FIC: As a Newborn

[valeriev84]

Title: As a Newborn
Author: Valerie Vancollie (valeriev84 [at] hotmail.com)
Characters: Don, David
Rating: PG-15
Betas: aleo_70 & fredbassett
Summary: When Don woke, he had no memory of what happened or how he got there.
Spoilers: Friendly Fire
Note: 1) This fic was written as a (belated) birthday present for celadon_55.
2) It is also a response to the January Clue Challenge at the hurt_Don. The prompts were: Who? = Don, What? = drugs & Where? = warehouse
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Numb3rs characters, items or situations. I only lay claim to the original aspects of the fic.

Don wasn't entirely sure when, or how, he regained consciousness as it happened so gradually, so slowly, that there wasn't one true moment of awareness. Merely a gently increasing flow of thoughts and sensations. Even when he was aware of being aware, of who he was and why consciousness was both a good and desirable thing, it was as if it was only a partial awareness. He felt half-awake and it took far too long for thoughts and feelings to penetrate the hazy fog that shrouded his mind. He could tell by how long it took him to become alarmed by his impaired state of mind, something which a more primitive part of his brain screamed at him was a bad thing, even if he couldn't quite remember now why that was.

The alarm he felt, however, was enough to start rousing him some more and, eventually, Don figured it out. The resulting adrenaline served to further dissipate the fog impairing his mental faculties, but it wasn't enough, not by a long shot.

What the hell was going on? What had happened to him? The last thing Don could remember was stopping at the store for some desperately needed groceries. He'd been exhausted from a raid just hours before that had ended in one hell of a firefight which, though it hadn't resulted in any deaths on their side, had been messy with three agents ending up in the hospital. He'd wanted nothing more than to go home and crash for a few precious hours before returning to deal with the interrogations, not to mention supervising the case David was running that had taken a very nasty turn. It was gruesome, random, bloody and escalating rapidly, all of which ensured wide media coverage and frightened people. It was only a matter of time before ADIC Wright ordered him to take over the case himself, especially now that his own was just about closed. So, yeah, he'd wanted to catch some sleep before launching himself into that particular madness, as the perp was a real piece of work, a veritable sociopath from the look of things. But he had to eat and he knew his cupboards were bare, so it was either stop to grab a quick microwaveable dinner on the way home or order out and wait for the food to arrive. In the end, speed had won out and he'd stopped at a store along the way.

He remembered pulling into the parking lot, entering the store and then nothing. Hell, Don couldn't really remember waking up here, not clearly anyway. So what had happened to him? Where was he and why was he so damned hazy?

It was with a start that Don realized that if he wanted answers to his questions, he would have to look for them. It was odd, the realization came almost as a shock to him, and that made no sense whatsoever. He'd always been proactive in his life, even as a kid he'd been more likely to seek out the answers to his own questions rather than just asking someone, a trait that had caused his parents no end of worry and fear as he'd gotten himself into many an unsafe situation in the process, completely heedless of the dangers he was placing himself in. His father still claimed to this day that it was Don and not Charlie who was responsible for his first grey hairs. That was completely ridiculous as far as Don was concerned, but his father refused to relent.

His thoughts were wandering again, Don realized with a chill. That wasn't normal for him, he was generally able to focus quite well, almost too well at times according to his father and brother, though he considered that quite rich coming from Charlie. After all, it wasn't like he'd ever focused away the death of a loved one, no, only his genius brother had been able to accomplish that particular feat.

Don suddenly became aware of the fact that his eyes were open. He'd just assumed that they were closed as he couldn't see anything. The panic that flashed through him helped to rouse him some more, which only served to increase his fear as he finally understand exactly how slow and impaired his thought processes were. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was his mind so slow and fuzzy? Why couldn't he remember what had happened to him? Where was he? Why couldn't he see anything?

Why couldn't he see?

The last question in particular scared Don and the urge to move, to reach up and touch his face, his eyes, shot through him. Without conscious thought, he moved to follow through on it, or, at least, he tried to. The fear instantly morphed into full-blown terror as Don discovered that he couldn't move, at least not significantly anyway. His fingers twitched in response to his desperate attempts to move but that was all that he got for his efforts. The worst part about the whole situation was that, as far as he was aware, he wasn't tied up or otherwise restrained, it was that he simply couldn't move. He had no control over his limbs like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

As if he was paralyzed.

