Ryan leads Claire downstairs, and into the kitchen, out the back door - which she leaves open - and towards the garage. The small door leading into the structure is closed and locked. Striding around the garage Ryan finds a small high window, and, standing on the tips of her toes, she manages to peer into the room. When she drops down to the ground there is a small smile playing around her mouth. They return to the kitchen where she begins to pull out drawers and search through them, whilst Claire looks on in confusion. Then, in a small drawer partially hidden by the bread bin, she finds and retrieves a set of car keys and two unmarked door keys. Slipping them into the pocket of the baggy jeans she takes another energy drink - and, after some hesitation, another apple - from the fridge, and then leads Claire outside again, taking care to slide down the window they had entered by, and setting the door latch so that it slips closed behind them. When they approach the small locked door Ryan pulls out the two unidentified keys and inserts one into the lock. It turns easily the first time. When she opens the door the inside of the garage is dark, and she runs one hand against the wall to her right searching for a light switch. When she finds and flicks it, the sudden flare of light temporarily blinds them both, and then suddenly they can see the large gray Chevrolet Trailblazer parked in front of them.

Realizing that this is likely to be very bad news for any attempts at escape, Claire at first resists going in, and when Ryan pulls her forward effortlessly she begins to yank her hands back, trying to slip them out of their bonds. With an impatient expression Ryan steps closer and wraps her hand around the doctor's left wrist, pulling her forward ruthlessly. When the smaller woman still throws her weight backwards the soldier leans forward and hoists the thrashing woman onto a sharp shoulder. Approaching the SUV she unlocks it with the remote and opens the passenger door, depositing Claire into the spacious leather seat before she slides her hand down the edge of the door and adjusts something. Claire is already shifting over the handbrake to reach the other door when her own is slammed behind her and Ryan moves around the car to get into the drivers' seat. Engaging the locks she glances upwards at the rearview mirror and tilts it upwards slightly, then leans forward to check the cubbyhole. There is a pair of aviator-style sunglasses in a soft velvet drawstring bag, which she slides out and slips on with a ghost of a smile. When Claire tries to open her door it merely clicks.

"Child lock."

Ryan slips the energy drink into the cup holder under the radio and then tosses the small first-aid kit into the cubbyhole. When Claire's eyes fall on it Ryan turns her head slightly.

"I took a lot of things out. You're welcome to look."

Negligently she tosses the apple onto Claire's lap.

"Eat."

Then, with a roar, the vehicle starts and the garage door slides upwards silently.

It is as Ryan glances over her shoulder to gauge the level of the door that a short sharp breath escapes from her lips. Her knuckles tighten on the steering wheel and her hands slowly twist inwards, and when Claire's eyes catch the motion she realizes with alarm that the soldier's hands are trembling lightly. Ryan turns her head slowly to once side and then to the other, tilting it as if her neck is stiff or aching, before she shudders unexpectedly.

"No."

Her hoarse voice delivers the word so softly that the doctor almost misses it.

"Ryan?"

The soldier does not reply, her hands tight around the steering wheel until, finally, she lifts one with an almost indiscernible tremor and lays it carefully against her right temple, shifting it after a while to skim her ear and cup her neck. When she abruptly shifts and leans over, extending her hand towards Claire, the blonde woman cringes and shifts away. It is with a small measure of embarrassment that she watches as Ryan's hand slips open the cubbyhole to extract the first-aid kit. The woman unzips it and rifles through the interior, withdrawing a bottle of aspirin before she closes the kit and tosses it on Claire's lap. Lifting the small bottle she reads the label before she shakes out four and cracks the lid on her energy drink. Whilst she drinks the pills Claire puts the kit back into the cubbyhole and closes it quietly.

She is still quiet when Ryan reverses out of the garage, pressing the button on the remote to close the door as she leaves, and when the soldier glances left and right, gauging direction before she takes the road to the right. They are driving on a small country road, low and narrow between the thinning pines, and the vehicle drives smoothly and softly. Ryan is searching for an on button on the radio with her long fingers when Claire's voice breaks the silence.

"Ryan?"

