The damage was permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, and the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been.
Jodi Picoult
Steve enjoyed the quiet peace of the beach this early in the morning. No tourists and only a few devoted locals, like him, wanted to get in some swimming before there were people everywhere. It was one of the few luxuries in his life. It helped keep him sane.
He liked being back on the island, though not the getting here. He missed his father, and most days, he still wasn't sure how he felt about his mother faking her death. Or Joe knowing about it. His watched beeped, reminding him of the time, as he started the walk from the surf to his Father's house. Sometimes it was hard to remember that his father had been gone going on three years now. Three years he had been heading of the 5-0 special investigations task force, and two since Governor Jameson had been killed by Wo Fat.
He punched in the code on the alarm pad, and listened to the chirps as it disarmed itself. It was one of the few changes since he had moved back into the house, and out of habit did a scan of the office and dining room. He draped his towel over the back of a chair and padded across the wood floor that had been warmed by the sunlight streaming in from the windows behind him.
The series of rattling cracks came in quick concession from the kitchen and it spurred him into motion. He raced down the short hall towards the noise. He slowed down as he neared the door frame, training kicking in as he stopped in front of the mostly shut door. He slid his hand along it and took a deep breath before shoving the door open. The door slammed against the wall blasting his face with thick gray smoke.
The small kitchen was covered in acrid gray smoke. He coughed as he got a lung full of it and tried to fan it away from his face. His eyes watered as he tried to get across the small room to the windows over the sink. He grabbed one of the small rags off the oven door to cover his mouth. The smoke billowed as his movements caused the air to swirl, and he could barely keep his eyes open long enough to get both windows open. The smoke seemed to be coming straight from the sink itself, but with the sheer amount in the small room it was nearly impossible to tell. He turned to stagger out into the hall where he could get a good deep breath of air. He had no idea why the fire alarm hadn't gone off, but that was something to deal with at a later point.
He coughed again, his lungs trying desperately to clear themselves of the nastiness he had inhaled. He didn't see the black clothed figure come up behind him, but he did hear the bottom step creak. His eyes were watering profusely which made it hard to see clearly but he could see the outline of a humanoid shape. The open window didn't seem to be helping as much as he hoped because the smoke was beginning to seep out into the rest of the house. The figure swung at him, he managed to deflect most of the blow away but the fist still clipped his shoulder. He brought his hands up and blinked, trying to clear his vision. The form got in close, aiming for his jaw. He leaned backwards out of the way, feeling the air whiff past his nose. He swung as he came back up but the swing was wide and he only felt cloth scrap by his knuckles. He followed with a short jab, trying to hit his attacker with little luck.
He swung wide again, trying to catch the person off balance, actually connecting with something solid that time. He stepped into where he had connected following it with what he hoped was a short punch to the gut. He was met with a hard punch to the jaw. He saw stars as his knee hit the floor. Instinct told him to raise his right arm up to protect his head while he tried to regain his feet. A kick to the belly knocked him onto his back, below the smoke, not that it made much of a matter at this point. His over worked lungs worked desperately to drag in gulps of air as he tried to get up.
He watched the figure move out of the smoke and into his line of sight. They leveled what looked like a gun at him. He was maybe five feet away, and braced himself to charge the figure. If he was going to get shot, he was going to get shot fighting. He tackled the figure solidly, taking them both to the ground, before rearing back to drop as many blows on them as he could. He landed two good strikes to the person's ribs before he felt something cold press into his neck. He had a second to feel the cold spikes of the taser bite into his flesh before the button was pressed and he was limp on the floor.
He could feel his muscles lock up, and he hated it. The last time something like this had happened he had been framed for the murder of Governor Jameson by Wo Fat. He willed himself to get up, to fight through the paralyzation the electricity rushing through his body had caused. He heard the other prone figure begin to get up off the floor.
"I had him totally under control." Came a muffled but male voice. Again Steve willed his body to get up. And successfully, got his arm close enough so he could leverage up.
"He's not out. You didn't hold it long enough." The same voice said.
"Just drug the Lieutenant Commander and be done with it." A second older voice said.
The voice that was closer to the ground beside him knelt with his knee digging into his shoulder. Normally he could have struggled free, but not now. He felt his tank top being moved up and sharp prick as the needle, he was guessing, pierced his skin.
"You know for a SEAL," the first voice said again. "You were not the challenge I was hoping for." The man jerked his hands behind him, a grunt escaping him in the process. He felt the zip tie pull snug against his skin before he was kicked over onto his back. He felt a rib crack, and he growled in pain.
"I'm gonna wait till he's mostly out before I tie his legs." The first man yelled. At this point Steve's vision had cleared enough he could see that the man was wearing a gas mask, and black fatigues. He could hear heavy booted foot steps come down the stairs, belonging to the older voice.
"Shouldn't be long now Lieutenant Commander." The older voice said as he started to feel the drug, whatever it was, slow his thoughts. His eyes didn't want to stay open, and he could feel the pain in his side dull. The last fleeting thought he had, as he slipped into the darkness, was he was glad Catherine had gone surfing this morning. At least he knew she was safe, wherever he ended up.
The younger of the two abductors slipped another zip tie around the now drugged SEAL's legs. His partner helped him maneuver their prize onto a large sheet. Movies never seem to mention how heavy unconscious people are. When they can't help you carry them they are awkward and annoying to move.
"I still dont get why you're bringing along that stuff." The younger man motioned to the bag that the older man had slung over his shoulder. Grunting as he lifted Steve's prone body into the back of the van, he was rewarded with nothing more than an annoyed look. "Alright. Sorry I asked." He jumped down back onto the pavement and shut the doors.
