Disclaimer: Again, the properties and rights to any canon characters belong to the producers and CBS. Original I own.

Author's Note: Seriously guys, thank you very much for the feedback. It helps more than you will ever know.

Colby and David are perhaps the best at tag-teaming as partners. Funny, they are.

Let's move on to creepy...

"And nobody knows what's gonna happen tomorrow, We've got to believe it'll be alright in the end"

-Duran Duran-

She should be dead, he thought, fingering the welts that marked his face. The bitch deserved a bullet. Right in between those green eyes. It would have been for the best if she had have been killed the moment they had reached their destination. Instead, she was still here, sleeping in a cramped position against the slime covered wall.

His boss had forbidden him from touching her, threatening to renegade on their deal of five thousand dollars per person. He didn't know exactly what this man was up to; they were never allowed to stay for long after delivering the bodies. But he did know that it was something bad, worse than his partner's and his rap sheets combined.

His fingers traced over the bumpy and raised skin sliced by their sleeping victim when she had thrown her glass in his face, screaming like a harpy the entire time. They were scabby and bloody and added to his list of complaints against his contractor; the man had refused to allow him medical treatment for the wounds. His reason had been that a trip to the emergency room could be traced back by the police.

With a growl he snatched his fingers away. The cuts were likely to become infected now what with him only being able to use the old water here in the building and could possibly leave behind scars.

The woman twitched and he paused, waiting to see if she would wake up. The drug had worn completely off a few hours ago and she had surprised his partner by flying at him and landing one good hit, wielding her two bound hands like a sledgehammer, before falling back down. Now his partner supported a rather large bruise on his jaw and she another round of ketamine. His boss hadn't given him the same amount; it was only enough to ensure she would stay asleep, halfway between consciousness and the sleep world, keeping her motor skills from functioning.

And asleep she was, her knees drawn tight to her chest, head bent down over her bound hands. Through the careful manipulation of her body, they had discovered that she had twisted and scooted until her hands were in front of her instead of behind her back like they had previously bound them.

She didn't move again and he went back to watching her. He was stuck here while his partner was able to go until summoned again. This room was far away from wherever else his boss was, still leaving him in the dark about the man's true reasons for the live bodies they kept bringing.

His fingers crept back towards his face unintentionally and without any notice on his part. She should be dead, he thought again. Allowing for it to fuel his rage and subsequent need for vengeance, the digits tightened on the skin and he welcomed the pain. Dead…

And oh how he would enjoy that. Oh so much.

One day. It had taken them twenty four hours to find Ricky Garza. They had tracked the thief turned combatant to a friend's house. His girlfriend, Maria Perez, had told them that he liked to come here and play cards on Friday nights. Well, it was Friday and it was six in the evening.

The other usual spots had turned out nothing. The bar tender had told them he hadn't seen Ricky for days, the owner of the pool hall hadattested that Garza hadn't been there for weeks, and the manager of the exotic club farther downtown in the seedier parts of the City of Angels had begrudgingly admitted to admitting the man a few days ago, but had not seen him come again for another visit. That had left them with the friend's house, waiting for a sighting, the undercover patrol cars sitting inconspicuous on the opposite curb.

The field office had received the call at roughly a quarter past five and David was ready to go, all other members under his command awaiting his order. Don was back in the office, told to remain there by Agent Loosle. The two of them were calling the shots from there.

"You ready, Granger?" He spoke softly into the piece attached to his collar, eyeing the front of the house from his position a few yards away.

"All is green from here. We're ready to go when you are." His partner's voice crackled back over the transmitter.

David had the front of the house, five men ready behind him, while Colby was stationed to enter from the back. Not wanting to chance any escapes, Loosle had given the go ahead for a full team to bring in Garza; after further persuasion with the threat of a night in jail still possible, the man's girlfriend had given away the small detail that the occupants of Friday night poker hand might be big time drug dealers; and the risk of an all out shootout was not something they were going to bet double or nothing on.

"Advance and ready on my signal," he whispered, giving the all clear to take up positions, their moves quiet and deadly as they moved in on the house, the evening sun reflecting off the shiny metal of their guns.

David halted, the agents behind him ready, muscles tense, bodies poised for entrance, breaths held in. Blinking, air rushed out through his nostrils as he counted to sixty. One minute was enough time for the agents around back to get ready and under control. 57…58…59…60…

"Go!"

The wooden door was made short work as it was kicked in, swinging wildly as the hinges were pulled from the wood, reverberating against the inside. Shouts of "FBI" and "Freeze" boomed throughout the house, the game players startled from their poker chips and beer as fifteen geared federal agents flooded into the house from the front and the back.

Four Latino men rapidly stood, flipping the round table over and sending the cards to the floor. Reacting on instinct, David turned his weapon to the nearest man reaching for what was no doubt a gun at his waist.