It surprises the soldier - it is the first time the doctor has used her name directly. She does not remember hearing her name perhaps ten minutes ago. The only thing she remembers of ten minutes ago is something she wishes she could forget. In lieu of an answer she turns her head towards the doctor in an attentive manner. Claire notices, but is silent for another moment before she speaks. When she does, her voice is finally untainted by fear or panic, but rather flat and practical.

"Why can't you let me go? Have I done something to you?"

It is a first time for Claire too - Ryan flashes her a small but authentic smile. With the cap pulled low over her eyes and the large sunglasses above the razor-sharp cheekbones she looks almost like a model in a trendy magazine.

"It has absolutely nothing to do with you."

"But then why… "

"You're completely incidental." Ryan turns her gaze back to the road. "That may be hard to accept, but your presence is just consequence. Sorry."

Her voice still sounds as husky as if she has a cold, made more noticeable by what in her case amounts to sudden loquaciousness. Claire studies the road with a blank face. She is considering which approach would be most effective on the hollow-cheeked woman next to her, and decides that if she sums Ryan up correctly it would probably be honor. No one without that trait would sacrifice their life for those of their comrades, as she had done in Somalia - even if Claire finds the concept deplorable.

"Were you … talking to god back there?"

With that hesitant sentence the momentary light-hearted air about the solider slams shut. Ryan shoots a stone-faced glance at her before she turns her attention back to the road.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

There is no answer from the marine. Claire picks at a haggard nail.

"Do you get headaches… afterwards?"

Ryan shoots her another short glance and grasps the bottle, lifting it to her mouth to take a long sip. With a sigh the doctor shifts in her seat.

"Ryan… "

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

The soldier slips the bottle back into the cup holder vehemently. "Don't speak to me like that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

"No." Ryan turns her head to stare at the blonde. "Don't speak to me as if you understand what's going on."

Intimidated by the eyes on her, even if they are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, Claire turns her head to study the road. "Don't I?"

"Don't screw with me." The words are a hiss, and she turns back if only to keep any eye on the suddenly intense soldier. "You don't think I know what you think about me? You think I'm some lunatic with homicidal inclinations." Ryan's jaw clamps shut and the small muscles at the sides of her face jump.

Consciously softening her tone, Claire tries to smile. Her lips are trembling. "What makes you think that that's my opinion, Ryan?"

"I know your type." It is so fervent that the doctor begins to think that she may have made a mistake. "You're not the first to have thought that, and you won't be the last. I don't care what you think, doctor Walsch, just do me a favor and stay out of my fucking head. It's a little crowded right now."

The fingers on the steering wheel are white with tension.

Wisely Claire decides to stay still, looking at the scenery as it speeds by on her side. When she glances back after five minutes the jaw is still set, but the hands have relaxed.

"Ryan?"

The woman does not respond, and her jaw muscles clench. Bolstering her courage, Claire speaks again.

"Ryan? I'm sorry. I really don't know anything about you. I have no right to make snap judgments."

"It's what you do, isn't it?"

Claire sighs. "I'm sorry. I made assumptions."

Ryan nods her head slightly.

"You scare me."

At the blunt admission the woman's black eyebrows rise marginally, but she does not turn her head. Claire forges on.

"It's not because I think you're homicidal or dangerous. It's just that I'm not sure that you have a whole lot of control when you have one of those episodes… and I'm worried that you'll hurt me when you do."

Silence.

"I don't want you to hurt me, Ryan. I don't want to be hurt. And I don't think you intentionally want to hurt me, either. Please just let me go before something happens. You'll be gone before they find me."

More silence, and Claire can almost see the war going on behind the sunglasses as the woman debates with herself. Just as the tense knots in the doctor's stomach begin to ease, Ryan glances over at her. "I won't hurt you, doctor. As long as you co-operate." She casts a glance at the rearview mirror before she looks back at Claire, and this time she appears vaguely amused. "Nice try, by the way. Don't do it again."

------ Johnston and Bulley are a fair way into the forest when the radio crackles and Captain Lewis commands them to withdraw. To confirm, Bulley has him repeat the order before he signs off and swears crudely.

"What the fuck are they doing? What was the point of sending us this far?"

Johnston spits into the underbrush disgustedly. "There's something screwy about this shit, Bull. I wonder what Lewis is up to."

