Cold.
That was the first he registered. The floor was rough and slightly dusty, scraping into his left palm. His back was leaning against hard wooden boards. The only sound that penetrated the haze that surrounded him was the sound of someone's scared breathing. It took him a little while to realise that the sound was his own breathing. Slowly blinking, he lifted his eyes up and took in the room around him.
It was grey. Worndown. Abandoned. Empty, but spacious. All that combined in his confused mind to tell him that he was in an old warehouse of sorts. His right hand clutched instinctively around something. To his own surprise he had no idea what it was, and had to lift it to see it.
The single lightbulb seemed to expand, sending beams of light down. The light bounced of glints of steel, to be dulled by crimson specks. The ragged teeth of a large blade egded into a black, rubber grip nestled inside his palm. Shock became paralyzing, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. A strangled cry escaped dry lips as he threw the knife away, the mere sight of it sending him into blind, agonizing fear. The metal made a sharp sound hitting the concrete. Then it was silent.
His hands were shaking. The sight mesmerized him. For a dizzy second he wondered if the hands belonged to him or if he was looking at someone else's hands. Carefully he flexed the fingers of the right hand, curling the hand into a fist. A frown marred the previous smooth forehead. Eyes fixed on the hands, he studied them attentively. He took in the slenderness of the fingers, the lines of the palm and the slightly tanned skin. It felt like watching a picture.
He had been so occupied with the strange foreigness of his hands that it took a little while for his eyes and mind to take in the rest of his body, or at least what he could see. His hands were resting on jeans covered legs, the faded denim encasing obvious muscles. His feet were tucked up under him, clad in black boots with the laces half undone. As his hands, the feet were small, the legs of the jeans so long that they were almost coating the boots from heel to toes.
Without thinking he touched his stomach, wanting to determine why the garment covering his upper body felt stiff and scratchy. His arms were bare, indicating that the piece of clothing was a T-shirt or maybe a shortsleeved shirt. His searching fingers found no buttons, only snug cotton. Something glistened through in his mind, a quick warning signal that was gone before he could even try to analyze it.
Lifting the cotton away from his chest to examine it, the warning was back. This time in form of a crippling stab of pain through his head, but not before he saw what was staining his T-shirt.
Blood.
It was everywhere. Most of it concentrated on his stomach and chest, sending irregular spurts onto his shoulders and arms. Again it felt like watching a picture. He knew that the skin underneath the shirt was whole and unharmed. The blood wasn't his. The memory of light on metal made his stomach turn, and he bit his teeth together to fight a wave of nausea. The small whimper that escaped him, felt unaturally loud in the silence. Pushing himself up a little he scanned the room. Nothing. He was all alone. The floor was clean. Rational thoughts told him that there would have to be more blood. So whatever it was that had happened...it hadn't happened in here.
Slowly and awkwardly he got to his feet. The room swayed and bright flecks of light danced before him. Taking several deep breaths, he attempted to calm himself, raising his hand to trail through locks of hair.
Only to have his hand pausing half way up. Because he didn't know what he would find.
Renewed fear slammed into him. Thoughts swirled in an out of control vortex. He had absolutely no idea what his hair looked like, not even what it felt like. Nor the colour or texture of it. Nothing.
In a desperate search for some control he tried to picture his own image. Still nothing. Just a blank slate. Shadows dripped over his mind. A heavy, damp fog settled in over his mind, drowning out the knowledge he knew had to be there. Wherever he turned he met the same pulsating darkness, the same unpenetretable wall. Everything was gone. His image, his name, where he lived, his age... Everything.
He had no recollection of who he was at all.
Basic instincts took over for his mind and he did the only thing he could think of. He ran. But the building had somehow turned itself into a maze when he had his back turned and he couldn't find the way out. Every wall seemed alike, the wooden boards curving in evil smiles. The dust on the floor whispered to him as his feet made their way over it. Every doorway seemed to grow fingers to reach out and trap him with.
Eventually his body forced him to slow down. The initial adrenaline surge was quieting down, leaving him with only the numbing fear and despair. He found refuge in a small hallway, pressing himself into the wall. The corner allowed him to slip down to the floor, to curl up making himself as small as possible. It was getting difficult to breathe, the floating specks of light was again making his vision blur. Reality was rushing out from his grasp, the floor tilting dangerously.