"Don't move! Keep your hands up. Don't you dare move." he barked out, shaking his head at the man. He did a quick sweep of the faces; none of them matched the picture of Ricky Garza from the County Correctional file.

Cuffed roughly in part due to their unwillingness to cooperate, the drug dealers were subdued by the other agents.

"Bad night to play cards, boys. Where is Ricky Garza?"

An answer to the whereabouts of the fifth player was not given. David repeated his question, adding, "We know he was here, and we know he didn't leave. Where is he at?"

Colby saved them from answering, calling his name from somewhere farther back in the house. He issued the orders to have the others transported outside, and made his way down the hall, past the kitchen and a bathroom. David found his partner in a bedroom near an open closet door.

The junior agent had his foot planted firmly in the man's back, back bent over, hands busy cinching the silver metal around the man's wrists. After the small click, he jerked him off the floor unceremoniously, holding him close.

"Look what I found, David. He was hiding out in the closet with the high heels. Seems like he didn't want to talk with us." Colby said with his usual sarcasm.

David grinned. "Is that so?"

"I ain't got nothin' to say to you," he spat out, glaring balefully, looking very intimidating with his hands behind his back and held in Colby's grip.

His partner smiled down at the man, laughing, "Aw. Come on, Ricky. Don't you know how much trouble we've gone to find you? Come on now. We just want to talk."

"Well, I don't want to."

"Hey! Consider yourself lucky. It could be worse." David moved with the two of them back through the house, coming outside and past Garza's four friends. The drug runners catcalled and whistled about being wanted by the feds.

"Yeah? How so?" Garza sneered out, awfully cocky for a man who must know why he was being picked up by the F.B.I.

David shoved Garza's head into the car, slamming the door but not before the man heard him say,

"We could have just killed you."

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

Less than a foot of glass separated him from the man who had jabbed the needle into Peyton's neck, pushing down and forcing the anesthetic into her system, rendering her limp and useless. Less than a foot and it was probably for the best.

For the second time David was the one who was on the opposite side and in the interrogation room and Don figured that was the way that it should be. David kept a level head and could be cool as ice when the situation called for it. This one did.

His arms braced against the table, palms facedown, fingers spread wide, as he watched the proceedings in the room. A hand touched him gently on his shoulder, brief and faint, leaving as if it had never been there.

"Relax."

"It's kind of hard to," Don growled out, turning his head slightly to eye the person who had reached out to touch him.

Kathryn studied him, tilting her head, eyes boring into him and seeing somewhere down deep inside him. She was uncomfortable in just what way to help him; helping those in need and those around her seemed to be something that made up part of her being. Wanting to be there and fix everyone's problems came natural to her and was compelling to her. Don recognized it because it was something he too did; he was a people person, and while he didn't share his own feelings and thoughts, he did try to help his families' and his friends' problems when they needed it.

"Yes, it is. But, you'll do no good if you let it rage inside of you. There is nothing you can do. It's up to David to pull the information out of this guy. Your best bet is to center yourself and relax… that way you can pick up on something that you would miss if you continue to let your thoughts wander to places they don't need to at this moment." Kathryn looked at him for a few breaths longer, eyes unmoving, until she found something in his face that she was satisfied with.

He let out a collected sigh that he hadn't realized he had been holding, breathing in and out, the air rushing through his lungs and back out through his mouth. On the screen David leaned forward again from his seat.

"I'm not saying anything. Nothing," Garza answered loudly, looking at David and then up at the glass wall separating the two rooms, letting them know he knew they were there, and that his words were directed to all of them.

A glossy photo of a black car landed on the table in front of the man, Colby circling around the back of his chair, speaking as he moved, "We already know you were there. An eyewitness identified the car and the license plate, which you were driving that night." Another photo was smacked down, overlapping the first. "We've also got your prints on a needle filled with ketamine in her home. See that right there," his agent's finger jabbed at the black ridged print, "that puts you there, at the scene of the crime. That print means you put that needle in her. You were there!"

Garza tightened his mouth, his hands pushing the photos away. "I'm not saying anything."

David shook his head, disbelief in his tone as he said, "Man, we have you down for the kidnapping of an employee of the federal government. Add that to the four other murders that you helped with, and you're looking at being away for a long time. That is if you don't get the death penalty. Why don't you save yourself the trouble, tell us where she is, and maybe we'll see if the D.A. is willing to give you something. It might save you from a long stint on death row."

"I can't."

"Why not?" David narrowed his eyes.

"I just can't!" Garza exploded upward, Colby reacting instantly and shoving him back down.

"That's not good enough, Ricky." David hunched over the table, putting his head closer to the man. "Tell us where she is."

