Author's note: (or anecdotes on writing this!) Blame my friend Penny and the strain of keeping Steve healthy for so long in Writer's Block (Penny gave me the opening line when I was discussing a plot idea with her and my muse can't resist opening lines.).So I'm afraid this just had to be written before I could get anywhere with anything else. It is, unusually for me, finished and short (Well short by my standards anyway.) I will, however be posting it in three parts because, as you know, I can't resist cliffhangers.

Disclaimer: This is a piece of fanfiction written purely for pleasure not profit, I'm just borrowing some of the characters for a while and whilst I don't promise not to hurt them (Or in Steve and Jesse's case maybe that should be I promise that I will hurt them.) I'll try and get them back in good order before I return them.

Synopsis: Steve is kidnapped, Jesse is the only witness and he and Mark must put together the clues before it is too late.

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Stone Cold.

------------------------------------------------------

Steve wondered how long it would take him to die.

A strange calm had settled over him replacing the storm of emotion that had assaulted his thoughts only moments earlier. Panic gave way to an unsettling peace as he realised that there could now only be acceptance, his own death was inevitable and he had to deal with that in the time he had left.

--

Mark looked into Jesse's eyes and the depth of despair almost forced the young man to look away, his own fears for his friend's safety, feeding into the empathy he felt with the man who stood in front of him. "We'll find him Mark," he said, forcing a confidence into his voice that he did not feel, maintaining eye contact by sheer strength of will.

Mark's reply was quiet, his voice wavering slightly. "I know we will, but will it be in time?"

--

Steve laughed, the action causing a sharp pain in his side, but he couldn't help it, he laughed again.

'Oh great, now I'm becoming hysterical,' the thought triggered an argument. 'No, but if this wasn't so real, wasn't so deadly, it would be funny, more like a plot from a Bond film than real life.'

The absurdity of the situation gripped him for a moment, in films this sort of situation was set up to give the hero a chance to escape. He thought about that for a long moment, there must be some way. but he had already tried and, even if he thought there was any chance of success, he didn't have the energy to make another attempt. This had been arranged not to allow escape but to make sure he suffered, to make sure he had time to contemplate his own death and to struggle against it, a misguided view of justice driven by hatred and a need for vengence.

He looked around once more and felt the chill of the water penetrating his skin, it had a subtle pink tinge to it, coloured by his blood, for a moment he forgot to kick his legs to keep himself afloat, and his head dipped briefly below the surface, filling his mouth with the taste of chlorine, he kicked hard to push himself back to the surface and then settled his legs back to a more steady rhythm as his pulse and breathing quickened in response. He concentrated for a moment on regaining his equilibrium.

Some maniac was going to succeed in killing him. He laughed again and this time he couldn't put it down to anything but hysteria. The laugh turned to a cough that brought more pain to his injured side and he shivered involuntarily, the water was getting colder as the Winter Sun began to drop down to the horizon, soon there wouldn't even be warmth on his face

--

Captain Newman walked up to the two doctors standing next to Steve's car. It was exactly as it had been found, lying at an odd angle in the ditch, the door open, the side crumpled and bashed where it had clearly been struck and forced off the road. He tried to sound as positive as possible. "OK I've got an APB out on him and the white van, I've also got every man I can going back through Steve's case files to look for anyone who might have a grudge." He followed Mark's gaze to the car. "At least he walked away from the crash."

Mark's expression bore none of its usual warmth and humour, his brow creased with lines of worry and his normally sparkling blue eyes reflected only the fear that he felt for his son's safety. "Dazed and at gun point," he stated, his anguish clear. Who knew what malicious intent the person who took him had?

Newman nodded, tacitly acknowledging that his man, Mark's son, was in real danger, whoever had forced Steve off the road and dragged him from the wreckage had clearly targeted him. It did not bode well, and yet he sought to reassure the older man. There was no reason to assume the worst, at least not yet. "Every cop in the city is looking for him and thanks to Dr. Travis' prompt action we have a real chance of turning something up. We should also get something from forensics on the prints we found."

Mark shook his head. "Whoever took him is going to kill him," he stated with a frightening certainty. "If we don't find him quickly it will be too late."

--

Steve forced his arms and legs to keep moving, every time he forgot or slowed down the swirling kicks that were keeping him afloat, his head dipped below the surface and he had to expend extra energy to push himself back up. Energy that he could ill afford to waste as his system weakened from the cold and the exertion.

He tried to concentrate, to keep a steady rhythm, occasionally he used his right hand to press against the wound on his side to ease the pain a little, but it was a trade off with his sapping reserves of energy as his other limbs were forced to work harder to keep his head above the surface of the water.

