At Kimmilein's request (which, of course I don't mind. (Especially when it's a good one. ;) ) Any suggestions and requests are more than welcome. It lets me know that you are truly interested in my story), this is Don's kidnapping from his own point of view...just a little half-chapter that I wrote while in the car on the way to visit my grandmother. I was seriously bored and carsick for more than half of it, so if it's not very good, I apologize...stuff happens. ;)

So, of course, I dedicate this chapter to her, because she gave me something to do for nearly six hours. :D Thanks for the idea.

I would also like to add that if you don't know that I don't own these characters by now, you obviously haven't been reading well, because I've explained that in every single chapter. And I'll say it again...I don't own it. No matter how many times I write to Santa and ask for the rights for Christmas. :Pouts:

Chapter 3 ½

I followed my blonde friend down to the parking lot, smiling to myself. With any luck, Terry would know now that I was still very interested in a relationship. She seemed to be returning my attentions, so I kept the approach moving eagerly, but with caution.

As we strapped into the car, I attempted to control my shivering. It was March—too cold to be out in nothing but a short-sleeved dress shirt. I turned the heat on full-blast and pulled out into the street, throwing my companion a grin over my shoulder as I moved.

She smiled back, then quickly turned to gaze out the window. I wondered what that meant. She was impossible to read sometimes.

Clearing my throat, I slid her a sideways glance. "Last chance." I warned, digging through the front pocket of my shirt. "I'm ordering. Are you sure you don't want anything?"

She laughed, the sound filling my night with a ray of brightness. "I'm sure."

"Okay..." I replied in a teasing tone. I quickly dialed the number I'd programmed in before leaving the hotel, placed an order for my favorite (good old sweet-and-sour chicken), and flipped the phone closed, sliding it back into my pocket.

I got the feeling she was nervous, which was very uncommon for her. Suddenly, she burst out with, "Are you worried about this case?"

I was stunned for a moment at her outburst; then, I wasted about two full minutes trying to think of an adequate answer. Finally, my mind decided on, "Yes. It's always harder when the vic's just a kid, you know?" I shifted my weight again nervously and a hiss of pain threatened to escape when my gun drove hard into my hip. I reached down with my right hand and fumbled for the strap, nearly desperate to release myself from the relentless pain.

"Would you let me help you with that before you get us both killed?" She asked quietly. I froze for a moment. She wants to touch me? That's a new development. She seemed to have been avoiding all physical contact with me for the past few weeks. Then I thought, almost angrily, What are you complaining about, Eppes? Shut up and let her!

I quickly realized that I was talking to myself (an unfortunate side-effect that seems to occur only in her presence) and removed my hand. Within seconds, her hands were toying with the strap, only slightly more gracefully than I had done. Again, I was struck by her uncharacteristic nervousness. Finally, she removed her hand, taking the gun with it, and laid my weapon on her lap.

I fought for something to say, "Thanks, that was really killing me."

She smiled at me again, "No problem."

I decidedthat nowwas an excellent time to take the plunge and ask the question that had been nagging at my mind for days. I pulled to a stop at a red light and turned to face her. "Terry, can I ask you something?"

She turned as well, and our eyes locked. My mouth went dry, and I felt my tongue stumbling to form words. This appeared to be another condition of the strange affliction that attacked only when I was near her. I blinked, breaking our gaze, "Before, when we were still dating, you said that-"

The squawk of a car's horn made me jump, and my train of thought flew straight out the window. I glanced up, realizing that the light had changed. Curse it. I thought angrily, turning onto East Avenue. How come every time I try to have a conversation with this woman, something has to interrupt me?

"Don?" Terry's gentle voice broke into my thoughts.

"There it is." I pointed across her body at a bright neon sign.

Impatience tainted her words, "Yes, there it is. Now what were you saying?" She asked, raising an eyebrow in that way she always does.

