Disclaimer: The characters used in this story do not belong to me, or at least I'm not making any money off of them. In fact, I think I'm feeding into the franchise. Copyright holders, you guys should be thanking us . . . .

Author's Note: Some of you may have seen this story previously. It was 'aired' as a part of this year's Virtual Season. I believe the actual air date was sometime in October 2003. Due to space limitations in the Virtual Season guidelines, this story was restricted to 20 pages. I suppose you can call this version the director's cut as it has been rewritten in places and expanded. Whether you're reading for the first time, or rereading with the changes, I hope you'll enjoy the story.

Special thanks to those who helped me with this in various ways.

Rated PG-13 for potentially disturbing imagery. I will post a note at the beginning of the chapter in question.

The Decoy

By WriterJC

Part One: The Setup

"Ow! Not so tight, Jess!" Steve flinched away from his friend and business partner. "Are you this rough when your patients are really hurt?" He was seated on an examination table in the secure wing of Community General Hospital, while Jesse attached tape and bandages to various portions of his bare upper body.

"I'm trying to make this authentic." Jesse barely shot him a glance, but reached out a hand, grasped Steve's shoulder and pulled him back to where he needed him to be so that he could continue to place the bandages. "Quit being such a baby," he chided as he worked.

"I am not being a baby!" Steve huffed, and looked across at his father for back up.

Mark offered a small, distracted grin of amusement. "It's important that he makes it look as if you've really been wounded, Steve."

"Yeah, I know," Steve grumbled, scratching at the bandage over his left temple. He hadn't realized how uncomfortable the things were when there was no pain present to distract a person. "But he could at least --"

"Leave that alone," Jesse cut him off. "You're ruining my work."

Steve sighed, but moved his hand away from his temple to scratch at the hair on his chin. "How long before you're done?"

"Now," Jesse replied, finishing off with a flair. He patted the bandages slightly. "Don't get them wet. I'm sure you'll remember all of the other things you're not supposed to do. Or should I write out a list?"

"Can you write it in Russian?" Steve asked sarcastically.

"Nyet," Jesse shot back as he moved toward a shelf in the corner of the room. "But I do happen to have a handy little preprinted document. Just for you."

"You've got to be kidding me." Steve looked at the Cyrillic characters and rolled his eyes. "Fine." He turned toward his father. "I've got wound care instructions that I can't read, bandages that I don't need. A beard that's itching like the dickens. So, what's next?"

Mark approached and handed him several prescription bottles. "These are your pain killers, and your other meds. All filled in the name of Mikhail Jener. There is a tiny gray dot in the corner of the label so you'll know that they're not the real thing."

Steve looked them over, noting the distinguishing mark. "Sugar pills, right?"

"We prefer the term 'placebo'," Jesse said.

"Fine." Steve shot him a wry look. "As long as they don't have any affect on me." He sat them atop the papers that Jesse had given him. "Fake pills have officially been added to the list."

"Time for these." Mark retrieved a small oval case from his pocket and moved closer. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Just seeing the object caused apprehension to build in the pit of Steve's stomach, but he settled back onto the examination table until he was lying flat on his back.

He held onto the sides of the table as his father readjusted the overhead light. He stared beyond the lights to the paneled ceiling, trying not to notice the slight sounds as the case was opened and his dad removed the extended wear lenses Steve would be using. Steve tried to quell that mild sense of panic that rose up within him. The part of the assignment that he had been dreading wasn't putting his life in danger, but having these damned contacts put in. The thought of anything in his eyes caused him to want to clench them shut and run for the hills.

Mark leaned in a bit over him and he caught sight of one of the transparent concave lenses perched on the edge of his dad's index finger. His reflexes kicked in.

"Steve," Mark chuckled affectionately from over head. "It might be easier if you'd unclench your eyes for me."

"Oh, sorry," Steve apologized and told his eyelids to do what his father had asked. The result was that he ended up squinting up at his dad, seeing the amusement in is expression.

"Just relax," Mark said, his voice calm and gentle. "Why don't you close your eyes, as if you're going to sleep? I'll take care of the rest."

Suck it up, Sloan! Steve was starting to feel a silly that he was letting such a common procedure get to him. Besides, he trusted his dad. Blowing out a breath, he forced himself to calm down. "Okay, Dad."

"This won't take long, son. Just relax." Mark's voice was low and had a soothing sing-song quality to it. But Steve still tensed when he felt Mark touch his eyelid. He balled his hands into fists to prevent himself from reaching upward and moving his dad's hand away. Then, more quickly than he'd thought it would happen, the contact lens was slipped into his eye. In the same motion his lid was released and he began blinking.

