Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for your kind words about this new story! I know I need to keep working on Forsaken, but Invasion has been in my head and I just had to get Chapter 2 written and posted! Enjoy!

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"Don't worry, Commander." Dr. Phillips smiled at Steve and placed a hand on his arm. "You haven't wasted my time. I'm just sorry I couldn't be of more help."

Steve mustered a wan smile in response, and his gaze went back to the John Doe on the bed. He did resemble Danny but looked at least ten years older. Something about him just bugged Steve, and he couldn't figure out what it was. He shook the feeling away, filing it in the back of his mind for closer examination later. He had more important things to deal with now. He had to find Danny.

"Commander?"

Steve turned his attention back to Dr. Phillips, who had focused a puzzled gaze on him. "I know you've got privacy laws to observe, Doctor, but I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know before you discharge him." As he spoke, he extracted a business card from his wallet and handed it to her.

She wrinkled her forehead as she accepted the card. "Oh? Are you having second thoughts?"

Steve shook his head. "No... he's too old to be Danny. But... I just have this feeling that somehow, I'm missing something, and... well... I've learned to trust my gut."

Dr. Phillips glanced at the card, then back up at Steve. "All right, Commander. I'll let you know. I really hope you find your friend soon."

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Steve sank into the driver's seat and pounded his fists against the steering wheel. "Dammit, Danny! Where are you?!" He should have known better — he did know better. Never get so set on one lead panning out that you don't have a plan B. Now he had to figure out his plan B. And if necessary, he'd go on to C, D, and E, whatever it took. But one thing he knew for certain — there would be no plan that involved going home without Danny.

Sitting there in his rental car, a silent snowfall drifting down outside, he pulled out his cellphone and messaged Tani. No luck at the hospital. Anything more on the cell phone?

He knew he was grasping at straws. She would have messaged him immediately if she'd heard anything. Hell, it was two a.m. in Hawaii, and she was probably home in bed. But asking gave him something to do while he figured out his next step. Her response came less than a minute later. Sorry, Boss. Never came on again. You'll be the first to know.

His fingers flew over the onscreen keyboard. Heading to Breckenridge. Going to visit the hotel. Maybe someone will recognize his photo. Get some sleep. He set the phone down and turned the key in the ignition. He hadn't switched the radio off when he parked earlier, and when he got the engine going, he realized he'd come in on the middle of a weather report.

"—Negative three with the wind chill factor," the announcer droned. "The projected high for today is 20 degrees. Snow will continue throughout the day, with blizzard conditions expected mid-morning. Look for at least two feet out of this storm system in the Denver metro area, with up to four feet at higher altitudes. This is no morning to be on the roads, folks. Go back to bed and stay warm. Sorry to disappoint all you skiers, but I-70 is closed from Georgetown to the western border of the state. Stay tuned for a list of school closures —"

Steve flicked off the radio with a growl of frustration. "Figures." He cranked up the heater. The windshield was coated with heavy wet snow, with a thin sheet of ice underneath it, and even with the heat from the defroster, the wipers just couldn't move it. "Note to self," Steve muttered as he reached for the scraper - brush combo in the passenger seat floorboard. "Include some winter clothes in my go bag." He needed to get himself a decent coat.

He stepped out into the snow again and made quick work of brushing away the accumulated snow and then scraping the ice. The cold air cut sharply through his light cotton shirt. Shivering, he got back in the driver's seat, buckled up, and backed out of his parking spot. His eyes fell briefly on the digital clock in the dashboard. Five a.m. He should probably see about getting a hotel room, if he could find one that would check him in at this hour, and crash for a while. He wouldn't do Danny any good if he ended up in a ditch because he dozed off and lost control on slick roads.

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Instructions pounded in his head. "Shoot the security guard. Three shots. Center mass." He wasn't exactly sure where the voice was coming from or who it belonged to, but he heard it plain as day. A sultry voice... alluring... wrapping around him like a warm blanket. Suffocating him. He hated it, and yet somehow, he craved its praise. But to obey this instruction? Well, it went against everything he stood for.

The convenience store was a soft target — only one guard. Bad lighting. And he had already disabled the alarm system. He knew the job would be easy, if he could just get past this first obstacle. He hid in the shadows, watching the guard as he made rounds. A shiver passed through his entire body. This was all wrong, but thinking about it made his head ache. Well, actually, his head ached and buzzed all the time, and it got worse when he resisted doing as he was told. Then his thoughts got disjointed and his legs got weak and wouldn't hold him up and the buzzing got louder. He hated the buzzing. High pitched, it echoed inside his brain and never stopped. At first he'd thought it was something with the lights, but eventually he'd realized it was inside him, and it was driving him insane.

He tried not to think about the instructions, tried to think only of doing exactly as he was told, disconnecting his thoughts from his actions. He stepped out from his hiding place, weapon raised, but aimed slightly at the guard's gun hand instead of his chest. He would get out of this alive and with the money he was sent to steal, but without a life on his conscience. He frowned as the buzzing started and tried to shake the vague thoughts from his mind.

The instruction repeated, exploding in his brain. "Shoot the security guard. Three shots. Center mass." The buzzing rose in pitch and volume, screaming through his head. He adjusted his aim only slightly. Pulled the trigger. Sighed in relief as the guard dropped his gun and fell, clutching a bleeding hand to his chest.

The darkness around him faded into the bright glare of his prison. The image of the convenience store and the injured guard disappeared. He stared in confusion and tried to look around, but then realized he was strapped in a chair, a strange device locking his head in place. The scene they'd fed him had seemed real, but now the details were rapidly fading from his mind and he couldn't grasp them quick enough to hold them in his memory.

"Test Two, failed." The sultry voice was gone now, replaced by the clinical, scientific voice. The one that grated on his nerves.