As I tried to remember exactly what I had been wanting to say, I silently cursed that van again and again. If you had waited just two more seconds to interrupt me... I eased into a space and killed the engine. "I...I'll tell you when I get back. I promise."

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me. "You'd better."

I resisted the urge to laugh at her cute irritation, which I knew would prove to be a bad call, and opened the door. "I will."

I hurried toward the restaurant, nearly suffocated in a cloud of my own thoughts. I pulled open the door and stepped inside, the bright lights nearly blinding me for a moment. When my vision cleared, I noticed two strange things. One was that there was another customer in the store, an enormous man of about twenty-five seated next to the windows two tables from the door. Someone else apparently shared my late-night cravings. However, the other bizarre thing was that no food sat before him. He was simply staring at the tabletop, silent as a tomb.

I shrugged this abnormality off and made my way to the counter. "An order for Eppes?" I asked the boy, who was studying me with some kind of strange curiosity. Maybe he wasn't used to crazy people running about in short-sleeved shirts in March. He pulled a paper bag from under the counter and slapped it down in front of me. "Please 8.99."

As an afterthought, I added a can of Coke, Terry's favorite, to my order. An apology, I suppose. I paid for my purchases, tucked them under my arm, and hurried toward the door. The kid behind the counter was gone before I crossed half the distance. As I passed the stranger by the window, I noticed that he appeared to be preparing to leave as well. I pushed the door open with my shoulder and stepped out into the icy air.

I hadn't made it three steps when the finely-tuned and trained hairs on the back of my neck leapt to attention. Something was wrong here.

Before I could decide exactly what it was, a huge, meaty hand clamped over my mouth. With my hands full of food and Coke, I could do nothing but let out a small yelp of surprise, which was quickly swallowed by the invading flesh. I twisted violently, trying to free myself. Finally, I acknowledged the fact that I would have to lose my dinner to save my butt. And that pissed me off.

I dropped the food and Terry's Coke and spun, hand going for the gun that wasn't at my hip. I cursed and took on a defensive stance. I was good at weaponless defense, but against this 400 pound crazy man, I knew I wouldn't last long. My only hope was that Terry might come looking for me or that the boy behind the counter inside would notice my plight.

Psycho-pseudo-wrestler-boy lunged at me, and I sidestepped it, letting him lumber past. So far, so good, I congratulated myself.

I had partied too soon. What I had mistaken for stupidity and flab actually turned out to be concealing fast, corded muscle and more brains than I thought possible. He spun immediately and came lumbering back at me, and this time, I didn't have the chance to move. He plowed into me with the force of an on-coming train, and I hit the pavement. Hard. The back of my head snapped off the concrete, tiny white stars popping in my vision.

Before I could clear my vision, he was on top of me, straddling my stomach and pressing a wet white cloth over my face. The familiar sickly-sweet scent of chloroform filled my mouth and nose, and I immediately held my breath to keep the drug from doing its work. I struggled and swung my right fist, connecting with the side of his face with a satisfying "crunch". He growled, furious, and grabbed my flailing wrist. With a movement I've only seen used by other agents, he twisted hard enough that a crack split the night. White pain flared up my arm, and I let out a cry that was drowned by the cloth and the hand holding it.

Black began to creep into my vision, and I knew that I'd lost this fight. There was only one of me, and he had a lot more advantage. I hate to give up, but there's no other choice in this situation. As I feel the strength leaving my body, I consider my brother's reaction when he discovers what is happening, and send my team a quick telepathic message...Watch out for him, guys. Take care of him.I also think of Terry, and I cast a prayer to my brother likewise—Take care of her, too, Charlie.

And then everything goes black, and the sting of the cold and the pain of my broken arm mercifully leave as well. It's over.

Okay, there you go, hon. Thank you again for the idea. And since my 11-year-old cousin is DYING for the computer, I'll write personal notes for both last chapter andthis half-chapter when I update next, which will be very soon. Promise. Thank you all again. You're wonderful.