"I've been looking for you," a calm voice intruded his private world of chaos.
Squinting he tried to make out the form standing a few steps away. Drops of sweat was trailing down his face and numerous variations of pain were colliding to make him nearly welcome the evergrowing darkness. "Who are you?" he managed at last, his voice a breath over a mere whisper. "What is this place? What am I doing here?"
Then the last of the light was snuffed out. Everything was dark.
The atmosphere had been tense for several hours.
JD's dark eyes had been watching the computer screens for so long he felt like he had the imprints on them permanently glued to his retinas. But he didn't dare to look away. Although it had been quiet for so long now, he told himself that it wouldn't last. Soon, very soon, the small sound and blinking indicator would locate their missing team member once more.
"It's the tracking device," he muttered to himself. "I knew I should have tested it more... It's malfunctioning..."
Next to him the tall body of Nathan was perched in a chair. "Doesn't matter, JD. We still should be able to hear him."
"Maybe he needed to get rid of the wire?" The younger man's dark brown eyes were pleading with the other to let him hold onto the glimmer of much needed hope. "You know him, he can be reckless as all hell. He's probably relying on us tracking them."
A large hand landed on his shoulder. "It's going to be ok, JD. I'm sure he's safe."
"Yeah. He's safe." But neither of them could trust completely in their own words. JD went back to his computer, feeling the look of their sharp shooter on him. Vin was quieter than usual, diverting all his energy into what JD was doing. Searching for signs that their friend was ok.
Hearing the quiet exchange of words, Chris turned to stare at the warehouse again. Everything looked treacherously peacefull. They were a few miles out of town, on the deserted ground of what had been an old factory. The van was parked well out of sight for anyone inside of the building. Lifting the small binoculars he again scanned the facade, finding nothing new. It had been hours. He had the utmost respect for, and faith in the man on the inside, but he was sure as hell not willing to risk his life for a bust.
"We're going in," he stated, voice toneless and flat. The eyes of the two remaining team members were on him in an instant. At the sound of Josiah's "We should never have waited this long," he knew how worried their normally calm and collected friend was. Buck didn't say anything, just stopped his pacing to check his gun and put on the bulletproof vest. But his face told Chris anything he would need to know. The large man was tenser than he'd ever seen him, the clear blue eyes nearly black with emotions.
"Buck?" Chris carefully adressed him. "You ok?"
"Yeah." The answer was short. "Let's do this."
Their movements were second nature by now, every one of them knowing exactly what he would be doing and what his place in the team was. The strong bond between them and the full knowlegde of each others' strengths and weaknesses made them more successfull than any other team.
Silently and quickly they made their way into the building. Like well oiled parts of a racing engine they searched the premise, ready to face any irregularity in the flow. Only to come up with nothing. The building was as empty and silent as it had looked from the outside. They were all alone.
"They're gone." JD's unbelieving voice sounded out of place in the old warehouse.
Chris' face was closed, not letting any of the emotional turmoil slip through. "Search the place again. I want this building turned upside-down and inside-out if you have to."
As the other men moved out, the blond placed his hand on Buck's arm. "Wait a minute, Buck. I have to ask you something."
Several different emotions made their way over the taller man's open face. Then he sighed. "I know, Chris. I know."
"You ready to tell me about it?"
Blue eyes found his in an instant. "I'm not going to screw up the case because of it. Don't you dare take me off this case, Chris."
"I won't. I promise." Chris was relieved to see that at least a fraction of the tension left his friend. "But...I need to know what's going on here, Buck."
He already knew what was going on, or at least he had a good idea. It wasn't like he hadn't seen it coming. Wishing he could just be happy for his two friends, he knew that the newfound happiness could be right about to be shattered.
A few seconds of silence ticked by before Buck answered. A smile derived from happy memories played over his features.
"I love him, Chris. Simple as that."
His friend nodded. "We're getting him back, Buck, don't you worry." A small bout of curiousity made him add: "Does he know how you're feeling?"
"I sure hope so. After all I do tell him just about every time I lay eyes on him."
The smile mirrored itself on Chris' face. "That'll do it. I'm happy for you, Buck, I'm happy for you both." He was about to say something else as a movement caught his eyes. Vin appeared at his side, wearing a grim expression.
"We found a body."
