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A dreariness was present as Nolan Booth opened his eyes. It was hard to see in the pitch-black room and it was cold, extremely cold. He could almost feel the frost creeping up his arms.
His arms.
One of his hands was shackled, but he was sitting on the stone floor. Given that his shirt was lighter, along with his jacket, he was freezing. He knew that hypothermia was serious shit, and it was only going to worsen.
"Hello, Mr. Booth," a feminine voice said. His gaze rose to find a woman wearing a brown fur coat and pants that were insulated.
He couldn't remember who she was, but as she strode forward, the way she walked, gently swaying her hips, the way she held herself, it all came back.
Lia Schmitt. She was one of the only people in the world with something close to Julius Caesar. He remembered that John, Sarah, and he had planned a heist to get the required item, but at the last second, Booth had been taken out by the security.
"I'm glad to see you're retaining your memories of recent events," Lia said sweetly. "I wouldn't want you to not know why you were here."
Nolan stared at her, carefully moving his free hand towards his cuffed one.
Lia noticed this, her hazel eyes sliding to his hands. "Don't try," she advised him. "There's no way out of them; I have the best security in London."
Nolan slumped back against the wall, letting his hands fall limp. He was shivering violently. He needed to find a way out of there or contact Hartley and Sarah.
As if Lia had read his thoughts, she spoke again, "I wouldn't try to contact your teammates either." She held out her hands, revealing Nolan's comms and his tracer. "My guards removed everything on you, besides you're just a pawn to them." She smiled, her teeth showing. She was like a cat with that grin, an insanely evil, feral cat.
Nolan wanted to make light of this situation. A quip, a snide remark, even an insult, but Lia was out of the room before his brain could muster anything. He heard the door click shut, but his brain was becoming sluggish. He could feel the cold sinking into his bones, the chill was shocking its way through his nerves. His hands curled into fists, trying not to shiver.
He couldn't fall asleep, no matter how tempting it was; that would speed up the process of hypothermia, for sure killing him.
But the temptation of sleep was so lulling, so drawing. He could almost hear soft music playing, trying to put him to sleep. He was so tired.
He shook himself. He had to stay awake! He needed to stay conscious long enough for John and Sarah to find him. Another shiver racked through him, making him even colder.
Sleep, his body seemed to be murmuring.
It wasn't what he wanted, but his own body betrayed him, taking control. His eyes fluttered shut as he curled into himself, trying to conserve heat.
•
He woke to sweltering heat, sweat dripping down his face. This was not good for his core temperature, all these highs, and lows. It was to torture him the hell out of his mind. Especially because both heat exhaustion and hypothermia could cause hallucinations.
Even though it was so hot, he tried to cling to the heat, preparing himself for the cold to come again.
He was almost begging Sarah and John to find him a little bit faster.
But you're just a pawn, a vicious, doubting voice in his mind said. The thought rippled its way through his mind, making him forget about the heat.
No, I'm not! Nolan tried to argue back.
Please, the voice scoffed, almost cooing gently. They've betrayed you before, used you. All they see is a tool, someone to take the fall. You mean nothing to them, other than that. That's what they're not coming for you, Nolan. Because they don't care about you, just like your father.
That hurt him. The mention of his father but made him ponder those words.
Nolan felt himself slipping to sleep again just from the exhaustion of the conversation. He dreamed, and it wasn't peaceful. He was plagued by the voice of his father, and John and Sarah.
They whispered to him, truths, or lies. He couldn't tell. He had barely any energy, and he didn't want to know.
Worthless!
Nothing but something to use.
You're so damn gullible to think we'd care.
I'm glad I sent you to boarding school. You're a disappointment.
The moments he was awake and the moments he slept were blending, confusing him. Mostly because the voices followed him whether he was conscious or not.
He only knew he was awake if Lia visited him, which was only once or twice. She taunted him, made fun of him. That made the voice worse.
It seemed to grow as time passed during his imprisonment. He had no idea how long he'd been there; they'd taken his watch.
The voice was constantly in his thoughts, no matter what he tried to do. It destroyed his hope, and he tried to hold onto pieces of hope that it left him.
He was incredibly surprised that he hadn't died yet, from hypothermia or heat exhaustion, or both.
He realized that they were keeping him alive, barely. Because he had received enough food to sustain him, along with water, blankets, and meds.
They wanted him alive for a reason.
But why? If he was so worthless, why not just save themselves the pain of a big execution and not just kill him now?
That spun in his mind, and he grasped at it, trying to use it as an anchor. They needed him. That had to be worth something.
Right?
It worked for a little while, but eventually, the voice of doubt and everything ripped it apart.
Soon, he was seeing physical manifestations of his father, Sarah, and Hartley, which made things worse.
They were destroying his hope, alienating him from society. They were trying to convince him that no one cared, and they were right. Maybe no one did care about art thief Nolan Booth.
Maybe, just maybe, he was better off dead.
