Chapter 18 – If Tomorrow Never Comes
Sorry for the huge delay in updating this – I have been extremely busy finishing Steam Rising (Smut land filth), writing a one-shot (Mitzvah – which got nominated for best one-shot to my total shock and amazement) and, of course, my new story, The Wrong Side. Plus, the NYC muse went off somewhere on vacation which hasn't helped…. So here is chapter 18. I hope you enjoy it. Not much more of this story to go, I promise! Thanks for staying tuned!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the songs, CSI: NY and any similarity between my OCs and any of their characters is strictly co-incidental. Equally, I hope no-one minds my storylines!
This one's for Poppy, Tinks (who put me on the right track for the chapter title) and SpankyMcDoogleFace, amongst others. You know the reasons why ladies…
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A somewhat rattled Agent Seeley Booth waited, irritated, for his partner, Dr Temperance "Bones" Brennan and the FBI psychologist, Dr Lance Sweets, to collect their suitcases from the baggage collect. He wasn't impressed with the delay; why the hell they couldn't have just brought carry on…? He thought, but then again, Although Bones was Bones, she was still a woman. Although that didn't really explain Sweets' need for a suitcase full of belongings (which probably contained his extensive notebooks on the duo's relationship). Or then again, maybe it did?
Agent Booth grabbed the nearest luggage trolley once the two had finally located their bags and quickly steered them to the collection point. Standing there, arms crossed, leaning against a pillar in Arrivals, with his usual trademark grin on his face, stood Danny Messer, designated driver. Actually, he'd been pretty pleased to get this assignment, seeing as the cases that had come in for the Lab had been pretty nasty; a decomp in Washington Heights, a junkie in Yonkers and a double suicide in Staten Island. Not pretty, although if he'd gotten the Staten Island case he could have gone to his mama's for lunch and Danny Messer loved his mama's home-style Italian cooking.
Booth looked the CSI up and down, wondering silently for the millionth time why Detective Mac Taylor didn't enforce a smarter apparel rule for the NY Crime Lab, as he tugged the tie around his neck a little looser. Dressed in his customary denim, with a tight t-shirt across his chest and the collar of his jacket turned up, Danny grinned and grabbed Bones' suitcase from the trolley.
"Miss me?" he asked a little cheekily, "Or are you just back for the hockey and skating?" he asked referring to the upcoming Rangers game and the Rockerfeller Ice rink, which was now open for the seasonal business.
Booth glared at him. Danny chuckled.
"Come on," he said, "Mac's waiting to see what you dug up on our guy," as he walked, leading the way to the department SUV that was parked in restricted parking, right outside the entrance to arrivals. As he loaded the bags into the trunk, Booth came over to him.
"Anything new on the case?" he asked, concerned for his friend, Rebecca, "Any new leads?"
Danny looked at the agent straight in the eye.
"Nothing," he said, "Nada, zilch. Seems the guy's gone quiet. And something tells me that ain't a good thing."
"Same here," said Booth, "Same here. "She getting along with her new roommate OK?"
Danny grinned.
"Let's just say a certain homicide detective is finding co-habitation and domestic bliss real essential to his well-being, in every way," replied Danny.
"I can imagine," said Booth, with an amused smile.
He slammed the door to the trunk closed and the men climbed into their seats and Danny, starting the engine, pulled the vehicle away, starting on the long drive back into the city.
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Rebecca had snuck out early to the diner, leaving Flack lying on his stomach, dead to the world, the blankets around his waist. She had been tempted to stay right there and try waking him up with a light stroking to his back, but he was firmly in need of his sleep. Rebecca grinned to her self. The poor man was really, really, really tired, she thought. Not that she was complaining.
As she'd swung her legs over the edge of the bed, their bed, she had suddenly felt a little queasy, but she'd put it down to their, uh, forgetting to eat the previous night. They'd been far too busy to think about food.
So she'd grabbed various articles of clothes off of the floor, including Flack's ball cap and headed out to buy breakfast to go at the diner, stopping to pick his, their, newspaper out of the mail as she headed out of the door. She glanced at the headlines as she wandered down the street, thinking only of French toast, bacon and maple syrup, fresh squeezed OJ, or maybe not, she thought, feeling a little queasy again, along with a couple of coffees.
She didn't notice the van parked across the street from their building. Nor the man watching from the driver's seat.
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Flack slowly came to, stretching his arm out to pull Rebecca close to him, finding nothing but the cold sheets and empty side of the bed. He raised his head off of the pillows, listening for the sounds of movement in the bathroom or in the rest of the apartment. Nothing. Concerned, he got out of bed, pulling on his sweats, a t-shirt and his flip-flops, wandering through to the living area as he pulled on his shirt. Frowning as he noticed the front door ajar, he was making his way across to close it, when he felt something hit the back of his head. With force. The room pitched, nausea and darkness overwhelmed him and Flack crumpled to the floor unconscious….
