Title: Silent Witness
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.
***Greg closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the soft cushions of the couch, wishing that he didn't feel so nervous. Don was coming over later tonight, but he wouldn't be here for another couple of hours, and the minutes were crawling by slowly.
Ever since he'd realized that he had a stalker, he hated spending nights alone, and Don tried to be here as often as he could. But his boyfriend couldn't spend all of his time here; he had a job that didn't include Greg, and he had to spend a lot of time working.
Greg wished that he could get more hours in at the crime lab, but that hadn't happened so far. He was still training, and even though he was told every day that he did good work, he still hadn't advanced enough to be granted the overtime hours he'd requested.
Everyone seemed to think that it was ridiculous of him to want those hours, but he hadn't told them just what sort of situation he was dealing with. Maybe if he did, they would let him stay at work longer every day just for his own peace of mind, he mused silently.
But what good would it do for the people he worked with to know that someone was stalking him? They'd look at him as being some kind of victim then, and that was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want to be seen as someone who was weak and needed protection.
The only person he would allow to see him in that light was Don -- and that was only because the other man was so close to him. If they weren't lovers, he wouldn't have dropped the concealing barrier that he had a tendency to keep around himself.
Don had broken through that barrier on the first night they'd met; no one else had ever managed to do that. Not as quickly as Don had. There had just been something about the older man that Greg had responded to, something that he hadn't expected to find.
As many times as he'd told himself that he shouldn't fall in love, he hadn't been able to stop himself from doing just that. And even though he didn't have irrefutable proof that Don felt the same, Greg was sure that he did. They were too close for what they shared not to be called love.
He knew that Don cared deeply for him; the other man wouldn't be staying here nearly every night if he didn't, going out of his way to make sure that Greg was safe and protected as much as he could. But Don couldn't be here all the time, as much as he might try to be.
That was scarier than Greg wanted to admit. He always felt nervous and shaky now, even when he just went around the corner to the grocery store. He was sure that he could always feel eyes on him, even if he didn't see those telltale flashes of light.
Maybe whoever was following him had decided to back off, Greg thought with a sigh. He hoped so. He hadn't seen those flashes of light that Don said came from a camera for the last couple fo days, even if he did still have that eerie feeling of being observed.
He couldn't shake that feeling, no matter where he went or what he did. There were times when he would look up from his desk while he was in the lab, sure that there was someone watching him, before he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down.
He was being a lot more vigilant than he usually was; he'd never been this paranoid about anything in his life. He always made sure to lock doors and windows, and to keep the curtains drawn. He'd even gotten a deadbolt for the door, even though he wasn't sure if it really helped.
Maybe he shouldn't be so paranoid, Greg told himself, taking a deep breath and then letting it out slowly. He hadn't seen those flashes for a couple of days; maybe the time for being worried was over, and whoever had been taking pictures of him had moved on to someone else.
But that didn't explain why he still felt as though he was being watched, why he could feel a prickling on the back of his neck whenever he stepped outside. Whoever had their eye on him hadn't backed off or stopped watching; they were still there. He could feel it.
Like now. There was a prickling down his spine, a feeling that he was being observed, even though he was alone in his apartment with the curtains drawn and the door locked. Greg shivered, turning his head to look at the window only a few feet away from the couch.
As though his movement was some kind of signal, there was a loud crash as the glass shattered, making Greg cover his face with his hands in reaction and close his eyes. He barely had time to gasp before two men climbed through the window, heading straight for him.
He was on his feet in seconds, heading for the hallway towards his bedroom; he didn't really know what that would accomplish, now that these assailants were already inside the apartment. One of them caught him by the arm, then clamped a hand firmly over his mouth.
Greg struggled in his captor's grip, knowing that he'd been a fool not to scream at the top of his lungs as soon as the window had burst inwards. He should have made some kind of sound, alerted the outside world to the fact that he was being attacked.
Greg tried to jerk his face free of the man's grip, but it was impossible. If only he could manage to let out one good loud scream, he might be able to attract someone to his predicament -- but now that he was held prisoner, it was obvious that he wouldn't be allowed a chance of escape.
Kicking and squirming, he was dragged across the floor to the window; a third man had climbed in, a coil of thin rawhide cord in his hands. He jerked Greg's arms behind his back and bound his hands, then knet and tied the young man's ankles together.
This couldn't be happening, Greg thought dazedly, his eyes widening at the realization of what was going on. He was being kidnapped. It didn't seem possible. This wasn't something that could possibly happen to him; nobody would want him as a hostage.
The hand over his mouth loosened for just a second, then was quickly pulled away. When Greg opened his mouth to draw air in for a scream, a thick cloth was thrust into his mouth, then another one tied between his lips to hold the gag firmly in place.
Greg whimpered and turned his face away as one of the men leaned close to him, scrutinizing him as if to make sure that they had the right person. "Let's get him out of here," he growled, jerking his head towards the window. "Before the cop gets back."
The others nodded; one of them withdrew a wicked-looking needle from the pocket of the black jacket he wore, a smile curving his lips as he pressed the plunger. Liquid squirted from the tip; Greg shook his head wildly and tried to back away.
"Don't worry, kid, it's not lethal," the man holding him captive said, his voice rough and grating in Greg's ear. "It'll just keep you knocked out until we get to where we're going. We don't want you to be making any noise. It'll go a lot easier for you if you're kept quiet."
The sleeve of his t-shirt was pulled up; Greg tried to struggle as the needle moved closer to his arm, but it only took him a few seconds to realize that his struggles were making his veins stand out more noticeably, making it much easier for the needle to hit its mark.
He could do nothing but moan deep in his throat as the needle found its mark; only seconds later, his eyes closed and his body slumped in his captor's grip. The man threw Greg's inert body over his shoulder, his eyes moving around the living room as though searching for something.
Stalking to the couch where Greg had been sitting, he placed an envelope there, where it couldn't be missed. The name Flack was written across it in bold, slashing black letters; there could be no doubt who it was meant for.
"This is the perfect bait to bring him to us," he told his companions as the three of them headed for the window, obviously going out the way they'd come in. "And if there's collateral damage, then he's got nobody to blame for it but himself, does he?"
One of the other man laughed gruffly as the three of them existed the brownstone, going quietly to a car parked in front of the house and shifting their burden into the back seat. The dark grey car pulled out into the street, leaving only the house behind as a silent witness.
Within seconds, all trace that they had ever been there was gone. The only sign that there was anything wrong was the flutter of a pale blue curtain through the broken front window of Greg's apartment, and the glitter of broken glass sparkling like dew on the trampled grass.
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