At one point, whether it was hours, days, or weeks since he'd been trapped in there, Lia entered and took him from the room with guards. They brought him to a room that moderated his body temperature, especially since he had just sat in the cold. He could feel the roughness of the material of the shackles they had placed on both of his hands. He could also see the chafing marks from the one that was on his wrist in his cell. He had no reason to move, though, mostly because of that required energy.
They sat him down in a comfortable chair, across from what he could assume was Lia's desk. Lia was sitting across from him, still smiling her insane cat, little bitch smile. "So, Mr. Booth," she said, her voice sweet. "I hope you have been enjoying your stay. It's been about...mmm... Two, almost three days since we've captured you, and I think you're ready now to hear what I have to say."
Nolan bit his lip. The room was glitching in and out of focus. He hadn't felt this good in ages.
"I'm sure you've realized that we've been keeping you alive. I simply needed you incapacitated while I figured out what I wanted from you. If we had wanted you dead, you'd be dead," Lia explained, folding her hands on the table. "I'd like to offer you a place in business, more specifically at my side."
Nolan was able to muster enough energy to raise an eyebrow in question. He moved against the chains, feeling a bit of pain in his right hand.
"You're good at what you do and have a very light-hearted look on your work, despite the messes you've gotten yourself into," Lia said. "You're quite the escape artist, but my question is why haven't you tried?"
Nolan just stared at her.
"I think I know," Lia answered. "You're beginning to realize the truth, or you've convinced yourself that you don't need to try because you're not worth it." She leaned over the desk towards him. "The truth is: they're not coming, Mr. Booth. Accept it." She leaned back. "Now, I'm sure you know I'm head of my own criminal business. You'd be very valuable to us; I can guarantee that."
"They will come for me," Nolan mustered, his voice shaky and cracking. He hadn't spoken in so long. Chills shocked through his body, silencing him again.
Lia laughed heartily. "The Bishops? I just told you. They aren't. I thought that had gotten through your head, but clearly, your hope supply is massive. We'll see how you feel after I show you the proof." She pulled out a computer, opened it, clicked on something, and then turned it towards him. She pressed play and let Nolan's gaze attach to it.
The scene showed the footage of Sarah and Hartley on the night of their heist. It had been a party, and Sarah had dressed in a slim black dress and Hartley a blue suit.
"I got the object," Hartley said as they made it to the balcony. That was where they were supposed to meet before they departed. "Where's Booth?"
Sarah's gaze looked around. "I thought you had him."
"I thought you did!" Hartley exclaimed before shaking his head. The sound of footsteps approaching from the hall. "We need to go; we can't waste time looking for him."
Together, they descended from the balcony. As the video stopped, Nolan felt the truth hit him like a ton of bricks, very heavy, cold bricks. They had left him.
"I'm sorry, Nolan," Lia whispered, standing up. She walked to his side, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I tried to warn you."
Nolan sighed.
"I'll give you some time to think about my offer, away from your prison. You'll be in a new one tonight. Take as much time as you want." A guard approached him slowly, drawing a needle and sticking it into his neck. His eyes fluttered shut once again, but this time, he didn't care.
•
Everything was a mess for him.
He had woken on a strangely comfortable bed in a red room. Why, in God's name, was the room red?
He loved red, but how did Lia know he did? There were chairs and three windows with unbreakable glass. A large set of doors were around twelve feet away from the bed, and they were metal, titanium. He looked at his hands, realizing he didn't have any cuffs or shackles on him. He had been confined to the room, but not the bed.
His wrists that had chafed against the metal cuffs for so long had been treated by someone. He slowly sat up from the bed, looking for a bathroom. Thank God, there was one. He found a new set of clothes at the end of the bed and ran to take a shower.
He figured that if he was going to be here for a while, he might as well not look like shit. After a quick shower, which felt like heaven, he was back on his bed, relaxing.
You know, Sarah's voice said. Just because you're out of that cell now, doesn't mean we're coming to get you.
Oh, great, the voices were back.
He wondered where John's voice was but didn't have to wait long because soon, he popped up in Booth's vision.
Lia Schmitt is right. We are not coming, we never were, and never plan to, Hartley's hallucination said. So, accept it. You've never been good with people, and people don't want you, so go back to your solo act.
Nolan nodded his head softly, pursing his lips. "You think I haven't considered that?" He whispered. "I have to do something, so I am. I'm making my choice. Now, get the hell out of my head."
The voices went silent, vanishing into thoughts. He had made his choice, and he'd give it to Lia whenever she'd come to see him.
He laid back onto the bed, curling into himself. The truth hurt. The fact that the Bishop and Hartley didn't care, didn't care enough to save him. But Booth was so used to being alone, feeling like no one did care, so why did this feel so different? Why did this one feel like ten thousand knives cutting through his heart slowly?
It didn't take long for him to figure it out.
The reason was that he used to not care if people did. He felt like he was incapable of those emotions of love and attachment. He considered himself a sociopath, but that changed.