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Rebecca hurried back, balancing the take-out boxes and the carry tray with the coffee in her hands, the newspaper tucked under her arm. She took the steps up to their floor two at a time, anxious to get back to her incredibly hot roommate, friend and lover, who she hoped was still asleep. She was kind of worried he'd be pretty angry if he woke to find her gone. Still, she was hoping he'd say thank you for breakfast. Yeah, make that very much hopeful he'd say thank you in her favorite way. She bounded down the corridor, smiling as she saw the door to their apartment slightly open, thinking Flack must have gotten up already and opened it for her so she didn't have to fiddle with the keys. She turned an opened it further using her backside, a bad habit from childhood when she had her hands full, nudging it with her foot to stop it closing on her. She turned again and promptly dropped everything she was carrying, the coffee spilling out from the cups across the floor.
There, in the middle of the room, sitting in a hard back chair, Flack's gun in his hand, was someone she'd never thought she'd ever see again. And Flack was unconscious and incapacitated, his hands tied in front of him, gagged, blood dripping from his head, propped against the wall.
James Ashton looked frantic and angry.
Rebecca took a step backwards towards the door. Too late she heard the pressure of a step just inside the apartment, the sound of the hinges as someone opened it. She tried to turn to see who was there, relief flooding over her, someone grabbed her and firmly placed a hand with some fabric over her mouth. Rebecca struggled, biting her attacker on the arm, trying to scream against the heavier bulk of her attacker, quickly realizing the sweet and sickly fumes from the pad in his hand had some kind of drug on it, but she was swiftly overcome with the effects and soon slumped into her attacker's arms, unconscious….
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Danny hadn't been able to reach Flack on either his cell or his landline, but then again, he thought, he was probably busy. Hepulled into a vacant space across from Flack's building, much to the irritation of both Bones and Booth, who both wanted to get to the lab and begin work on the case at hand, to compare notes on what they had all turned up on James Rushton. He assured the DC visitors he would only be a couple of minutes, as he had to grab a set of case notes from Flack that needed dropping off at the precinct. All his protests to wait in the vehicle were met with the occupants all getting out to come with him; Bones wanted to see Rebecca, Booth wanted to see Flack and Sweets – well Sweets didn't want to be left alone.
Danny silently cursed the turn of events, knowing they would be later back to the lab if the ladies started talking and hockey came into it. Still he led the way up to the third floor, down the corridor to Flack's apartment.
As they got closer to the door, he noticed it was ajar, so totally unlike Flack that it worried Danny. He stopped dead in his tracks, his head on one side, trying to figure out what to do next. Booth bumped into the back of him, before stopping and looking where Danny indicated. The two men exchanged a glance and pulled out their service weapons. Danny edged himself to one side of the door, pointing his gun down as Booth took up position on the other. Bones moved behind him, nudging him in the back.
"Bones," hissed Booth, "Not now!"
"Give me your other gun," she said, "I'm good with weapons!"
She insisted for a couple of minutes, as Danny rolled his eyes heavenward at the delay. Finally Booth pulled up the leg of his pants and pulled his spare hand gun from his ankle holster, handing it to her.
"Just don't point it at me or any other of the good guys," he said.
"I'm a good shot," Bones huffed, taking off the safety and pointing her weapon at the floor.
Danny gave a quizzical look at Booth, who just shrugged his shoulder. A nervous looking Sweets darted behind Bones, looking for all the world like a scared little boy.
Danny rapped his knuckles on the door to the apartment.
"Flack buddy," he called, "You alright in there?"
No reply. Danny nodded and Booth went through the door first, followed by Danny and the others.
To find the small apartment empty, the cooling coffee pooled on the floor, the open take-our cartons of food spilling their contents as well. A chair was turned over and Danny, with a sick feeling in his stomach, saw the smear of blood against the wall by the door to the bedroom.
No-one there and signs of a struggle. Not good. He flipped open his cell and called it in, before calling his boss.
"Mac?" he said, "You better get over to Flack's place. Signs of a struggle but no signs of them. I gotta bad feeling boss. Better get an APB out on them. Get everyone looking."
Dr Lance Sweets moved into the apartment as looked around himself. Whoever did this, he thought, was familiar with the layout in the small place. And that meant a whole new ball game. Someone knew their way around.
Bones spotted the pad of cloth on the floor by the door, a small smear of blood on it. Whipping a latex glove out of her pocket, she put it on and picked the pad up, sniffing it, before putting it away from her face.