Briefly panic and utter terror flooded his mind and all rational thought fled, but then Don was able to reclaim some control over his emotions through sheer force of will. Once he'd managed to do so, he forced himself to think about the situation rationally instead of emotionally. Alright, what did he know for sure? He couldn't move his arms or legs, but he could move his fingers and, he checked, his toes. Okay, that was a good sign, it meant that the nerves hadn't been completely destroyed, just damaged or impaired somehow. So something had happened to him either in the store or very shortly after it. Just because he didn't remember leaving the store under his own power didn't mean that he hadn't, it wasn't unusual for people who had taken a blow to the head to lose a little bit of what had happened right before the blow. Don almost hoped that was what had transpired as there had been a lot of people in the store and he hoped nothing bad had happened in the middle of all of that.

Don took a deep breath before allowing his mind to turn to the next thing he knew. He couldn't see even though his eyes were open. The thought that he was blind as well as paralyzed flashed lightning quick across his mind, threatening to drag him back under in another wave of terror, but he fought against it. Just because he couldn't see didn't mean that he was blind, it could just as easily be that he was being kept in the dark. In fact, that was by far the more likely of the two options. He couldn't let his fear cloud his judgment here or he'd be finished. Straining desperately to peer as far as he could while completely unable to move his head, Don was finally able to make out the faintest trace of illumination coming from his left. See, he wasn't blind, just being kept prisoner in the dark.

The thought inevitably forced Don to confront the final thing he knew for certain: someone, or several people, had taken him prisoner and drugged him. Oh, and they had to know that he was a federal agent as he had been wearing both his badge and sidearm at the time of his abduction, not to mention the shirt with the Bureau logo on it. This last fact made the situation very bleak indeed as it meant that this had probably been a targeted attack and not some random snatch and grab. Therefore whoever held him had planned on committing several felonies or they'd never have taken him to begin with.

So, they'd intended to get themselves a federal agent, maybe even him specifically, but there was still the chance that this was Bureau-centric rather than about him personally. Don fought off the rising panic, knowing that he needed to remain in control of himself if he was to stand any chance of surviving this situation. Or at least as in control of himself as he could be given that he'd already been physically incapacitated by some unknown paralytic. If he retained his mental faculties, then he could still cause his captors some trouble. If they thought that they could simply drug him into submission, then they had another thing coming. Don refused to make it that easy for them and was determined to resist as much as he possibly could for as long as he could. Let them try and make him cooperative!

All further thoughts on the subject were abandoned when Don suddenly heard footsteps approaching his location and he shifted his attention to the upcoming confrontation. Should he pretend to still be unconscious and see if he could learn anything else about what was happening that way? It was worth a try at least, especially if it could provide him with even a little more information.

The sudden bright illumination of the room forced Don to squeeze his eyes shut even as he automatically moved to cut off a startled cry before he realized the futility of that action. Although he'd closed his eyes as tightly as he could, the light still stabbed at him through the lids, far too bright after the near total darkness he'd been kept in earlier. Along with the light, something else came to life just before the sound of a heavy door opening reached him. It took him a few seconds to realize that the familiar noise was the beeping of a heart monitor and that it was going far to fast for anyone to mistake him for being unconscious.

"Ah, you're awake, excellent," a horribly distorted male voice stated. "I was hoping you'd be ready for the fun to begin."

The words were enough to confirm all of Don's fears and he desperately tried to move again. Like before, none of his limbs responded and he could do nothing but slowly open his eyes and allow them to adjust to the bright light so that he wouldn't be blind as well as immobile. The echoing of the footsteps as they approached him told Don that he was being kept in a large, nearly empty room. He filed the information away even as he quickly scanned what little he could see of his surroundings. The ceiling was so far above him that he thought it had to be the roof he was looking at, the rough finishing of it and the wooden beams supporting it adding credit to his assessment.

He wasn't being kept in a regular house or office building, that was for sure, but Don couldn't really make out enough to narrow it down any further than that. At least not reliably. He was forced to wait and see if he could learn any more about his surroundings before he could figure out where he was being kept.

