Don groaned as an agonizing pull on his arms woke him from the peaceful darkness. Why do my arms hurt so bad? My shoulders too… It's like someone lit them on fire. He forced his eyes to open, quickly closing them again as the room swam before him. Taking a deep breath, Don repeated the action, but more slowly to allow his eyes time to adjust.

Okay, I seem to be standing up… No, the bottoms of my feet aren't touching anything but it feels like someone's trying to cut them off. Once his vision had stabilized, Don let his gaze trail downward, memories flooding back as he saw the heavy block tied around his ankles, the rope painfully digging into his flesh to the point it had broken the skin. That's right – they hung me up like this so they could beat me. The baseball bats…

A shiver ran through the agent's body as he vividly remembered the heavy blows and sharp crack as some of his ribs failed under the harsh assault. No wonder it hurts to breathe. Right now just being awake hurts. Every single part of his body seemed to burn with an ache so deep that it almost brought tears to his eyes. His joints were screaming at him from being stretched for such a prolonged period of time while his muscles throbbed non-stop under the darkening purple and black bruises mottling his flesh.

Stop it! Don yelled at himself. Dwelling on how bad you feel isn't helping matters any, Eppes. Why don't you think about how to get out of this mess instead? He actually laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought. He was by no means a pessimist but the agent really couldn't see any possible way out of his situation. Gardenia and his boys had executed his and Colby's abductions efficiently and – if the lack of a rescue was any indication – flawlessly. Colby had been… No, don't think about that. You have to focus on your own situation now.

Don swallowed back a wave of grief for his friend but managed to steer his thoughts back to his predicament. No matter what angle he took, escape seemed to be an impossible scenario. His captors always kept him thoroughly restrained, if not drugged, and as weak as he felt after the electric shock and beating Don doubted he could have wrestled his way past a kitten. A feeling of hopelessness began to creep into his mind, but the agent was able to banish it as he thought of the one thing that might be able to save him – Charlie.

As much as Don hated not being in control of his own situation, he found it almost easy to put his fate in his little brother's hands. After all, he'd seen Charlie pull leads out of thin air as he worked his complex equations and had seen the young genius work tirelessly on cases that were important to him. Don knew that his younger brother would do anything for him, so all he had to hope for now was some of that good old Charlie magic that never ceased to amaze him. Come on, Buddy. I'm counting-

Don was suddenly ripped from his thoughts as his body was consumed in white hot, liquid fire. All the agony from earlier seemed to fade away to a minor ache as the agent struggled against his bonds, desperately trying to arch his back away from the torturous assault. Tears fell from his eyes as the fire spread to random spots across his chest and stomach, the most intense heat pooling in the waistband of his jeans.

"Aww, did we catch the Fed off guard?" Don barely heard the taunting voice over his ragged breathing.

"Look how red his skin is," a second voice piped up as a hand roughly slapped him on the back. The contact on his skin set off another round of torment and the agent had to bite his lip to keep from screaming in pain.

"Check it out," the first voice cackled. "It got all the way around to his front, too. He's already got blisters." Even though he suspected it was coming, Don couldn't contain a moan as a finger jabbed against his burning skin.

Through a haze of pain, the injured man saw Gardenia standing in front of him. "You don't look very well at all, my friend. I've been told scalding water is quite painful. Judging by the look on your face, I'd say that's true."

Come on, Eppes, Don silently berated himself. You should be able to snap off some witty comeback. But his mind was too clouded from pain and exhaustion, so the agent could only slump in his bonds as Gardenia peered closely at his injuries.

"I can end this, you know," the crime boss crooned. "No more pain – just a peaceful voyage to the other side. All you have to do is ask." He frowned when the injured man refused to respond. "Do you like pain, Eppes? Do you enjoy these sessions of ours?"

Don stared rebelliously at the crime boss as he pointedly clamped his mouth shut. I won't give you the pleasure, he vowed silently.

Gardenia let out a melodramatic sigh and gestured to Jacob. "Suit yourself, my friend. We have another dose of water ready that I was hoping to spare you from. But if you continue to be stubborn, well… I have no choice."

Don saw the thug with the bucket move closer to him, his arms flexing as he prepared to pour the scalding water on him.

"Focus on his legs this time, Jacob," Gardenia ordered.

"Yes sir," the brute replied with a huge grin on his face.

Don closed his eyes and gritted his teeth but nothing could prepare him for the fire that erupted all down the front and back of his legs. His jeans became soaked and heavy, adding to the pull on his arms while holding the hot water against his skin. The increased discomfort sped up Don's respiration, his breaths shallow and ineffective as his broken ribs made their presence known. Despite his best efforts to take slow, deep breaths, his vision clouded as his brain screamed for oxygen.