"Chloroform," she announced, looking at Booth and Danny, the realization of what had happened dawning on their faces.
Rebecca and Flack were gone. Taken by whoever was after Rebecca. And that couldn't be a good thing.
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Groggy, Rebecca slowly came round, the room still spinning, before promptly turning on her side to retch helplessly as the drug left her system, aware of strong arms holding her, stroking her hair as she vomited. She collapsed backwards onto his chest, looking around her at the damp stone walls, the moss growing on them, aware of a slight breeze above her head. It was cold and she shivered. The light flickered over their head, casting an eerie shadow over the cellar. She twisted her head, wincing at the nausea the movement brought on, relaxing when she saw the familiar, yet concerned pair of blue eyes watching her.
"You took a long time to come round," said Flack, "I was beginning to worry."
"Chloroform," said Rebecca, gingerly pulling herself to a sitting position, "Nasty stuff. Makes you sick as hell."
She touched the sticky patch on Flack's head, gently searching for the bump she knew must be there, frowning as he winced when she touched a tender spot.
"He got you good," she said, then with a small smile added, "Good job you have such a thick skull."
Flack grinned and lifted his palm to cup her face. She leaned into it.
"A very good thing," he agreed.
She looked around. Flack noticed her actions and before she could stand up, he pulled her back into his arms.
"I already looked," he said, "Door can't be opened from the inside and the grate is cemented into the ground and the walls. We're gonna have to wait for the cavalry."
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They didn't have long to wait for their kidnapper to come back. The two sat themselves up against the wall, Rebecca's hand held on tightly to Flack's as he came into the room, a gun trained on them. He looked slightly crazy, thought Rebecca, unstable.
"Well, well, well," said Rushton, looking at the two of them, "The two sleeping beauties finally awaken. You took your time."
Rebecca frowned.
"Who are you?" she asked, "I know you from somewhere, don't I?"
Rushton smiled sadistically in a way that sent shivers through her.
"Don't you remember me Rebecca," he said, "The flowers I left on your pillow, the way I always looked out for you and protected you?"
And suddenly Rebecca was transported back to her teenage years and recognized the man in front of her as the extremely strange and odd gardener who had been employed by her parents until he suddenly disappeared. She went white, remembering the flowers, always seeing him, the things that went missing from her room. All of it fell into place.
"Oh my god," she whispered, "This was all you?"
Rushton nodded, "Trying to get your attention, show you I hadn't forgotten you."
His face changed, twisting into a snarl.
"But you didn't wait for me!" he screamed, "You turned to him!" he pointed at Flack with the gun. Rebecca shrank against Flack, his arms tightening around her.
"You're just like all the others!" Rushton exclaimed, "I tried to make them you, I tried and tried but it wasn't the same. You were supposed to be different! But you're just like all the rest of them. And now you're going to be sorry! You're my main act."
He advanced on the two of them, bending down so they could see the unhinged look in his eyes.
"So I brought him here too to punish you," he said, "You get to watch and then you and I are going to have some fun."
He stood up and walked to the door. He gestured with his gun to Flack to get to his feet, right before his cell rang. Rushton turned his back and took the call. They could hear his angry tone and he spoke sharply into the phone, before ending the call quickly. He turned back to the two.
"Well," he said, "Now we gotta wait and I need to take care of some business. Lucky you," he added, "Now you get to say goodbye to each other."
He walked out of the room, slamming the door shut and shooting the bolts home. Rebecca shook in Flack's arms, terrified.
They were going to die, she thought, and this was all her fault.
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Flack held Rebecca for what seemed like the longest time. He stroked her back soothingly, like he'd done that day in the elevator. She held on to him, gripping his arms tightly like she never wanted to let you.
"I don't wanna lose you," she whispered and his arms tightened around her.
"I know baby," he said, "I love you." He kissed her forehead. "We're gonna get out of this baby, I promise. Then we've got the rest of our lives together to think about."
He meant it. Rebecca didn't say anything in reply. Flack looked down at her.
"You know something?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood, "You're the only woman Danny's never given a nickname to."
"What about Dusty?" returned Rebecca.
"Doesn't count," replied Flack, "Besides, he gave that one up after you kicked his ass."
Rebecca chuckled slightly.
"Nope," said Flack, "he never called you by your birthplace or state. He calls Lindsay Montana most of the time and there was this one girl we both used to know who got saddled with Brooklyn." He grinned. "He used to refer to my ex, Devon, as the Manhattan man-eater."
Rebecca sat up, smiling at him.