They retreat, careful not to disturb the signs they have been tracking, to find Captain Lewis on the side of the road, lighting a cigarette blankly. Markham and Smith have arrived and are leaning against their car, staring into the sky blankly. Bulley approaches Lewis truculently.

"Captain? May I ask you a question?"

"What?" Lewis matches his hostile tone easily.

"What's the point of having us track this far if you just pull us off now?"

The captain shakes out the match and tosses it into the road. "We've all been pulled off, Bulley, so don't give me crap about it. I'm getting enough grief over this fucking thing."

"Captain?"

"I don't know, Bulley. I don't know shit. Don't ask me."

They wait in silence. When a black van drives up silently and pulls in front of the blue Ford they straighten up unconsciously. As a strongly-built man dressed from head to toe in black gets out from the divers' seat the side door slides open and another four similarly attired men step into view. The man who had been driving studies the group of security guards with something like amusement before he approaches Lewis.

"Captain Lewis?" When he speaks he flashes pointy incisors, which give him the air of a predator. Lewis steps forward and extends a hand.

"General Turner?"

"No." The man shakes his hand briefly before he turns around and begins to speak to his men in a low voice. "Alpha, Bravo, we move … " he pauses and turns to Lewis. "Thank you. I have things under control. You may go."

"Don't you want to know which direction she's moving in?" Lewis is affronted, and slightly brash because of it. The man in black shoots him a cool glance.

"We know. That will be all."

With a disgusted shake of his head Captain Lewis cocks his head at his men and gets into the blue Ford. He waits in silence for Simon to close his door before he starts the car and turns around with a roar, hearing back to Fairwater.

The man in black does not wait for them to leave, but gives his commands regardless. When he is sure that all avenues are covered he nods with satisfaction.

"All right. Suit up."

The men slip back into the van. When they appear again they have SC-20K rifles slung onto their backs, and their faces are streaked densely in olive and black. The man in black casts a rapid glance over them and then nods again.

"Remember - she's not a civilian. Our main objective is to bring her in alive, but if she makes it impossible, we attempt to neutralize the threat. It is in our best interests to retrieve the hostage unharmed, but she is not our target." His gaze is impassive. "If she causes complications, eliminate her."

When the men all nod he reaches down to his belt and unclips a small device, which at first glance appears to be an iPod. Pressing a small button at the uppermost left corner he watches in satisfaction as the small screen comes to live. The men wait impassively as he scrolls through the system. When he glances up they straighten up and wait for instructions.

"North."

They turn on their heels and slip into the forest as quietly as he would expect them to. Shooting another glance at the device he slots it back into the space at his belt and pulls out his mobile phone.

------

The four men move silently as invisibly through the forest, stopping occasionally to glance at the chunky black watches strapped to their wrists, or to study the marks in the undergrowth. They are on foot for approximately forty minutes before they catch sight of the A-frame house between the trees. The closest man raises a fist sharply and the others slow down immediately, on guard and alert. They approach the house carefully, tracking the signs that lead towards the shed. Where they disappear around the side to the door the four men stop in the shadows. One of them executes a flurry of gestures and the other all nod before they split into two groups.

Greg McMahon is guiding the lathe firmly over a beautiful piece of wood when a black-sheathed forearm slips around his throat and pulls him back from the equipment. A small stocky man in back with camouflage smeared across his face appears in Greg's field of vision and switches off the loud apparatus. Greg would normally consider himself a brave man, but at this point his body feels alarmingly cold. The small man approaches him, and the weapon strapped to his back seems to loom in Greg's view.

"Are you alone?"

"No. No." Greg gasps the word. "Please - don't hurt me. My wife… my baby…"

"We are not going to hurt you, sir." The small man nods past his left shoulder and the forearm around his neck disappears. "Where are your wife and baby?"

"Inside." Lifting his hand to his throat uncertainly Greg turns to keep the man behind him in his sight. "They're inside. What's … "

The small man interrupts him politely. "We need to know if you've seen anything out of place today."

"Out of place?" Glancing from one man to the other Greg blinks rapidly. "Like what? Oh God. Is my wife in danger?" He moves towards the door but the large man behind him moves to stand in front of it.

"Sir, have you seen anything out of the ordinary today?"