Test? What did that mean anyway? And when would the squealing in his head stop? He couldn't quite remember where it started or when, but he felt as if his head were about to explode.

He shut his eyes, squeezing them tight in an attempt to shut out the glaring light. He craved the darkness, craved peace, craved quiet. Suddenly, he became briefly aware of a sensation of cold in his right arm, spreading through him. And then his awareness faded completely.

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After a quick stop at a 24-hour big box store to purchase some winter-appropriate clothing, Steve found a small hotel on Hampden Avenue that had an available room and could check him in at six a.m. It was a cheap place — a bit of a dive, really, but reasonably clean and good enough for his needs. He didn't set an alarm. Ten a.m. here would be seven in Honolulu, and he knew his internal clock wouldn't let him sleep much past that, even if he only got a few hours sleep. After hanging the do-not-disturb sign on the outside doorknob, he sacked out on the bed and slipped into a restless sleep.

When he awoke, it was daylight, though the sky was a pale grey. He'd heard the saying that Colorado had more sunny days than San Diego or Miami Beach, but if that was true, today sure wasn't one of them. It was only spitting snow at the moment, but the dark clouds over the mountains held the ominous threat of something more. He flipped on the television, then cycled through the channels until he found a local weather report. Nothing had changed since early that morning — I-70 was still closed and he had no way to get to Breckenridge. He watched on the video feed as the news reporter explained that the National Guard had dispatched Humvees along both I-25 south to Colorado Springs and west along I-70 to look for and rescue stranded motorists.

"I need to get on one of those Humvees," he murmured, and then he smiled faintly. "And I know just the man to make it happen." He plucked his cell phone off the dresser and dialed a number from memory.

Steve had met Colonel Dean Barlow when they had served together on a joint op in Somalia. The two men had become good friends on that mission. They teased each other mercilessly, but when things got serious, Steve had saved Dean's life. When they got home, Dean gave him his personal phone number. "I owe you one, Steve. You ever need anything, you call me, day or night, got it?" They hadn't seen each other since, but they kept in touch. Barlow now served in a command position in the Colorado Army National Guard. If anyone could get Steve on a Humvee headed toward Breckenridge, he could.

After the phone rang a few times, Steve heard a deep, guttural voice on the other end. "About time I heard from you again, Squid. You callin' to gloat about that Hawaiian sunshine while we're up to our asses in snow?"

Steve chuckled. "I'm shivering in your neck of the woods, Colonel Dogface, and I'm calling in that favor you owe me." He explained the situation and his needs, and within a few minutes the two had hashed out a plan. It was easy enough for a Humvee crew out of Buckley Air Force Base to take a slight detour and pick Steve up near the hotel. Steve washed and dressed and was out the door within ten minutes, headed for the rendezvous point.

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Danny awoke with a start and sat up in bed, his shoulders heaving as he sucked in air. Gentle fingers twined themselves about his arm and a soft voice spoke next to his ear. "Are you all right, love?"

He jammed the palms of his hands against his temples, unable to answer just yet. He needed to orient himself, figure out where he was. And he needed that damned buzzing in his head to stop. He glanced around the room, his eyes taking in the details as he grounded himself. The wood-burning fireplace on the far wall... daylight streaming in through the skylight... snow on pine branches outside the window. "Colorado," he breathed out. Still pressed firmly against his head, his hands traveled down to the back of his neck. "Ski trip."

"You're worrying me, Danny." The sultry voice indulged in a nervous laugh and the fingers pushed their way into the crook of his elbow and tugged one hand away from his head.

Rachel? No... the accent was wrong, more of a brogue than Rachel's proper, crisp English. He turned to look at her, his thoughts casting wildly about for her name. "M... Miranda?" He regretted the uncertainty of his tone as soon as he saw her lower lip jut out in a pout. Damn, she was beautiful. Why did that warm emerald gaze send such a chill through his heart? "Miranda," he said, more certain now. "I... I'm fine. Just a nightmare, that's all. What are you —"

She didn't give him a chance to finish. "That dream again?" The pout smoothed itself into a worried smile, and she began to massage his neck. Her touch was magic. He pivoted slightly to give her a better angle. Her fists worked their way from down the back, seeking out all the knots and gradually smoothing them away.

He gasped and jerked away instinctively when he felt her lips against his skin. Something was wrong about this... all wrong. He squirmed away from her touch. "Miranda, please... I... I can't." He couldn't remember coming to bed with her... he knew he hadn't invited her in. He wasn't even sure when or where he'd met her.

"Lie back, my love," she soothed, her brogue forcing its way into his thoughts. "Rest. You've been very sick... a high fever... seizures... the doctor said you might not remember."

He eased back against the pillows and stared at her. "Remember what?"

Her fingers stroked his cheek and then she turned to grab something from the bedside table next to her. She held it out to him. A wedding photo. She was dressed in a flowing white gown and clutching a bouquet; he wore a tux. He noticed the ring on her finger and glanced down to see a matching one on his own.

"We're... we're married?" His brow furrowed and he sought his memory for the event. It just didn't feel right, didn't fit. He didn't love her... did he? The more he tried to puzzle it out, the more his head buzzed.

She caressed his cheek again and gave him an indulgent smile. "Two weeks ago. We came to Colorado on our honeymoon, but you got sick right after we arrived. Really, you should have gone to the hospital, but we were snowed in. Thankfully, there was a doctor nearby who was willing to come here to see you. He's been taking care of you ever since."

It still didn't sound right to him, but somehow the closer he listened to her voice, the less his head buzzed. That was good enough reason to pay attention to every word she spoke. "Keep talking," he murmured as his eyelids sank shut. "Th' wedding," he slurred out. "Tell me 'bout it."

She did as he asked, and he allowed the stream of her words to carry him into a deep slumber.