A/N: Hey all! Here with an update and also some real talk. I feel like I've lost a lot of motivation for this fic, but I keep trying to write. Though AWOL is my baby, there's beginning to be some kind of disconnect with me and my work, which I think you'll definitely see in my later chapters. Mainly because I rarely get to write nowadays, and also when I do, I feel like I'm rushing towards the end—trying to finish, instead of savoring the words. I'm going to continue to push through this rough patch, and hopefully gain that writing traction again, but I want you all to know that I'm trying the best I can, and that I appreciate all of your support! Thanks, and I hope y'all like this one.

Chapter 16

"Are you lot planning on letting me out?" Dylan called from his position on the bare concrete floor, directing his voice to the only door he could see. It was, unfortunately, locked from the outside, not that he had expected anything different. Dylan frowned at the bottom of the door, trying to spy if there was movement beyond the one-inch gap, "Come on! A man has needs. Urinating is one of them, in case you forgot."

A muffled sigh carried its way through the door, followed by the shuffling of feet. Dylan suppressed a grin of victory.

The door opened just a fraction of an inch, "There's a bucket in the corner."

Dylan frowned, glancing around the basement. Either he was still really messed up from his run-in with his dancing partner, or there wasn't a bucket. He stood, pacing his way closer to the door, "I hate to break it to you, mate, but there isn't any bucket in here. Would you prefer me doing it on the floor? I can feel a big shit coming."

No sooner had the words left his mouth, then the door swung open a little further and a white bucket was flung into the room, scraping against the wall and clattering onto the floor. The door was abruptly pulled shut, and Dylan heard the telltale signs of the lock being done up again. He reached down for the bucket, "Really? Don't you care about the quality of your bucket? It's never going to be this white again."

He hadn't expected an answer, and he didn't get one. Dylan dutifully set the bucket upright, next to the door. If they expected him to dump his waste in there, they were going to get a whiff of it, whether they liked it or not.

Dylan moved away from the door, settling on pacing around the perimeter of his prison. It was most certainly a prison, though Dylan classified it as one of the better prisons he'd been in. Four walls of smooth, gray concrete and a wooden door suspended a few feet up from the ground. Wooden stairs led up to it. Dylan stopped by the bucket and repositioned it onto the second wooden step.

The good news was that there were no cameras. The smooth concrete meant that it was impossible to place any spyware on the walls without being detected. The bad news was that there was no need for cameras. Besides the singular, guarded door, there was no other means for escape. No air vent, no window—just a door and a naked lightbulb. The second piece of good news was that Dylan was another step closer to finding Juliet Wood. He could work Dean to revealing more information. Part two of bad news was that Dylan was also one step closer to a bullet lodged in his brain. He had a slight preference for staying alive.

Dylan sat heavily across from the door and leaned against the cold concrete wall. His thin white shirt did nothing to stop the chill from creeping into his bones. Apparently, formal wear was something he should avoid in the future, in case he was kidnapped again. He would have to keep that in mind.

Slipping his hands in his pockets, Dylan settled for impatient tapping. Both of his pocketknives had been taken from him, leaving him virtually defenseless. He wished that Smithers had provided him with more discreet gadgets. An explosive earring would have been extremely useful. But Dylan didn't have any type of explosive, and it was useless to dwell on that.

Clink.

Dylan frowned at the sudden pressure on his nail. There was something in his pocket—small and nearly unnoticeable. He pulled it out, turning it over in his palm. It was the small black gem that Ray had given him. What had his pseudo chauffer said again?

Dylan pressed it three times, unsure how hard he should press. It didn't feel like anything had happened. The gem was fashioned so that the face of it couldn't be depressed like a regular button, but when he turned it over in his palm again, one face of the gem glowed a faint red before fading again. He was left, once more, with an inconspicuous black stone. Dylan grinned appreciatively, slipping it back into his pocket. He would have to speak to Smithers about getting one of these. A GPS tracker would certainly make his missions a lot easier. Well, provided someone would come to the rescue. Dylan wasn't going to point any fingers…

Satisfied that a warning had been sent to Ray, Dylan relaxed against the wall. Ray and Tyler would bail him out. Probably.

A*W*O*L

"What do you want? Make it quick."

"Respectfully, sir, we would like to know where Lynx is," Lion spoke on behalf of his unit. When the Sergeant didn't acknowledge his first statement, he elaborated with a, "He's been missing for a few days, sir."

The Sergeant's expression didn't change at the statement, confirming only what Lion had suspected. The Sergeant knew. Whether or not he knew about Lynx's involvement with MI6 or if he only knew about Lynx's current state, it was not Lion's place to question the Sergeant. Every soldier knew what they signed up for and being left out of the loop was one of these things.

"Lynx is away on a mission," the Sergeant stated, turning away from the unit at attention to his computer. "He should be back in a week."

"Sir—" Panther protested. Lion stopped him with a glare that went unnoticed by the Sergeant.

"Thank you, sir," Lion said, stiff.

"Yeah, yeah," the Sergeant muttered half-heartedly. He clicked on something and began typing furiously. After a beat, he paused, and without looking up, barked, "Well? Get out!"

Lion was many things, but defiant and suicidal was not one of these things, especially in the face of an irritated Sergeant. With a glance to his remaining two unit-mates, they fled the scene.

"Classic stonewalling technique," Panther muttered as they trooped out of the office. Tiger elbowed him to silence the outspoken, younger member before the Sergeant heard and decided to take his anger out on them. Panther frowned as they travelled further from the hut, at a safe distance, "It's true. He knows that Lynx is gone, and he hasn't done anything about it."

"Maybe he can't do anything about it," Tiger reminded him. "The Sergeant doesn't have the power to counter MI6."

"Lynx is still SAS, even if he was MI6 before," Panther insisted, frowning.

Lion shook his head, "This isn't helping us. The Sergeant would have given us more information if he wanted to help us, so it's clear he won't."

"We'll just have to figure something else out on our own!" Panther declared.

"Hold on," Tiger was shaking his head at the proclamation. "We can't interfere with one of MI6's missions. And who said that Lynx needed our help? For all we know, he could be coming back right now."

J-Unit fell silent at that. It was clear that Lynx could take care of himself, despite Lion's initial misgivings. There was no denying that Lynx was a fiercely independent man with a streak of cleverness that got him out of trouble. For the most part, at least.

"It wouldn't hurt to use our connections to ask about where he is, I suppose," Lion mused. "It's not like we can go there and ruin whatever Lynx is working on. It's just a backup precaution."

Panther brightened at the prospect, but deflated just as quickly, "I don't have any connections with MI6."

"Neither do I," Tiger frowned. "I have some connections, but none that we need."

Lion had to agree. There wasn't much intermingling between different branches of the military, much less between the military and covert operations. Still, Lion was not one for giving up, "Do you think Wolf might have a connection? His unit helped MI6 in the past, right?"

Panther shook his head, "It was just him."

Tiger nodded in agreement, "Then we'll go talk to him."

"Let's go now!" Panther tugged at Lion' sleeve, ready to dart back to the huts.

Lion pulled away, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the eager man, "Okay, okay."

The situation made Lion's stomach churn. He wasn't going to lose another soldier, no matter what the Sergeant said or what MI6 wanted Lynx to do. He clenched his jaw, following an impatient Panther and a determined Tiger.

Lynx was not going to be another Ducky.

Lion would make sure of that.