The Bishops changed it. For the first time in his life, he cared about someone other people, but they couldn't even bother to show up.
•
He awoke to a series of poundings and voices. He figured it was Lia and her men, so he got up and walked to the bathroom. He changed, did his business, and opened the bathroom door, revealing the figures of John and Sarah.
"We've got six minutes," Sarah said, standing by the door as she pulled out her gun. She nodded toward John, who was scanning the room.
Nolan had thought he had finally ridden himself of his hallucinations, but it was strange because Sarah's hallucination had never had a gun, and the two had never changed outfits.
John's gaze landed on him.
Nolan could feel the cold appearing in his bones, his body tensing.
"Booth," John said, taking a step forward.
Nolan scrunched his eyebrows scrunch together as he tilted his head, walking backward slowly. "I thought I told you to get out of my head," he hissed.
"Booth, what are you talking about?" John asked, stepping closer. "Are you alright?"
Nolan chuckled without humor. "Am I alright? I was fine until you two decided to invade my thoughts again. I thought we went over this. Get out of my head, I'm done with you. You're not real."
John raised an eyebrow. "Booth, what did they do to you?" He demanded, trying to step closer, barely touching Nolan's arm.
Nolan flinched, pulling back. "They did nothing," he growled. "It was all you two and him. I'm surprised he didn't show up, too. He never misses a chance to taunt me."
"Who the hell are you talking about, Booth?"
Booth shook his head. "Don't play dumb. You and my father have been taunting me for days." There was no humor in his voice. It was serious, dead serious. (A/N: Harry Potter Fans, I'm sorry. :(( )
Hartley stepped forward again, gaining distance between them. His face looked worried. "Booth, please. I don't know what's going on, but you need to come with us, or we're all going down."
Booth curled his lips. "I'm not falling down that hole, only to realize it's Schmitt here."
"John, we're wasting time," Sarah called, peeking out the door. "We need to get him out now."
"Over my dead body," Booth snarled.
Last night, when he'd woken up, he'd found a gun in the right bedside drawer, for some reason, he didn't know. Luckily, he happened to be on that side of the room, so he opened the drawer and pulled out the gun.
"Booth, what are you doing?"
Do you really think you're going to shoot them? The voice whispered. You're pathetic.
Nolan held the gun, pointing it straight to Hartley's chest.
You're only hope of rescue, and you’re blowing it.
Nolan felt his hands slip from the gun. The voice was confirming their existence. The gun fell to the floor, forgotten as his knees crumbled. His brain was exploding. He grabbed his head. "You can't be real," He murmured. "They said you wouldn't come."
"Nolan, we're here," Hartley said softly.
Nolan's body was tensing as he fell to the ground, his eyes fluttering shut.
He felt strong hands wrap around him, and that was it. Then it was silence and solidarity.
•
He vaguely remembers being taken out of the massive building where Schmitt had been keeping him, his brain had been so overloaded that he couldn't think straight. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in his room in his massive king bed, tucked underneath the covers.
He sat up in the bed, his mind quiet and peaceful. John and Sarah were nowhere to be seen, but he realized that it was three in the morning. No one would be up at this hour.
He slid out of the bed, changing into a set of his clothes, which was nice, and then headed out of the room.
The apartment they were staying in was nice and comfortable. No one was present as he made his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea.
He had always preferred tea over coffee.
As he sat down on the couch, sipping his tea, he breathed in slowly.
"Feeling better, Nolan?" Sarah said, sitting down next to him.
Nolan nodded mutely, taking another sip. John walked in moments later, sitting across from them in a chair.
"Do you feel comfortable telling us what that entire situation was about?" John asked him.
Nolan set down his cup of tea on the glass table with a clink. "I had, what you'd call, a psychotic break. I was trapped in a freezer and sweat room for three days straight, and I guess my mind decided to torture me. Schmitt helped with that, too. She wanted me on her side." He crossed his arms. "I was about to give in when you guys showed up."
"Good thing we did, then?" John said softly.
"Sure," Nolan said, his voice quivering. “I just gave up hope by the time day three rolled around. It felt like you didn’t care.”
“We do care, Nolan,” John assured him. “We wouldn’t have saved you if we didn’t.”
“You need to learn to trust us, and we get that it’s hard. But we’ll try an be better,” Sarah added. “Now, let’s got back to bed, yeah?”
“There’s one more thing,” Nolan said suddenly. “She showed me security footage, but I was wondering how real it was.”
“How real what was?”
“The footage of you two leaving me?” Nolan snapped.
“They glitched it,” Sarah said. “We we’re arguing about getting out and going back into save you, but were interrupted. We’re sorry it took us so long to get back in the building.”
John clapped Nolan on the shoulder. “We’ll try to be more careful about keeping you with us.”
Nolan nodded. “Good, and I should get some leashes cause I’m never losing you guys again.”
“Glad you’re back.”
“Me too.”
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