Days came and went. 2, then 3, then 4 and they still hadn't found the beekeeper. It looked to team flash like they were moving you around, since they had found the warehouse from Cisco's vibe empty, the wasps nest knocked down and soaked in spray chemicals.
He sat in the cortex, watching the satellite feeds anxiously. Your cat, who he had learnt was named Cinnamon, sat in his lap.
"Come on. This better work."
He muttered, sucking on a lollipop. Barry had re-captured some of the Bug-Eyed Bandit's old bee robots, and Cisco reprogrammed them to fly around the city and search for your specific pheromone signature.
He had gone to great lengths (aka digging through your laundry like a huge creeper) to get that, so if it didn't work, he was going to be really mad. The bee-bots were supposed to ping him with the location when they found anything.
So far, they hadn't found anything in the 12 hours they'd been active.
Cisco pet the cat absently, swinging his office chair back and forth.
He started to think about what he had found in your room while he was trying to brainstorm new ways of finding you. You had a vanity mirror on top of your dresser, and it had photos stuck all around the edge. Your cat, some selfies, some professional photographs, some other people. It was a lot of photos.
A few of those photos were of Cisco. Well, not exactly. They were candid photos of his superhero identity, The Vibe.
There were no other traces of superhero paraphernalia other than the magazines about meta-humans.
Cisco blushed a little bit as he wondered why you had those particular pictures tacked to your mirror with little heart magnets.
He had stolen one of those framed pictures of you to use for team morale; more specifically, to keep him from being frustrated with the lack of success.
Cisco picked it up and stared at it, sighing softly.
"Don't worry, (Y/N). We're going to find you. I promise."
He was in the midst of daydreaming when an alarm sounded on his computer.
Cisco scrambled to attention, knocking the cat off of his lap with an indignant yowl. He set the bee to record video, then pressed the button for the intercom.
"Barry, we got a hit!" Meet me at the shipyard, stat!" He shouted before running into another room to change into his suit.
On the camera feed was you, bound to a chair inside a shipping container. Four men were fastening chains to it.
It had hit Cisco immediately what was going on; and he was thoroughly horrified.
They were going to drop you in the harbor.