He looked, not for the first time, towards the side of the pool, only a few feet away and yet it might as well be a million miles. The chain tugging on his ankle prevented him from reaching it, prevented him from going anywhere, the weight dragging him under the surface if he did not work against it. In the desperate struggle when he had first been left, with the adrenaline of fear and panic heightening his senses and vitalising his actions, he had quickly established that the side was, as he had been told, unreachable, the chain that secured his ankle to the bottom of the pool, immovable. In short he had two choices, tread water or die. No, not quite, he could tread water until he didn't have the energy any longer and then die.

This time the thought of his own inevitable death did not come with calm acceptance, instead a stab of fear and despair returned, he had too much to live for to die like this. Images of all of the things he loved, passed unbidden into his mind and foremost amongst those images were those of his friends and family, his dad, Jesse, Amanda, he didn't want to leave them, not yet, not without a chance to say goodbye. Tears filled his eyes as he mourned the inevitable loss and his despair deepened.

This time he did not realise that his feet had stopped moving, did not acknowledge the water moving over his face as his head sank below the surface.

--

Newman looked towards the younger doctor, who looked pale and a little shaky on his feet, the bandage on his wrist courtesy of the EMTs the only visible sign that he too had been in the car with Steve when it had crashed. He had taken a knock to the side of the head but had refused to go to the hospital to get checked out, insisting that he stay with Mark and give all the help he could. After all he was the only witness. "Is there anything else you can remember," the police Captain asked, "Anything at all that might help?"

Jesse concentrated on his memory once more, "I remember Steve saying something like 'That's strange,' just before the white van pulled alongside and side swiped us. He told me to call it in, that's when I started the 911 call, I'd just about got through the location when the van hit so hard that Steve lost control of the steering. The next thing I remember is the voice shouting at Steve to get out and the gun pressed to his throat. I did my best to get out as well, to try to do something but I couldn't open the door. By the time I made it across the seat, the van was pulling away." He looked up apologetically at Mark, there was nothing new in what he had just said, nothing more that could help them.

"You couldn't see the plates?"

Jesse shook his head. "They were already too far away."

"But you did get a look at the guy's face."

Jesse nodded. "Briefly," he confirmed.

"Enough to identify him?"

"I'm not sure," he said quietly, "but I'll try." His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to picture the face of the man who had taken Steve. "There was." he began hesitantly "There was something familiar about him." He looked up at Mark, "Like I knew him or had seen him somewhere before."

"Where?" Mark asked a hint of desperation in his voice, he grasped at the slight hope that Jesse might be able to give them somewhere to start looking.

Jesse thought about it, trying to link the face to the memory that he knew was there. There was something he knew, something he should remember, something that would help them find Steve. He rubbed his hand tiredly across his eyes. He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "I know I've seen him I just can't remember where."

Mark looked at his young friend and felt the apology and frustration emanating from him, he was clearly badly shaken from the violent crash and from witnessing his best friend's kidnap and Mark was sure he was putting a brave face on his injuries, his wrist was, at best, badly sprained and he had at least a mild concussion, although it was Steve's side of the car that had been sideswiped, the passenger side had fared far worse as it had hit the ditch. It was a wonder he was standing at all, let alone struggling with his memories.

"It's OK," Mark said, keeping the disappointment and frustration from his voice. Part of him just wanted to scream at Jesse that he had to remember, that Steve's life may depend on it, but he knew that wouldn't help, wouldn't be fair on the young man who was just as worried as he was. "Just take things one step at a time, it will come."

"There's nothing more that we can do here," Newman said, "Why don't I get someone to drive you both to the station, Dr. Travis, you can start looking at the pictures in Steve's case files, it might throw something up, help trigger your memory."

Jesse nodded his agreement, after all standing here wasn't getting them anywhere.

"Mark?"

Mark took a last look at the crumpled car unable to banish the image of his injured son being dragged from it.

"Mark?" Newman asked again.

"Yes," Mark replied quietly, "but I'll take my own car." The need to do something was almost overwhelming, even if that was only driving himself to the station.

--

Instinct forced Steve's legs to kick, forced him to push back to the surface as his lungs screamed for oxygen. Instinct forced him to open his mouth and gasp desperately for breath as his senses refused momentarily to function. His whole world was the gasping pants that drew air into his painfully empty lungs.

Firm hands held him, guided him to the surface, supported him whilst he drew oxygen into his slight frame. He opened his eyes to see the smiling face of his father, the water had darkened his normally sandy coloured hair, his twinkling blue eyes held a hint of concern. "There you are, you're all right," the words of reassurance, spoken in comforting familiar tones, the hands firmly and evenly holding him above the surface of the water. "I thought I told you not to go past the depth where you could stand up." Mark's gentle admonishment, held a slight hint of anger for what might have happened to his young son.

"Sorry dad," Steve whispered and the harsh adult voice did not fit in with the childhood memory. The image of his father's face dissolved, the strong hands that he felt support him disappeared and he looked once more across the cold empty pool. A tear rolled down his cheek, with a curious sense of loss, for just a moment the memory had been so real that he hadn't been alone.

TO BE CONTINUED..