"I don't… I don't know what you mean! Are they okay? Are they all right?" He tries to sidestep the man at the door, who meets him inscrutably at every step. The small man moves closer.

"Calm down, sir. There's no problem. Please stay here with Rico. I'll be back in a minute." He nods at the big man, who steps aside to let him pass. When Greg attempts to walk with him, Rico shakes his head.

"Please keep calm, sir. We are dealing with the situation."

"Situation? What situation? Oh my god…"

The smaller man strides towards the back door, where his associates are studying the door silently. At his arrival they part, and he instantly spots the damaged lock. He nods to the men, who draw their weapons noiselessly and step up against the walls, flanking the door. When he kicks it open the sound of a woman's scream greets them.

They slink around her as she stands trembling in the middle of the room, her whimpering baby pressed tightly against her chest, securing all the rooms before they return. She is frozen to the spot. One of the men notices the phone against the wall and lifts the handset, pulling the long cord as he approaches her and holds it out.

"Phone the local police. You've had a break-in."

The small man retrieves Greg from the garage and leads him into the house, where he immediately wraps his arms around his petrified wife and glares at them balefully.

"What exactly do you want?"

"We're looking for someone."

"Who? Someone dangerous?"

"You're safe. You're alone. Take the phone from your wife and phone the police."

"Why? Who… "

"You've had a break-in." The small man points towards the door. "Report it." All four men slip their weapons back into their holsters and turn to go. At the door Rico turns back.

"Sorry to have alarmed you folks."

They close the door behind them, and by the time Greg dials 911 with trembling fingers they're already deep into the forest.

Crouched in thicket one of the men grins, his teeth white in the darkness of his camouflaged face.

"She's trying to delay us. The woman's got balls."

------
According to the sign the next town, Choteau, is 9 miles away. Ryan glances at the rearview mirror, and when Claire shifts and tries to adjust the bonds around her wrists to prevent the inevitable onset of pins and needles, the sunglasses turn her way momentarily before the woman glances back at the road. Clenching and unclenching her hands Claire bites her lip.

"Ryan, can you please loosen these?"

There is no response.

"Please. My hands are numb. I can't get out anyway."

Smoothly the woman steers the Trailblazer to the side of the road and turns to her captive. When she turns Claire is already offering her hands. With nimble fingers Ryan slips the belt from her wrists before she glances over her shoulder and pulls away from the curb again.

Rubbing one chafed wrist with the other hand Claire stares out at the dense foliage rushing past the vehicle.

"What are you going to do with me?"

Predictably the woman offers no answer. Biting the inside of her lip Claire repeats the question once, and then again. An irritated scowl appears on Ryan's forehead.

"Don't talk to me."

"Why not? What are you going to do with me?" Claire almost smirks. The muscles in Ryan's jaw twitch. Reaching out the doctor picks up the apple, which she has previously discarded in the alcove between the seats, and polishes it against her shirt before she takes a bite. When she has finished chewing loudly she shifts in her seat and looks at the soldier's face.

"Isn't Fairwater a voluntary commitment institution?"

Frowning, Ryan glances sideways at Claire, attempting to gauge her implication. After a moment she turns her eyes back to the road.

"Yes."

The doctor takes another bite of her apple before she speaks again. "Then why the commotion, Ryan? Why not just sign yourself out?"

"Oh." The soldier's tone is dry. "Gosh. Now why didn't I think of that?"

Claire almost laughs, and then recalls her situation. "Why didn't you?"

Ryan glances up at the rearview mirror in a motion that seems more habit than necessity. She is silent for a moment before she speaks. "I tried, doctor. Didn't your files tell you that?"

Claire shakes her head. "No. When was this?"

"2002."

"And what happened?"

The soldier shoots a quick glance at her, almost as if she is debating whether to continue the conversation. When she speaks next her throaty voice is matter-of-fact. "I put in a request for release, which was denied. The next request was denied. The one after that was ignored."

"That can't be right." Claire sits up and frowns. "Who had you committed? Couldn't you contact somebody?"

"I'm not allowed visits. Or phone calls." The sunglasses are a blank shield. "Or rather, I wasn't."

Claire is frowning, fascinated. "Why not?"

"Because I'm a danger to society, doctor Walsch." The woman reaches for her energy drink and drains the last from the bottle.