"Well," she reasoned, "I think he knew what I'd do to him if he'd ever called me Washington," she put her head on one side, "Although I could have lived with Columbia."
"Columbia?" said Flack, a little confused. Rebecca punched him lightly in the arm.
"District of, dumbass," she said, "Plus Columbia was always who I went to Rocky Horror showings as at university. I had short hair in school." She tugged at her long locks. "I guess now I'd have to go as Magenta."
Flack laughed, thinking about the cult film and how some of his academy buddies had once dressed up as Frank-n-furter one Hallowe'en. Not him though. No, not him.
Rebecca moved herself into his lap and put her hands around his neck, looking into his blue eyes with her brown ones.
"I know you say we're going to make it out of here," she began. Flack shushed her.
"Don't even think it sweetheart," he said, "Don't. We will get out of here."
"But in case we don't," she insisted, "I have a bad idea of what he's planning for me and.."
He cut her off, a finger to her lips.
"Baby, now is not the time for that." He said.
"Please," she begged, "Please Don, let me have one good memory of this place, just in case."
He looked into her eyes, seeing the panic, the fear and the need and he realized he couldn't deny her what she wanted. And he was determined he was going to make sure it was enough to chase any other bad memories away. And be something damn good to think about, whatever happened next.
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She felt his strong hands come up to rub her back gently as her own wound around his neck, running her fingers through his short hair. She pulled his head to hers and kissed him, feeling the stubble on his face lightly graze her soft skin. She opened her mouth, hearing his light groan as she deepened the passionate kiss. Their caresses had an urgency to them and yet were unhurried. His hands drifted south as his teeth lightly nipped the sensitive skin under her jaw, his tongue following to soothe the small marks. He pulled back slightly, taking in her dilated pupils, her slightly parted lips and he knew he had to kiss her again….
They were both aware this could be the last time for them and every touch, every movement was as though they were searing the other into their memories, imprinting every inch of each other, every move, just in case….
As he moved over her, running his hands in her hair, their clothing discarded or pushed to one side, causing her to gasp as he made love to her with a gentle urgency that had them both gasping in pleasure, he bent his head to hers.
"It's going to be OK, baby, I promise," he said, "It's gonna be OK. We're gonna get out of here and grow old together. I promise."
Rebecca's eyes locked with his as she locked her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, her arms clinging to his shoulders as they continued to move, feeling the sensations build….
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They lay there, clothes replaced, in each other's arms, legs tangled. Sated. Breathing together. Rebecca clung to Flack. She hated this waiting. For what was coming next.
A rustling sound disturbed them. Someone outside the grate. Flack disentangled himself and stood, looking up at the grate. And then, he couldn't believe his eyes. A fishing line with a small piece of food dropped through the grate from the street outside. A familiar figure.
Flack grabbed the line and tugged hard, causing Wilfred, the Rat Fisherman, to drop to his knees and peer through the grate. His eyes widened at the sight of Flack and Rebecca in the gloom.
"Hey Mr Policeman!" he said, "Watcha doin' down there?"
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Flack reached up and grabbed his arm. Wilfred pulled away from him. He has good reason to avoid the cops. Flack cursed sharply. Wilfred made to move away. Flack reached his hand through the grate again.
"Hey!" he called, "Rat guy, you remember my friend, the lady cop with the curly hair?"
Wilfred stopped, then dropped to his knees again. He nodded.
"Do ya still got the card she gave you? With her number on it?" he asked.
Wilfred nodded again. Flack reached out again with a handful of dimes and quarters that happened to be in his pocket.
"Rat guy," said Flack, with no small amount of urgency, "I need you to go call her and tell her where we are. Tell her to come right now and bring the cavalry."
Wilfred stared at Flack, hesitating.
"Wilfred," said Flack, grabbing the other man's wrist, "We're in big trouble here and we need the cops."
Wilfred nodded, then scrambled to his feet and ambled away. Flack turned to Rebecca.
"Now all we can do is wait," he said, pulling her into his arms, holding her close, kissing the top of her head.
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Back at Flack's apartment building, Stella and Jess were canvassing the neighbors along with a bunch of uniforms without much success. For some reason unknown to the two women, Dr Lance Sweets had tagged along as well. They both considered him a hindrance rather than a help. Finally returning to the ground floor, they found the building super, Joe Savini, in his apartment. The over-weight man shook his head at the news.
"I can't believe it," he kept saying, "The two detectives taken like that." He rubbed his arm, covered by a shirt.
The two female detectives questioned him, not getting a great deal of information from him. Sweets watched him carefully, noticing the sweat beading on his forehead.