"One more to go." He heard Mark moved around the head of the examination table to the opposite side. He kept up a calming dialogue as the process was repeated on the other eye. And then it was all over. Steve accepted the tissue that was handed to him as he blinked away reactive tears. Then, looking about the room, he was surprised to find that things looked much the same. But the thin lenses felt odd against his corneas.

He sat up and took the thin-framed glasses that his father next handed to him. Slipping them on, he got down from the table and faced the two men. quot;Vhat do you think?" he asked with the soft Russian accent that he had been cultivating the past week.

"See for yourself." Mark grinned and waved him toward the mirror above the sink in the corner of the room.

Steve moved toward it. He was more than a little curious after all of the preparation that had gone into getting ready for the role. He'd been allowing his beard and mustache to grow in, and he'd forgone visiting his usual barber in favor of an FBI specialist. All so that he could act as decoy for Mikhail Jener, a Russian businessman who was to testify for the FBI at trial.

As he came to a stop before the mirror, he was amazed at what he saw. His hair, usually combed back away from his face, was brushed forward, forming somewhat longish bangs. It had been lightened a bit, and styled in the way that Jener apparently wore his hair. Streaks of gray had been added, as well, to enhance the resemblance. The beard and mustache, he'd gotten used to over the past few days, but the stylist had done wonders with it. Both were trimmed short and neat, but gray had been added there as well. The addition of striking gray contacts completed the look. It was the feature Jener was most known for, his eyes. And now, to the casual observer, Steve Sloan looked like Mikhail Jener.

All three men turned at the tap on the door. It then opened to reveal FBI Special Agent Ronald Wagner. He was the person who had brought Steve in on the operation. "We all set in here?" His eyes settled on Steve for a moment and he whistled with amazement. "I knew you guys had some similarities, but this is incredible," he said, coming farther into the room and circling the detective. "You are Mikhail Jener."

"You think so, no?" Steve asked, feigning the accent and Jener's speech pace with a grin.

Ron shook his head and winced. "Remember to cough occasionally. Let them know you caught a cold in the hospital. That'll account some for the voice differences. Don't talk too much."

"We've been over it a hundred times," Steve said, remembering each of those occasions with very little joy. He'd been drilled to within an inch of his sanity. He knew more about the other man's speech patterns, likes and dislikes than he'd ever wanted to. But it was all necessary in order for the ruse to work.

Someone had tried to kill Jener while under FBI protection. Someone on the inside. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen his attacker. He had barely gotten out alive. He'd been transferred to Community General's secure wing at Ron's request, as the trial was to take place in Los Angeles Country in just three more days. Two attempts had already been made in the hospital, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to ensure the safety of the other patients.

And now, Steve was being set up in a new safe house, with a new team, masquerading as Jener, while the real Jener was spirited away as Steve Sloan, whose current status was officially on vacation. Even Steve wouldn't know where Jener was, though he had his suspicions.

"So one more time won't hurt," Ron shot back in response to his statement. "These drills are for your protection, Steve. And our witness's. Now, why don't you get dressed? I'll be back with the wheelchair so we can get you out of here."

"Right." Steve looked about for his clothing. "Don't I even get to see this guy who's playing me?"

Ron shook his head. "It's too risky for the two of you to be seen together. Besides, he doesn't have half your charm." With that he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"I'll just . . . go. . . " Jesse gestured in the direction of the door that Ron had just departed through. He pointed at Steve on his way out. "You be careful. I don't want to have to try to run a BBQ joint by myself."

"Somebody's got to keep you from putting in a salad bar," Steve shot back just as the door closed.

He turned back to his father, who stood ready to hand him a shirt. Steve didn't miss the anxiety that he was studiously trying to hide while he moved to clean up the various remnants of supplies that had been used.

"You'll finally get to have the house to yourself for a few days." He tried a joke to lift his father's mood. Mark barely smiled.

Steve sighed before moving closer to his father. "I'll be all right, Dad. Someone will be with me at all times. One of the agents at the safe house even has medical experience, just in case. And if that doesn't help, check out these glasses."

He took them off and handed them to his father, explaining, "They have one-way communications. So, Ron will be able to hear everything I do." He lifted his arm and displayed the watch that was banded around his wrist. "This watch can be converted into a phone in case of an emergency, and is equipped with GPS satellite tracking software. They'll know where I am better than I will."