Shifting, Claire attempts to catch her eye. "Are you, Ryan?"

The soldier glances at her. "Yes, Walsch. I am."

Claire would have liked a protestation of innocence. It would have been easier to cope with - somebody who, at the least, believes in her own mind. The indifferent plain answer chills the blood in her veins. She is in a car on her way to an undisclosed destination with a trained soldier who believes herself highly dangerous.

"Did the Army have you committed?"

"No. I did."

"Why?"

Though Claire's voice is level and interested Ryan shoots a puzzled glance at her to see if she is being mocking. The blue eyes that greet her are free of irony. The soldier frowns. "Why? Because I am channeling the voice of god, doctor. Because I am dangerous." Her eyebrows rise. "Were you not aware of this?"

Claire sits forward, her gaze intense. "You've just released yourself back into society, captain Ryan. How sure are you that you've changed?"

The tall woman's jaw clenches tightly and her fingers grip the steering wheel mercilessly. For a long time there is silence. They approach the outskirts of Choteau. Without turning her head she speaks.

"Have you got any money on you?"

"No. My purse is back at Fairwater."

Removing one hand from the steering wheel Ryan slips it into the pockets of the thick black jacket she is wearing. From the right-hand side pocket she pulls two notes, which she studies quickly before she stuffs them back in her pocket. The ashtray yields a few more coins. At the first gas station on Maine Avenue she pulls over smoothly and slowly, studying the area before she pulls into the parking lot in front of the small dingy shop. Opening the door she climbs out and takes off the jacket. The black t-shirt is tight across her shoulders and chest. Tossing the jacket in the back seat she wraps one arm over the top of the open door, and the other over the headrest of her seat, as she leans closer to Claire.

"I haven't changed at all, doctor. Not a bit. I am going into the bathroom to fill up this bottle with water. If you get out and run I will find you. If you involve anybody else they will get hurt. Do you understand me?" The blonde nods silently, her heart leaping in her throat. Reaching forward Ryan grasps the bottle. "If you stay still and behave the way I want you to, nothing will happen."

Straightening up she closes the door and locks it from the outside, slipping the keys into her pocket. The car door can be opened from inside, but the delay will count in her favor, should it need to. At the bathroom door she stops and turns to stare at the blonde woman, whose eyes are fixed to her unwaveringly.

The bathroom is dirty and smells of urinal cake. Her shoe soles make a sticky sound as she lifts them from the floor. Setting her jaw in disgust she opens the tap and cups water in her hand, smelling it suspiciously before she fills up her empty bottle. She screws the cap back on and is on her way out when abruptly she clamps shut her eyes and grasps blindly, wrapping her bandaged right hand convulsively around the top of the cubicle as her legs threaten to buckle under her.

Claire sits waiting in apprehensive edginess. She has imagined that Ryan will only take a moment, and now the time is ticking by. Her mind keeps whispering, unhelpfully, that if she had left when the soldier entered the bathroom, she would have been long gone. Hovering between her knowledge of what the woman would do if she were to leave and her beliefs of what she would do if Claire were to stay, she calms herself with deep breaths before she clambers over the handbrake and opens the driver's door from the inside. Glancing nervously at the bathroom she turns and begins to walk, as fast as possible, towards the small shop. She can see the spotty young man inside, but he has his back to her and is talking animatedly on his mobile phone, and just as she thinks she may make it after all a hand wraps itself strongly around her upper arm and yanks her back, into the lean hard body behind her. A sob pushes from her throat instinctively. The hand around her arm is merciless.

"You're hurting me," she pleads, but the woman does not ease up.

"Did you not understand what I told you?" The words are a hiss and the hand shakes her lightly. "Do you want to get hurt?"

"No." She is sobbing now.

Marching her back to the Trailblazer Ryan opens the gas cap and slots in the pump, watching the numbers carefully until she is finished. When she has replaced the cap she releases Claire's arm and takes the woman's right hand in her left. "I have to go in and pay. Behave. He's nothing more than a child - you wouldn't want anything to happen to him, would you?"

When Claire nods quickly she leads the way into the shop. The bell above the door dings and the teenager turns to study them as they walk in. The soldier in her apparently trendy oversized jeans does not interest him, but he takes another glance at the pretty blonde in the suit and trainers before he resumes his conversation, turning his back once again. Strolling between the isles Ryan pulls Claire along, studying the shelves.