"Let him down," Don barely heard Gardenia's order over the roar in his ears.

He was suddenly falling and loudly groaned in pain as the concrete floor of his prison rushed up to meet his battered body. Don awkwardly floundered on the ground as he tried to find a position to lie in that wouldn't put too much pressure on his bruises, burns or broken ribs. He had just about given up when the rope around his ankles was cut and an iron grip latched onto his arms and legs, lifting him off the ground and slinging him back onto the metal table that had become his home. The agent moaned in distress as his blistered back protested the harsh landing and it took only a few seconds for Don to realize he was being burned all over again. The agent summoned up every last ounce of strength he had and threw himself to the side, knocking over one of his captors and landing on top of him.

"What the-" the man underneath him yelled. "Get him off of me, Jacob!"

The chain between the metal bracelets around Don's wrists was wrenched backwards, igniting a fresh trail of agony in his shoulders, and he was tossed to the side as the blond man clambered to his feet. "Dumb move, Fed," Roberto growled in a dangerous tone as he towered menacingly over the injured man. "Help me get him back on the table, Jacob."

The agent had no strength left with which to fight and was helpless as the two brutes tossed him onto the table for a second time. Once again his back felt as if it were being set on fire but Don could only lie there and accept his fate as his captors set about locking the leather restraints into place.

"Damn!" Jacob suddenly swore.

"What?" Roberto snarled.

"That table's hot," the thug answered as he blew on his burned finger.

Don watched as the blond reached out and grazed his hand across the surface next to his shoulder, smiling as he felt the intense heat radiating from the metal surface. He cocked his head at the agent and leaned over him with a sinister look in his eyes. "Is that why you wanted down so bad?"

"What is it?" Gardenia inquired as he approached the table.

"It's the heater, Mister G," Jacob observed. "It heated up the table while we were gone."

"Oh my," the crime boss chuckled coldly. "That has to hurt on top of the burns you already have. Surely you're ready to say the magic words now?"

"Rot… in hell," Don panted as he clenched his eyes shut against the waves of pain coursing through his body.

"I probably will one day," the crime boss agreed. "But not any time soon. You, on the other hand… Jacob, I was going to turn the heater off until morning, being the energy conscious citizen that I am, but I've had a sudden change of heart."

"Good plan," Jacob laughed. "Wouldn't want our little friend here getting too cold tonight."

"So, Eppes," Gardenia whispered, his voice close and his hand brushing along Don's arm. "Unless you have something you want to ask me, I'll be seeing you in the morning."

As much as his entire body ached and as badly as he wanted the torture to end, Don was a stubborn man and he refused to give in to the crime boss's will. Besides, the longer he held out, the more time Charlie and his team had to find him.

"Suit yourself, my friend," Gardenia sighed as he led the two thugs from the room, switching off the lights and closing the door behind them, leaving Don alone in the dark.

Only when a few minutes had passed and he was certain they had no intentions of returning for the night, did Don allow the pain and exhaustion to break through his defenses. He tried lifting his body from the metal surface, but the waist and shoulder straps held him firmly against the source of his torment. As the heat continued to sear his already damaged skin, tears began pooling in his eyes and Don was ashamed when one broke loose and rolled down his temple to rest in his hair.

Hurry up, Charlie, he begged silently. I don't know how much longer I can do this.

--

"Megan," Charlie called excitedly as he tracked her down. "I've got it."

"The car?" she asked as she looked up from the conference table.

"Yes. I ran the tread pattern through my database and got a hit on the brand and size. Assuming our suspects haven't customized the vehicle, they're driving a Honda Civic."

"That's great Charlie," the agent replied as she jotted down the newest information.

"Did you find any cameras at the airstrip?"

"No, we didn't. It's the kind of place that's not big on security."

"So you just have the make and model?" the professor asked, disappointment written across his features. "That's it?"

"We also know the color and that it's probably an '05 or '06." Seeing the despair on his face, Megan leaned over and gripped his hand. "It may not seem like much, but it's a start, Charlie."

"I know," he whispered. "It's just… It's been so long. I can't help but think that he might be…"

"We have no evidence of that," the agent interrupted firmly. "Absolutely none."

"Right, but if he's not…" Charlie wiped at his eyes and shook his head. "Then where is he? And is he okay? I mean, what if he's hurt?"

"We don't have any evidence of that either."

"We don't have any evidence, period," the professor hissed angrily. He quickly blinked his eyes and grabbed her hand before she could pull it away. "I didn't mean it like that. I know you're doing the best that you can. I just… I want my brother back."

