Title: Undercover of the Night
Pairing: Greg Sanders/Don Flack
Fandom: CSI: Vegas/CSI: NY
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Greg Sanders or Don Flack, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***Don bounded up the front steps of Greg's brownstone, smiling as he thought of seeing his boyfriend. Even though Greg had been nervous and strained lately, he was sure that he could think of ways to calm him -- ways that they would both enjoy.
He frowned as he approached the door of Greg's apartment, realizing that the door was open. It hadn't been opened wide, but there was definitely a crack between the wall and the door -- maybe Greg had somehow forgotten to close it all the way when he came in from work.
No, that wasn't like Greg -- especially not after all that he'd been dealing with lately. Don's heart began to pound in his chest; he didn't think that half-open door boded well for what he would find inside the apartment. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steel himself.
Slowly, he pushed the door open and stepped into the living room. His eyes widened in horror as he looked around, taking in the signs of an obvious struggle, the broken glass of the window, and the curtains blowing in the wind that lent a chill to the room.
It had happened. He had kept telling himself that having police cars come by Greg's apartment regularly would scare anybody away who might be threatening his boyfriend, that whoever was taking pictures of him wasn't a stalker. But he had obviously been wrong.
Greg had been taken, kidnapped from his home, probably by the people who had been following him and taking pictures of him. The very thing that Don had feared, but had tried to erase from his mind and to make Greg feel wasn't happening, had taken place.
He should have been more careful. He should have had police protection around Greg all the time, made sure that he was safe. He'd been kidnapped because his boyfriend had been too worried that people might find out about their relationship, instead of keeping him protected.
Don buried his face in his hands, letting the fear that swept over him in a wave take him over. He had no idea who had taken Greg, or why. He had no way of knowing where to look for him, and no clue who could have done this. Greg had simply .... vanished.
He had to find his boyfriend. And he had to do it quickly. Greg was more than likely scared to death, and there was no telling what might be done to him. Apparently, whoever had kidnapped him had been stalking him for a long time, and who knew what they had in mind?
Rape? Murder? Don didn't want to think of either one, but he was fairly sure that one -- or both -- of those reasons were behind Greg's kidnapping. Maybe someone had somehow found out that Greg came from a wealthy family, and even now his parents had been contacted to pay a ransom.
As he moved further into the room, the white envelope on the couch that bore his name caught his eye. With a trembling hand, he reached for it, holding it for a few moments before tearing it open. He almost didn't want to touch it; somehow, it felt evil.
There were only a few typewritten lines on the single sheet of folded paper inside the envelop, but they struck terror into Don's heart. They proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Greg's kidnapping was his own fault; Greg had been taken because of him.
Don lifted the letter with a trembling hand, his eyes scanning the lines for a second time.
If you want to see your pretty boyfriend alive again, you'll do what you're told. You make one wrong move, and you'll find him in pieces.
We don't want money. We want a favor. There is a man in jail who shouldn't be there. You're going to get him out and bring him to us. When you do, then we'll let your boyfriend go. You've got forty-eight hours.
Remember what this could cost you. If you bring any other cops into this, he's dead. We'll be watching you, so don't think you can get away with double-crossing us.
You'll get a phone call. Answer it. Finding out who you're springing is the only to keep your boyfriend alive. Don't forget what's at stake here.
Bring in any more cops and he dies. We'll be watching, so don't try anything.
He's a very pretty boy. You might get him back a little used.
There was no signature; Don hadn't expected one. Of course these men didn't want him to know who they were. He had probably dealt iwth them before, though; they obviously knew his name, knew who he was, knew that he was a cop.
Could they have figured that out just by watching him with Greg, seeing where he went sometimes after he left his boyfriend's apartment? That was possible, but it was more probable that they had already known who he was, and had targeted Greg because of him.
This was his worst nightmare, springing to vivid life. He had been afraid that something like this would happen when he had started dating Greg, that his boyfriend would be used against him, that Greg's life would be put in danger because of his job.
Don's blood ran cold at the last line; his hand clenched into fists, a wave of pure rage sweeping over him to replace the fear that had been there before. If they touched Greg, he would kill them. He would kill them all with his bare hands.
These men had come here, to disrupt the life of someone who had nothing to do with them or their crimes, putting an innocent person at risk. They were going to be caught -- and they were going to pay with their own lives for what they'd done tonight.
Those men had come here under the cover of night, taking away the one thing that meant the most to him in the world. They thought they were going to blackmail him, but he would somehow find a way to turn the tables on them, get the better of them.
And how was he going to do that? a voice piped up in the back of his mind. They had said that he only had forty-eight hours. How was he going to find a way to rescue Greg and ensure his safety in that short a space of time? He couldn't do it alone.
But he had to do this alone, Don told himself. He couldn't tell the people he worked with about his feelings for Greg; he couldn't let them know that he was involved with someone who worked in the crime lab, who was younger than he was -- and who was a man.
It wasn't that he cared about people knowing he was bisexual, he told himself firmly. He wasn't ashamed of his relationship with Greg. But he didn't want his lover to be targeted within the department, to be harassed or have his job made harder because of his involvement with a cop.
He'd managed to keep their relationship undercover, more to protect Greg than to protect himself. But now, maybe it was time for everything to be out in the open, for people to know what Greg meant to him and how imperative it was that they get him back safely.
If he lost Greg, he would lose everything that meant the most to him in life. His job wouldn't matter; nothing else would, either. All he would be able to do for the rest of his days was mourn the young man he had lost -- and hate himself for having made it happen.
No, he couldn't bring anyone else into this. He had to make sure that the man they wanted out of jail got out, even if he had to risk losing his job over it. Greg's life was a hell of a lot more important than anything else, and he had no doubt that these men would kill Greg without a second thought.
Greg's safety was all that mattered. If he had to destroy his own career and let a man go free who rightly belonged behind bars in order to keep Greg safe, then he would do it. He'd do anything to protect Greg -- and the men who had kidnapped his boyfriend knew that.
But maybe he could still surprise them, and get Greg to safety before they could stop him. He could find out where they were and confront them, under cover of the night; he was used to moving through that kind of darkness. He'd had more than enough practice with it.
He was going to do what they demanded, just so these men would know that he meant to keep his end of the bargain and to keep them from hurting Greg. But he was also going to rescue his boyfriend, and do it on his own -- not matter what the cost might be to himself.
Standing there in the middle of the desolate room, a cold wind blowing through the window, Don looked at the broken glass and found himself fervently hoping that those glittering shards didn't somehow represent the broken pieces of the life had planned to share with Greg.
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