"Do you want something to eat?"

The doctor does not answer. Quiet for a moment, Ryan takes a packet of beef jerky and a small plastic mint dispenser, stuffing them unceremoniously in her pocket before she noisily opens the fridge and takes a bottle of water and a carbonated caffeine drink. They approach the till but the boy is still talking away. When Ryan slams the bottles on the counter top he jerks and turns to them, a scowl on his face as he speaks to whomever is on the other side of the line.

Pointing to the drinks and then to the gas, Ryan takes out the two notes and tosses them on the counter. He shoots her a particularly filthy look before he stuffs the notes into the till, tossing her change on the wooden countertop carelessly.

"… yeah, sure, but Rachel went, like, to this guy… "

His story suddenly slows down as he spots the bandage on Ryan's hand, now specked with blood and filthy from the grimy surface of the cubicle, as she twists her fingers around the bottles' narrow necks. Waving them at him casually she presses her fingers into Claire's hand and strolls from the shop. When she opens the passenger door and propels the blonde in he is still talking on his phone, but he has turned to them and is watching with some fascination. Ryan slips into the driver's seat and takes off the sunglasses. It is late afternoon and the shadows are beginning to lengthen. Setting the carbonated drink in the cup holder she tosses the bottled water onto Claire's lap and then pulls the jerky and mints out of her pocket, dropping them into the alcove beneath the radio. When they pull away Claire stares back at the brightly lit station longingly. Ryan cracks open the top of her drink and sips at it slowly.

"Drink your water."

Claire does not respond. Shaking her head Ryan replaces the soda and lifts the jerky packet to her mouth, tearing it open with her teeth. Slipping out a piece she offers the pack to Claire's back.

"Jerky?"

Still no reaction. Replacing the packet she bites meditatively on the hard meat, trying not to touch too much of it with the grubby bandage. Once it is firmly in her mouth she clamps down on it like a cigar and begins to press buttons on the radio at random. When a country music station begins to blare suddenly Claire starts. Frowning, Ryan prods the bright blue buttons until the station changes to soft rock on 93.7FM.

In the fading light Claire turns around and examines Ryan quietly. The woman is chewing her jerky musingly, but when she feels the eyes on her she turns her head and meets them.

"What is it?"

The blonde drops her eyes to Ryan's right hand. "Did you hurt somebody in the bathroom?"

Flexing the hand in question Ryan shakes her head. "No."

"Oh." Claire's eyes move back to her face. "What happened?"

"Nothing." The soldier's face is inscrutable beneath the cap.

Reaching for the cubbyhole Claire takes out the first-aid kit and zips it open. "Can I re-bandage that for you?"

With a dubious look in her eyes Ryan glances at the blonde. "You are aware that there's nothing left in there you can use on me."

"No motive, Ryan. It looks filthy."

"It's too dark now."

"Switch on the light."

The soldier steals another glance at the woman in the seat next to her before she reaches up and switches on the overhead light, illuminating them abruptly.

"Walsch, if you try anything… "

"I remember." Claire beckons. "Give me your hand." When Ryan extends her right hand she begins to unwind the bandage dexterously, grimacing at the mucky texture beneath her fingers. Dropping the old bandage in the back she dabs some antiseptic on the grazes before she neatly wraps a new bandage around the hand and wrist, unwinding it until it's finished for lack of scissors. When she has tucked the end in neatly Ryan pulls back her hand and studies the product without comment before she reaches up and switches off the light.

"Thank you."

To her credit the doctor does not pronounce it a pleasure. She replaces the kit and looks out of the window until it is too dark to see before she straightens in her seat and takes a sip of water. When the packet of jerky rustles Ryan suppresses a smile.

"You stole the jerky."

"Sure. Did you want me to hold up the boy for it instead?"

There is silence as Claire chews. Ryan stretches the fingers of her newly bandaged hand contemplatively before she speaks.

"Do you know how far the border is from here?"

Claire shifts to look at the soldier. "Canada?" When Ryan simply nods at her slow question she shakes her head at herself. "Of course Canada. You're not taking a northern detour to Mexico. I really can't say for sure. 200 miles, perhaps?"