He's nervous, thought Sweets, he's hiding something. He watched as Joe rolled the sleeve of his shirt up to rub the bandage covering his forearm. Suddenly everything Dr Soroyan and Bones had been trying to teach him about DNA analysis came back to him. He tugged an irritated Stella's sleeve, pulling her aside.
"Can I remind you Dr Sweets," said Stella, "That you are an observer here? Can you please stop interrupting us?"
"Uh Detective," said Sweets, "Can you remind me if it's possible to extract DNA of someone's attacked from saliva in a bite?"
Stella looked at him, puzzled for a second. Sweets jerked his head towards Joe, whose focus of attention was on the pretty face of Jess Angell as she continued to question him. Stella's eyes came to rest on the bandage covering Joe's forearm, before he swiftly rolled the shirt back down to hide it. Stella's cool gaze met Sweets'.
"Rebecca puts up a fight," he said softly, "And she fights dirty."
Awareness dawned on Stella. She turned back to Joe.
"That looks nasty," she said, gesturing to his injured forearm, "What happened?"
"Just some a-hole," said Joe, wiping the sweat from his forehead, clearly unnerved by the two women, "Bit me when I tried to throw him out of the building."
Bingo, thought Stella.
"Why don't you come down to the lab," she said, "I can get one of our CSIs to look at it – he's a qualified MD. Maybe we can swab it and run it through Trace. See if we can find the guy that did this to you in the system?"
Jess stared at Stella, a little perplexed. She wondered what the other woman was doing, but equally knew a rattled man when she saw one. She put her hand to her belt, making sure her gun and cuffs were in reach. Joe looked from one to the other, fully aware that there were more police officers in the building. His shoulders sagged and he went without much fuss.
DNA confirmed the saliva in the bite was Rebecca's.
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Kendall took the odd message from the NYPD switchboard regarding the Rat Fisherman's phone call about two police officers in the ground, as he put it. She waited until Stella returned from interrogation before passing the message along. Stella waved her away until Kendall said the three last words of the message – Send the cavalry. Stella turned slowly. That had to be Flack. She turned and raced down the corridor towards Mac's office, where he was discussing the case with Danny and Booth.
"Got a lead," she said, a little breathless, "Downtown."
That was all she had to say. They all hurried to the lift, Mac pausing only to call it in.
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Back in the cellar, Flack was trying not to let his growing concern show. He didn't want to alarm Rebecca, but with every passing minute, the likelihood of their being rescued dropped. He also suspected they were in this two block radius where there were interlinked basement cellars, meaning even if they did find them in time, they'd be searching a maze for the two of them, all of which took up valuable time. Time they might not have.
So when he heard the vehicle, followed by his name being called by several voices, he was kind of surprised. He stood up, sticking his arm out of the grate, shouting to get their attention. His hand was grabbed in a firm grasp and he saw the familiar blue eyes and dirty blond hair of his best friend now at eye level.
"Watcha doin' in this hole, Flack?" asked Danny, minus his usual grin.
"Cut the crap Danny," Flack bit out, "We don't have a lot of time. Can you get us outta here, before the perp comes back?"
"Workin' on it buddy," Danny replied, "Uniforms are looking for a way in now."
"I don't know if we got the time," said Flack, "You still got those chains in the trunk of your SUV?"
"Yeah," said Danny, quickly grasping what Flack wanted him to do, "Won't take me a minute to chain them to the grate and pull it outta the wall."
Flack heaved a sigh of relief. In minutes, Danny and Mac had firmly secured the chains to the grate and the SUV, then reversing the vehicle away from the wall until, finally, the grate came away, leaving a narrow but just passable gap between the ground and the bottom of the wall. Flack turned to Rebecca.
"You first," he said. He made to give her a boost up, when they heard the sound of someone walking down the corridor in a hurry. Alarm filled her eyes.
"Donnie…" she started.
"No," he said, "Go." He lifted her up so that Mac and Danny could grab her hands and pull her through the narrow gap. It was a tight squeeze and Rebecca's exposed skin was scraped by the rough stone. They pulled her clear, and EMT rushing over to her to put a blanket around her shoulder. Flack looked over his shoulder at the sound of the bolts being drawn back on the door.
"A'right Flack," said Danny, "Your turn bud."
He and Mac reached down to take his hands as Rebecca shrugged away from the concerned EMT trying to check her over for injuries. As Don's head got clear of the cellar, he was suddenly pulled backwards, disappearing from sight. Rebecca dropped to her knees, the blanket falling from her shoulders and she flung her arm back into the cellar as Mac grabbed her to stop her from following.
"Don!" screamed Rebecca.
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OK so I'm not entirely sure about this chapter, but I owe you all an update like last freaking month, so I hope you can bear with it!