His head shaking, the Garza looked around the room. He spread his palms outward, and said, "You don't know this guy. You don't know him. What he does, I don't know, but it's bad. Worse than some of the things that I've heard about in County. The screams are the worst. I don't ask questions. I just collect my money and go. If he finds out that I talked to you… I don't even know what he would do to me."

Colby circled around for another pass, eyeing the man with a look that hid nothing about what he truly thought of him. "You're never going to see him again. You're not going anywhere, Ricky. So what have you got to be afraid of?"

"Look. I'm telling you, you don't know him. All I know is that he told us to grab the woman, same as we did any of the others. Said he wanted her and that she was a problem."

"There are two of you?" David asked.

"Yeah," Garza looked down, clearly wanting to take back the information that he had just revealed. "Look, all's he said was to grab the Fed. That's all I'm saying. I'm not going to end up dead like the others. He'll find me. I know it."

"Fed?"

"Yeah. Federal agent," Garza looked at them crazily, his tone implying they were stupid for not knowing the nickname for their own job.

"Who's a Fed?" His two agents shared a look across the room. Don saw Kathryn turn from the corner, her arms uncrossing as she came to stand next to him.

"The woman we kidnapped in the townhouse. He told us to get the Fed. Heard her name on the news. I saw her at that press conference. Black vest… yellow words on it. The federal agent. One of you." He gave them an odd look, the suspicion in his expression meaning he thought they were up to something.

Don pulled back sharply, Kathryn doing the same, both turning to each other.

"They think she's an agent?" Don queried out loud. It didn't make any sense. The vest had yellow words on it… and so did their vests. The ones that were seen in almost any cop show or movie with a spy in it. Chalk one up for the entertainment industry.

"No. That's a good thing."

"How so?" Don didn't follow her train of thought.

Kathryn looked up at him. "If he finds out that she's a doctor, he'll more than likely want her to help him. He's failed with his goal so far, and is just sick enough to do anything to get it at this point. And she won't give it to him, even if she knew how. He's already proven that he knows how to cause pain. What's he going to do when she says no?"

Don turned back to the screen, her insight unsettling, his mind and stomach reeling at the thought. Could this guy really do that just to get his goal achieved? He didn't have to answer that. The man sitting on the other side of the glass answered it for him, his fear at being found out as a snitch enough.

Garza had clammed up again, repeating his line of not answering anything else because 'he' would find him. They needed something, Don thought. Anything. Something to get him talking again.

He was saved by a hard knock on the door. Charlie stood there, peering in and casting a sideways glance to Agent Loosle at his side. His brother had never met the man and was more than likely wondering why he was following him.

Entering, Charlie spoke, excitement in his voice, and the three of them, Kathryn, Loosle, and himself, were soon just as thrilled, the thoughts of goals and yellow letters pushed aside for a moment.

"I've found it."

The man opened the door, waving a hand to the Latino just inside, effectively dismissing him. He had no great care as to either of the men he was paying to deliver his experimentations. They were hired help as far as he was concerned. His price kept them quiet despite the questions he saw in their faces every time they cast their inferior gazes upon him.

After he was sure the man was gone, he shut the door, carefully locking it. He was not afraid of its occupant. There was nothing she could do to harm him, but it was still a comfort in terms of a precaution. He would take no risks in jeopardizing his goal. Too many years and too many hours had been poured into this, his heart and soul given to see it through.

With disgust at the water beneath his feet, he walked steadily towards the resting woman. She truly was a beautiful creature. Not at all like the inferior bodies of his experiments with their coarse hair and dark eyes. His fingers reached out to brush along the pale cheek and moved aside strands of perfect blonde hair. Simply beautiful.

She jerked her face away from his touch, deep green eyes opening and focusing on him. He smiled and gripped her chin, staying her from moving. From her tied and bound position there was not much she could do but take it.

"Deine Hände von mir, du weg erhalten bastard." Her words were slurred, but he could understand what she said.

A thrill ran through his body upon his discovery that she spoke the German language. It only made her even more perfect. How lucky was this find?

"Come now, my agent. No need to be rude. I've saved you from those lowly beings. You're where you belong now." He ran a finger down the smooth skin, frowning as she shivered at his touch and twisted her body away.

"Agent?" She shook her head. The ketamine was still in her blood, distorting her thoughts. It made for such an effective drug.

"Yes, my federal agent?" He asked, returning to studying her wonderful features.

Her head shook weakly from side to side in his grip. "I'm a doctor. Not… an agent."

He paused in his stroking of her cheek. He watched as her eyelids drooped closed again, her head falling forward as the drug drew her back in. Not an agent?

A feral grin spread across his features and he resumed stroking up and down, crouched there in the dim room.

How lucky indeed…

How creepy is this guy? She doesn't exactly know what she's saying at the moment. Ketamine is a bad drug... Very bad.

Roughly translated into German, Peyton said: "Get your hands off of me, you bastard."

How many of you figured out the reason for the title of the story?