Hearing the quiet sound of utter despair coming from Buck, Chris quickly placed a hand on his shoulder. "And?"
"Don't worry, it's not Ezra." The Westerner hesitated. "But the corpse was in real bad shape, somebody took their time to really butcher the poor guy."
"Call in backup," Chris sighed, arranging his arm around Buck's shoulder. Vin sent the movement a little look, but made no mention of it. As far as Chris knew, the brownhaired man probably knew about their two friends before even they knew themselves.
As Vin left again, Chris tried to steer the taller man towards the exit. "Come on, Buck, let's get you out of here."
To his surprise Buck shrugged out of his hold, eyes blazing. "I'm still very capable of doing my job, Larabee."
"That's not what I meant. You look ready to pass out, your face is as white as paper. I don't know about you, but I don't want you fainting in front of the coroners. If the wrong kind of people find out about you and Ez, you will be taken off the case. Then they'll probably have you both assigned to different teams. You want that?"
"No." All will to fight seemed to have left Buck.
"Good. Then let me get you out into the van and we'll start planning a way to get Ezra back into your arms, safe and sound." Chris hated the harsh words, but at the moment they were the only ones he knew would help him get what he wanted. The tall, darkhaired man seemed ready to break down at any second. Nudging him towards the van, Chris tried not to think of the specific nature of their assignment. He didn't succeed.
George Delmer Donovan was in every detail the perfect gentleman, to the outer public. A wealthy businessman with a beautiful wife, who made large contributions to a variety of charities every year. What most people didn't know was that most of the man's money came from illegal businesses that dealt in the trading of humans. Because of Donovan hundreds of young boys and young men had been kidnapped and drugged to provide brothels or a single buyer with the right amount of money. This was only one branch of the vast emporium that Donovan had built up and that Chris fervently wanted to see destroyed. The thought of their own agent, their friend, being at such a monster's mercy chilled him to the bone.
Buck had to be thinking the same thing. Ezra had gone undercover as a male streetwalker, knowing that Donovan's organization preferred taking the ones who were most likely not to be reported missing. Three weeks had gone by, with the six others playing customers of their bemused Southerner's 'services'. Then one night their target had taken the bait. From there everything took a wrong turn.
The young man had been standing alone on a street corner when a black vehicle had pulled up next to him. In perfect sync with his role he had sauntered over to the window that was slowly opening.
"'Evening, mister," they could hear his voice over the wire, the thick coating of the accent betraying the calm, light tone. "You looking for something?"
A voice none of them knew, replied. "Yeah, kid. You."
"Well, then I would have to say you've come to the right place. And just...what...were you looking for me for?"
"Get in the car and I'll tell you."
"Oh no. I believe there are some issues that need to be discussed first."
"Yes, the money... I'll pay whatever you usually charge for your...services. If you do good I'll even throw in a little bonus."
"I always do good, mister."
"Then get in the car and prove it."
Ezra had taken a step back from the car. "I'm sorry, but I don't do backseats. Why don't you park that nice car of yours and I'll show you a place where we can have some fun?"
Instead of the spoken reply a revolver was directed out of the window, aimed straight at the greeneyed man. "I don't think so, kid. Get into the car before I blow your pretty, little head away."
They had tracked the car to the warehouse on the factory ground. The man inside of the dark car had kept the gun pointed at their team mate, leading him into the building. Shortly thereafter they had lost all contact. Chris was very aware of that Ezra might have gotten rid of the wire if he stood a chance to be found out. This particular assignement had meant a lot to him and he was hellbent on taking down Donovan. And if JD was correct and the tracking device was simply playing up... He had waited.
And now everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.
"Donovan likes to sample the goods a little before shipping them on," the informant had told them. "Especially the young, innocent looking ones... If Kurtz, that's his right-hand man, sees someone he thinks his boss will enjoy, he lets him know. After he has had his fun with them, they get moved on. If they're still breathing..." Looking Ezra up and down, a leer showed on the older man's face. "This precious, little thing will do nicely..."
At this point Buck's attempt to punch the man's lights out seemed a lot more reasonable. The man was a employee of Donovan, they had taken him with a truckload of tied-up, drugged youths at the state border. Facing a very long jailsentence, he chose to cooperate in turn for a lesser sentence.
Checking the computer again for any signs of life, Chris felt fear constrict his chest. Buck was slumped in a chair, hiding his face in his hands. Still no sign. The silence inside the vehicle was deafening.
