor of their cell in order to conserve energy.

The Wraith had stripped them of everything but their clothes while they were unconscious from the debilitating tractor beam that had wrenched them unwillingly on-board this ship. It made Cass feel sick at the idea of their gnarled, blue claw-like hands anywhere near her body. Vulnerability was not feeling she was accustomed to, over the years she had erected a cold, hard shell between reality and her own inner sanctum. It was what gave her the clarity and ability to work within situations that other people would have deemed hopeless. There was no time for panic here, it would solve nothing if she allowed the icy tendrils that were squirming in her gut to get a full grip on her system. She breathed out through her mouth. The sensation of entrapment was the same as last time although their holding area was nicer.

Fifty two hours and counting. Cass thought as she sat besides Private Luke Mathews, tucked in closely beside his large hulking frame for comfort and warmth. His good arm was wrapped around her shoulders drawing her even closer together as they huddled against the freezing cold air that was beginning to descent on the cave they were confined to. Jagged rocks dripping with condensation poking against her spine as she rubbed her hands together in attempt to heat them. There had been four of them originally and now there were two. Both her and Luke had heard the gunshots periodically within hours of their companions being torn from their holding space and interrogated. It didn't leave much to the imagination in terms of their fate.

Her head was aching down the left side from the skirmish almost three days ago. It had been a routine check point out in the desert and before their vehicular had even drawn to a stop it had become a complete and utter nightmare. Guns had been thrust in their faces, the doors yanked open as Cass herself was dragged from the vehicular kicking and cursing. The last thing she had remembered was a loud cracking sound as excruciating pain exploded in her temple.

"We're going to have to fight them." Cass had uttered to Luke as her head span from the untreated concussion.

"I know." Luke had told her holding up his bandaged left hand.

The last time the insurgents had come to their cell, their degradation had been the worst so far. Speaking in fluent Arabic their eyes had flickered to the lone woman of the group as they framed one word in English so she would understand.

"Infidel."

'One without faith.' she had remembered before they had spat in her face.

Luke's roar of indignation had echoed so violently through the caves as he lashed out at the leader of the group. She had heard the sickening crunch of bone when they had stamped on three of his fingers in a bid to punish him for his insolence. They had left soon after that with sneers and promises spoken with an intention that Cass had no trouble reading.