DISCLAIMER: None of this is mine, sadly. CSI: NY or any of it's characters do not belong to me. At all.

Hello folks! Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers. fwuzzfwuzz, LiLAqUaMaRiE, clf1991, vanpatt5.

To answer a few questions:

I don't think that this will be slash. In fact, I sincerely doubt it. There may be a little more than friends instances, and there will most definitely be bonding.

***

Mac rubbed his eyes. It had been a long night. He had stayed to catalogue some evidence and was still there, hours later. It had been happening more and more often lately, when he didn't want to try and face another empty apartment. After Peyton... he groaned. He didn't even want to think about it. He knew that this approach wasn't probably the best, but he didn't have the energy to face up to his personal demons right then and there. He was leaning in to concentrate on the DNA sample in front of him when his phone buzzed. The detective glanced at the clock - 4:53 a.m., then focused on the caller ID: Don Flack. He picked it up and flipped it open. "Don?"

"Mac?" came the voice on the other end, made tinny through the bad connection.

"Yeah, it's almost five in the morning." replied Mac, a yawn almost escaping.

"Dammit, Mac. It's Don. You need to get here - something's happened to Adam." Flack disconnected, but Mac still held the phone. The beeping finally woke him from his inaction, and he flipped his phone shut and put it down, but didn't get up. Finally, as though something was breaking free, he slammed his fist against the counter. Normally he didn't show emotion, but he was tired, and there was no one to see him. Besides, he was angry now - angry with himself. He had gotten that call, the call about the DB on Baker Street - the one that Adam had responded too.

"Adam... dammit. Adam. What have I done?" muttered Mac, rubbing his eyes again, then grabbing his badge and gun and getting ready to head out. On some level he knew that it didn't make sense to blame himself for not answering that call, but he was tired and worried, and he also knew that if anything happened to Adam he might never forgive himself for not answering that call. Please, please be okay. I don't know how much more of this I can take. He took one more deep breath, then walked out of his lab into a New York City morning.

***

Adam woke up. Immediately, there was pain. He groaned as the throbbing in his head made itself known, as well as what felt like bruises on over half of his body. His hands were taped together, and he had something over his head. A sack, or a black bag? He tried to stop from panicking. He knew that if he started hyperventilating then the bag might suffocate him, then he would really be in trouble. He shifted in the limited space, and his hands hit something cold and sticky. He gagged as he realized that the sticky substance was blood, and the cold thing was most likely a dead body.

"Can't throw up, can't throw up, can't..." groaned Adam. He didn't want to die in his own vomit. "You've made it through worse than this. You have. Just... don't throw up." He whispered his mantra over and over in the dark as the van lurched and trundled through the New York City streets.

***

"What have we got, Flack?" asked Mac, looking at the scene in front of him. Cops hurried to and fro, talking into walkie-talkies and interviewing possible witnesses - of which, Mac noticed, there were few. Almost no one was walking around at 4:30 in the morning, and of those even fewer were willing to step forward and talk to the police, especially in this part of town.

"To be honest, Mac? Nothing." Flack was flipping through his memo book with the desperation of those clinging to routine. "I sent Adam's phone down to the lab. I'm hoping that we'll find something on it that doesn't belong to Adam, maybe give us a lead. Other than that?" He shook his head. "No one saw anything. My people are running the cameras, but so far: nothing." He looked around, then leaned in. "Look, Mac. We might have to wait for a ransom note, or something. There's must be a reason why they took him." Mac glared at him.

"The evidence tells us everything we need, so that is what we will follow in the absence of any other leads, Detective Flack." Flack looked at him for a second or two, then nodded and walked away.

Mac leaned against the patrol car. He shouldn't have reprimanded Flack. He knew that the younger man was just doing his job, he knew that he ought to go home, get some sleep, and wait, but... dammit. This felt personal. He looked grimly at the scene in front of him. If they couldn't find anything on the men who had done this, then they were in trouble, or, more accurately, Adam was in trouble. A lot of trouble.

A steaming cup of coffee was shoved in front of him. "You look like you could use it." said Stella, handing it to him. "Sorry I'm late - I came as soon as I heard. Any luck here?" Mac shook his head mutely. "Cat got your tongue?" said Stella, half-laughing, half-questioning.

"I heard... I heard the call for this, but I let Adam take it. If something happens to him.." Mac shook his head again. "I can't lose any more people, Stella. I won't lose any more people. Not if I can do anything to stop it." He sipped the coffee. "We're going to head back to the lab, see if they've got anything."

The car ride was mostly silent. The tension was palpable with Mac focusing on the road, and Stella silent. When they finally arrived, Mac turned off the ignition and sat for a second or two with Stella. She broke the silence first.

"Mac." she started.

"Stella, right now..." he paused. "Right now, we're just going to focus on finding Adam."

"As soon as we get him back, though." insisted Stella. "Seriously Mac. I'm worried about you. You obviously haven't been sleeping, you haven't gone home. You worked all night." She looked at him. "Promise me you'll talk to someone."

"Fine." He looked at her in frustration. "Now can we find our technician who," he checked his watch, "has been missing for over three hours?"

***

There was light.

Adam blinked, the light shooting starbursts of pain through his head. His hands were still tied, and now his feet were too. He licked his dry lips, and tried to asses the situation, like they had been taught. He was in a room? Yeah, a pretty dark room. The plastic covering the only window and the dirt and tarps suggested it was a basement in a house that hadn't been open for a long time, maybe been closed for renovation. In fact, it looked kind of deserted, the perfect headquarters for -

"Hey, look! The lab rat woke up!" came a voice, a voice that Adam recognized. The man yelling was the same man who had smashed his head back at the lot. The men came into his line of sight, and he realized that he had been right. It was the perfect headquarters for a gang, and that was exactly what these men seemed to be. Their unifying factor appeared a red sweatshirt, but the guns that they carried all matched as well.

"Who.. who are you?" whispered Adam.

"I don't think you need to know that, Mr..." the tallest guy leaned in and read Adam's name tag. "Mr. Ross. Mr. Adam Ross. What a lovely name." His voice was friendly, but his eyes weren't. "You know something, Adam? I don't like it," he punched Adam in the stomach viciously and without warning, "when people ask me questions." He stood up, and smiled. "As it happens, a couple of my friends got picked up by a few of your friends." These last two words were punctuated with kicks to Adam's ribs. "And you're going to get them back for us. Or..." The man started walking away. "Or everyone goes home unhappy, Mr. Ross. At least, everyone except you."

"What.." Adam's voice was shaking. "What do you mean?"

"It may just be an idea of mine, but I don't think people can be unhappy when they're dead." said the other man casually. "I hate cops, so I'm sort of looking forward to it."

"To what?" asked Adam faintly.

"To watching you die."

***

So please, review. Next chapter will probably either be Mac trying to rescue Adam or reminiscing about Adam's childhood.

Don't forget about the reviewing part, please?