"We still don't know if they found out who he really is."
His words made Buck look up, a humourless smile on his face. "So what, Chris? They still took him away, and I have no idea where he is, if he's safe..." Anger sent the blue eyes burning. "I swear, if that psycho lays a finger on him..." The burning was only enhanced by the sheen of tears.
Chris reached out and took one of the shaking hands between his own two. "He's going to be ok, Buck. It won't be long before you have him back, I promise. I'll even give you both a week off so you can show him just how much you have missed him."
A lone tear made it's way down the darker man's pale cheek. "It just scares me so, Chris... He's my life, my heart. What am I supposed to do without him?"
Chris had no answer for that.
Thomas Kurtz had worked for Donovan for years. His job as security coordinator payed more than well, and his boss' profession didn't bother him in the least. Power and money were the main importances in his life and until now he had been nothing but happy with his work.
Standing over the curled-up figure of a auburnhaired young man, his face was dark.
"You're telling me he's an ATF agent? That what the hell is he doing here, not to mention alive?" He kicked the unconscious figure, watching with satisfaction the pained expression fluttering over the pale, grey features.
Donovan chuckled. "Listen to what I am telling you, my friend. He doesn't remember anything. Not his own name, most certainly not mine. He had no idea who I was. How could I let such a golden opportunity pass through my fingers? After all I thought I'd lost him when he ran away after Mr. Carder's unfortunate demise." A cruel look showed on the tall, muscular man's face. "I told the old cook he was to keep his hands to himself. Normally I applause his taste in the specimens he brings in for me...but I don't like someone's else's leftovers." The brown eyes found the man laying on the ground in front of him. "Look at him, he is gorgeous, isn't he?" A hungry smile curved his lips. "I'm afraid that we will have to find a new provider for that part of town. Especially if there are more like this one out there. I have several customers who will pay a lot of money for someone like him."
"Then why don't you call them?" The dry tone of voice from his second-in-command dripped of sarcasm, making Donovan frown.
"Because of a certain gentleman called Orrin Travis. The man has made my life miserable for a long time now. And I do believe this little one is a member of his cherished Team Seven. What better way to get the old man than to destroy those who mean the most to him? Unfortunelately I have had some trouble getting to his lovely wife and daughter-in-law...but this will do just as well. We'll use this one to get to the rest of the team too. When all of them are dead, I'll make sure that Travis knows who was behind it before I let him join them."
"And it's really worth all this? You know that Travis will never be able to gather enough evidence to get you convicted."
Donovan straightened. "A man of my position has to think of his good name. Mr. Travis seems determined to ruin it. I can't have that. Can you imagine what my wife, and our friends at the country club would think of the matter?"
"Then let me fix it!" Kurtz didn't mind that he was beginning to sound pleading. Donovan had helped him make an obscene amount of money, but the other man was far from sane, proven on numerous accounts. He had no intentions of letting his boss lead him right to jail. "I'll make sure that noone takes him seriously. Just let me deal with the man and for God's sake, get rid of this guy."
"Of course not!" Donovan looked apalled. "I'm taking the little one to my cabin. I am looking most forward to having him wake up again. And since you keep insisting, I'll let you help me bring down the fabled Team Seven." An evil smile slid across his face. "Don't ever question me, Thomas. Or I'll be forced to have to teach you your place. It will not be pleasant."
"Yes, sir." Kurtz looked away. He already had a back-up plan and escape route laid out for incidents like this. But he still was reluctant to leave such a lucrative business. Donovan would probably calm down and forget all about his ridiculous plan after enjoying the auburn haired agent. At least he'd be in a much better mood.
"I'll have him brought to your cabin," he said, crouching next to the still unconscious man. "And I'll have someone clean him up and change his clothes so he'll look presentable."
"Thank you, Thomas." Donovan was smiling. "I knew you would see things my way. Now don't be long. I'm anxious to see those big, green eyes again." Whistling to himself he left.
Silently Kurtz stared at the man in front of him. The younger man's face was pale and drawn, bruises and traces of blood marring the smoothness of his skin. "Poor sucker," he absentmindly thought. "Oh well, at least you get my boss in a better mood." A small smile crossed the thin lips. "And he'll get his deranged mind back to what's important. Making money for me."