"Closer to 100, I think."

Claire is careful not to antagonize the woman, and so speaks as evenly as she can. "When you get to the border, what are you going to do with me?"

"Drive about another 100 miles and then drop you." The woman's hoarse voice is factual. "I've told you before, if you don't do anything stupid you'll be fine."

"All right. What will you do then, if I may ask?"

"You may not."

They drive in silence; Ryan taking occasional sips from the can of soda. The area surrounding the road has flattened out, and it is too dark now to see the mountains, which must be visible to the left. When Claire begins to talk again Ryan is not surprised.

"Were you sick recently?"

"No." In the darkness Ryan frowns. "Why?"

"Your voice. You sound as if you had a cold."

"I didn't."

"Then… "

"No." The interruption is immediate. Sighing, Claire picks at the label on her water bottle.

"Ryan, just tell me. We're going to be in the car for a while."

"You've sure lost your apprehension of me." Ryan's voice is dry. "I don't know if I like it."

"I haven't. I'm still scared of you. But if you're trying to distract me I want to know why."

There is a heavy silence, and just as Claire thinks that she will have no answer the soldier speaks up.

"It's what you sound like when you've screamed for three days nonstop, doctor."

"At Fairwater?"

"No. Before."

"Oh." Claire senses by the tone of the answer that this is not an avenue to pursue right now. She changes tack. "I didn't peg you for a screamer." Immediately her face flushes as she realizes the implications of her words, but when Ryan answers it is with no trace of humor.

"Some things are better tolerated that way."

A smooth soft number from Dido plays on the radio and Claire lets the soothing voice wash over her as she considers the woman next to her. Much of her panic has disappeared, mostly the doing of her persistent nature; the soldier has turned out to be far less hostile than she would have imagined her. If she were to be honest she would have to admit that this is a brilliant case study, and if she believes Ryan in the fact that she will be released without being harmed, the information she can glean from this woman is invaluable.

The only matter to take into account is her approach - she cannot afford to stir animosity in her captor. Quietly she sips at her water and allows more silence to creep in before she draws one foot under her and makes herself comfortable in the corner.

"Ryan? When you were trying to get yourself released from Fairwater, why didn't you ask Vice-Admiral Banks for help?"

It takes the soldier a moment to respond. "What?"

"He seems to hold you in very high regard - I can't imagine that he wouldn't have done what he could."

"Who?"

"Vice-Admiral Banks." Though she is impatient and it shows in her tone, Ryan doesn't appear to notice.

"I think you have the wrong name."

Claire purses her lips and frowns. "No, I'm sure that's right. Victor Banks. He said you were in Rwanda together in '90 or… "

"'91." Ryan says it slowly, drawing out the numbers. "What does he look like, Walsch?"

"About five ten, gray hair, gray eyes, beard… What's the matter, Ryan?"

"Victor Banks?" There is definite confusion in her voice. It startles Claire when she suddenly pulls to the side of the road and stops.

"Ryan?"

When there is no answer she switches on the overhead light to see the other woman leaning on the steering wheel with both arms, her eyes distant. Claire repeats her name a second time, and when the piercing green eyes fix on her the soldier is scowling, a somewhat bewildered expression on her face. Leaning forward Claire carefully reaches out and almost touches her arm.

"Ryan?"

"Why was he there?" The woman stares at Claire, her eyes unmoving as she deliberates. "Did he say what he was doing there?"

"I don't understand. I thought it was a given that the army would be keeping you under observation."

"Yes, they do. But Victor's never been involved in that… We were personal friends… We only served together in Rwanda and in …" her voice hardens, "Somalia. Was he wearing a uniform?"

"Yes. I don't understand what the problem is, Ryan. Maybe he was assigned your case after you went in."

Ryan is speaking precisely. "Vice-Admiral Tom Cooper told me some time last year that Victor retired in 2003." When she starts the Trailblazer again her jaw is set. Pulling back onto the road she switches off the overhead light. "May I have some of your water, please?"

"Sure. Here." Claire passes the bottle over. "What's going on, Ryan?"

"I don't know." Unscrewing the cap the soldier takes a sip from the bottle before she passes it back. "I think I'll take a small detour."

Continued...