Mark's pitiful excuse for a smile broadened only slightly as he handed the high-tech glasses back to his son. "I know, Steve." He ran a hand over his head while he tried to find the right words to convey what he was feeling. "I know. And all of this is very impressive, but when you walk out that door, you'll have a target on your back. I just . . . I just want you to be careful."

"I will, Dad," Steve said. "I promise."

~*~*~*~*~*

Jesse entered an examination room halfway along the secure wing. It was furnished with the usual medical equipment that was found in other rooms, but there was also a door which adjoined it to another room. He tapped on the door waiting for the voice on the other side to grant permission for him to enter.

Upon receiving the words, he opened the door and stepped into the room. Cheryl had arrived, and sat off to the side of the man who would be pretending to be Jesse's best friend for the next few days. Agent Wagner was also in the room, having already decided to time Steve and Mikhail's departures closely together. Jesse was there awaiting his final instructions. It thrilled him to be included in some small way with the operation.

"Wow." Jesse had to blink when he saw the finished results of Jener's transformation. His hair had been darkened to a deep auburn to match Steve's, the beard and mustache were gone, and he now wore blue contacts. Though Jener had a broader build and his face was fuller, the resemblance was still uncanny. If one didn't know him very well, he could very easily be mistaken for Steve Sloan.

"You understand what you're supposed to do, Dr. Travis?" Ron asked, bringing him out of his surprised observations.

Jesse dragged his gaze distractedly away from Jener. "Uh, yeah. We drive by BBQ Bob's, where Cheryl and 'Steve' drop me off. I make sure I yell their names when I say goodbye."

"Right." Ron turned back to Cheryl. "Detective Banks. Do you understand your part in this?"

"Yes," Cheryl nodded matter-of-factly. "I drive to the beach house where you and your team will already be waiting."

"Good." Ron then turned to Jener, who hadn't spoken at all since Jesse entered the room. "Do you understand your part in all of this?"

"I will be the part of Steven Sloan for two days. After this, we will go to the trial where I am to testify. I understand."

Ron nodded the affirmative. "Timing is important here. I'm going to get Steve ready. You'll need to be leaving in exactly five minutes. Two agents that I trust with my life will be with you every step of the way. You won't see them, but they'll be there."

Jesse could feel the palpable tension as Ron in turn locked gazes with everyone in the room, before turning and leaving. Suddenly the situation seemed so much more serious.

~*~*~*~*~*

Steve settled back into the wheelchair as Ron began to push him out of the examination room and into the corridor. A man dressed in a dark suit had been placed on the door at some point during Steve's 'makeover'. He waited until Ron had pushed the wheelchair a couple of yards and walked along behind them at a distance. Steve groaned slightly at so obvious a bureau tactic.

"Remember, you're Mikhail Jener," Ron murmured quietly from above him. "You're not here to find out who the mole is, or try to take down this person. And you're definitely not here to critique my team. Understand?"

Steve fought to avoid a dry expression, carefully schooling his features as if he was listening intently and eagerly to the agent's words, but his quietly accented, "Yes, Agent Wagner," was infused with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Ron wasn't given an opportunity to respond to Steve's remarks as another dark-suited agent approached and murmured something in his ear. Ron replied back, then directed the agent to return to the nest.

"Problems?" Steve fought to suppress his frustration at his lack of knowledge of all of the details. He hadn't been included in many of the planning sessions to avoid revealing his identity to more people than necessary, so didn't know where 'the nest' was, or any of the other phrases that had been developed to describe the secret locations associated with the mission.

"No. Everything is going according to schedule," was Ron's reply.

"Oh. Good," Steve said wryly. As far as he was concerned, he could play the part of decoy, but that didn't mean that he had to be a helpless sitting duck. He had a gun stowed away in an ankle holster, and a few other surprises, as well. If someone attacked 'Jener' again, he'd be ready.

The wheelchair was delivered to a private garage off the secure wing in short order, where a black, subtly armored SUV was parked near the exit doors. The area had been otherwise cleared of vehicles and people. Only two serious faced agents awaited them, standing alongside the automobile.

There were no words spoken as Steve allowed himself to be loaded inside, feigning weakness. He stooped a bit at the waist as if his mid-section pained him. It felt silly to be play-acting, but he didn't know if the two agents were in on the ruse. He realized then that he would not be able to let his guard down at all over the next three days. He would be all alone among strangers, none of whom he could trust.

~*~*~*~*~*

"He's on the move."

"Is everything in place?"

"Yes."

"Good."