"I know," Megan whispered as she enveloped the young man in hug. "Me too." She leaned back and rubbed the professor's shoulder in a soothing manner. "Tell you what, why don't you go home and get some rest? There's really not much you can do here right now. And I promise to call you if anything changes."

As much as he didn't want to leave, the young genius knew that a trip home to rest would work wonders for his mental and physical health. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll have my cell and laptop with me, so call me when you have something." After her assurances that she would, Charlie packed up his stuff, reluctantly climbed into the elevator and headed to his car.

As he pulled out of the parking garage and onto the street, Charlie was only mildly surprised to find himself headed away from his house and toward Don's apartment. He wanted to feel closer to his brother and could think of no better way to do that than to visit Don's residence. True to his promise to his father, the professor stopped at a fast food joint and grabbed a burger but only managed to eat half of it before his appetite left him.

Soon Don's building appeared up ahead and Charlie was surprised by just how much the sight lifted his spirits. He pressed down on the accelerator and within minutes he'd parked in the building's garage and was on his way up to Don's floor. When he reached his brother's door, Charlie unlocked it with shaking hands and flung it open, almost as if he expected to find Don sprawled on the couch, demanding to know why he was barging in without calling. But the couch was unoccupied and the whole apartment had a vast, empty quality to it that sent a chill down his spine. It's like it knows he's gone, Charlie mused as he wandered down the short hallway.

Forcing a laugh at the ridiculous thought, the young genius went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He noticed a handful of unwashed dishes in the sink and frowned as he realized Don had probably planned to wash them when he got home the night he was taken. As if in a trance, the professor found himself filling the sink with soap and water before carefully scrubbing each and every plate, fork and glass. He eyed them after each rinse, only setting them in the drainer to dry once he made sure there wasn't even a speck of food left on them. Wouldn't do for Don to come home to dirty dishes, Charlie told himself.

Once he'd finished with that chore, he moved into Don's living room and began straightening up in there, too. He carefully stacked the mail in two piles, one opened and the other unopened, then proceeded to make sure the oldest letters were on top. Charlie straightened and fluffed cushions and even stacked up the CD cases lying by the stereo, although he didn't put them back on the shelf, knowing his brother was very particular about the order he kept them in. Once the living room looked presentable, the professor moved into Don's spare bedroom and shook his head at the unopened boxes lining the walls.

It's been three years since you moved out here, Charlie thought. I'd think you'd have unpacked by now, but your job does keep you busy. At least when you're ready to move again you won't have much packing to do. Or if Dad and I have to…

The thought popped into his head before he could stop it and Charlie felt his knees go weak as sorrow seized his heart. He backed out of the room and stumbled into his brother's bedroom, falling on the bed and curling into a ball as waves of sorrow and guilt crashed over him. I'm so sorry, Don, he sobbed silently. I should have found you by now. You have to be okay, though. I need you to be okay. Charlie blindly reached toward the head of the bed and clutched his brother's pillow, pulling it down and hugging it to his chest as he pressed his face against it. Please, Don. I need my big brother back.

His prayers went unanswered as his cell phone remained mute and Charlie soon drifted off to sleep, where he dreamed of death and loss and life without his beloved big brother.

--

"Any word on Don?" Colby asked as David entered his hospital room.

"The helicopter pilot that flew you out of LA said Don was alive when you were taken to the airstrip."

"A lot of time has passed since then."

"Yeah," David sighed in frustration, not wanting to dwell on that fact. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll be better once you hand over whatever's in that bag you're hiding."

David grinned as he removed the bag from beneath his jacket and produced a very large burger, piled high with all of the condiments he knew his friend loved. "You owe me, man."

"Anything," Colby promised as he took a bite of the sandwich. "Just name your price."

"I will."

After a moment of silence while the injured man devoured his burger, his face lit up in joy. "The doc said they'll spring me tomorrow."

"No kidding? That's great."

"As soon as I'm out of here, I want to be on a plane and headed home."

"Home, yes. Office – no."

"Yes," Colby insisted. "Look, I was with Don when we were grabbed. For some reason I'm alive and he's still out there somewhere in God knows what condition. I want – need – to help. You can understand that, right?"

"Of course I do," David nodded. "But you also need to rest so you can recover."

"I'll rest when we find Don." He stared at his friend and raised an eyebrow. "Tell me you wouldn't want the same thing if you were in my position."

"I would," his friend agreed. "Look, I'll get you to the office but if Megan has a fit, you're on your own."

"Coward," Colby teased with a grin.

"Nah," David shook his head. "More like discretion and valor and all that good stuff."

"Right," the injured agent sarcastically drawled. "Tell you what, if you've got another burger in that bag, I'll go with your story."

"What do you know, Granger?" his friend grinned as he produced another sandwich. "Looks like you're in luck."

TBC