"Hello, Eppes, remember me?" the man inquired, reaching his side and leaning over the agent's prone body so as to be within his limited range of view. "'Cause I certainly haven't forgotten you."

Don's blood turned to ice in his veins as he looked into the eyes of his captor and realized who it was. Victor Sylvestin. Sure, the man looked far older than the last time he'd seen him and his face was marked with the signs and scars of a hard run in a high risk detention facility like the one he and Fox had sent him to. Despite that or the unnatural change to his voice which now sounded like it was being forced out over ruined vocal chords, Don instantly recognized the man.

It was the eyes, he knew. Don had never seen any like them before, being green and fresh from the Academy, and thankfully he'd only seen a few pairs like them since. It was with men like this that he could agree with the expression that the eyes were the window to the soul or, in this particular case, a complete lack of one. No one looking into Sylvestin's eyes right now could doubt that he was insane in the sociopathic way. The man, unfortunately, was a brilliant actor and could almost pass for normal if he wanted to, or at least he had been able to do so over a decade ago. Don wasn't so sure if it would work now as the man's insanity seemed worse than ever.

All of a sudden, everything fell into place with a horrible clarity and Don had to suppress the urge to vomit as he suddenly realized exactly what lay in store for him. Sylvestin was David's serial torturer and killer; he was the one who'd been grabbing people seemingly at random off the streets to torture them for days before brutally killing them. It wasn't Sylvestin's old M.O., but then, he'd always been disturbingly flexible in his ways, making it that much harder to track and convict him. Now, it seemed, he'd picked up a few new tricks that he'd personalized and made all his own and Don had a sneaking suspicion that he'd probably picked them up in prison.

The delighted smile that spread viciously over Sylvestin's face distracted Don from his thoughts and he realized the heart monitor had sped up rapidly, a clear indicator to the man that Don did indeed remember him. Silently, he cursed his body for giving away far more about his state of mind than he wanted his captor to know. It would be very hard for him to disguise his fear from Sylvestin. Not that there was anything he could do about the situation.

"Ah, I see you do remember me, Agent Eppes," Sylvestin began. "I would have been most upset if you didn't. Most upset indeed."

Uh oh, Don thought with another flair of panic, Sylvestin was definitely further gone than before and, what was worse, he seemed to be in a good mood at the moment. Almost counter-intuitively, it was better if the man was in a foul mood. Despite the fact that Sylvestin deliberately went for the most painful and vulnerable organs when in a good mood, he did so in a way that allowed him to keep his victims alive so that he could play with them for as long as humanly possible given what he was doing to them. The coroner had found traces of adrenaline inducing substances within the blood work of the previous victims and they'd deduced that the perp had administered them to revive his victims after they'd passed out from the pain.

When he was in a good mood, he was as in control of his faculties as he ever was and that meant calm, deliberate damage.

Don knew from experience, however, that when worked up into a fury, something else snapped within the man and he went into a blind rage. It was at that point that he lost any and all control he still possessed over his impulses and, quite literally, went berserk. If he was going to die here, at the hands of this madman, then he'd far rather have it be the quick way of an enraged Sylvestin, not the slow, methodical and unbelievably painful way of the happy Sylvestin.

Not that he wanted to die at all, but Don had seen the crime scene photos taken at the dumping grounds and they'd chilled him to the core even then. Some of the victims had hardly even looked human anymore, only the discovery of the head a short distance away had identified them before lab tests had confirmed the results.

"Unbelievably upset in fact," Sylvestin continued before breaking out into a fit of giggles that caused Don's stomach to clench.

Did the man have any sanity left at all?

"I had really wanted to spend some quality time with Agent Fox instead of you," the psychopath declared suddenly. "But then I learned that he was dead and by your hand as well. Imagine my surprise! Yet I can't find it within myself to be too disappointed, not knowing that he died by the hands of the very pupil he taught. I wish you could tell me what it felt like to kill him, I really do, but there will be time enough for that later. Perhaps when you'll be more inclined to tell me the truth as I really do want all of the gory details."

The urge to vomit was back and Don briefly wondered if he'd choke to death doing so or whether Sylvestin would realize what was going on in time to save him. It figured that the bastard would think he had enjoyed himself when Peter had forced him to fire his gun. Suicide by cop. The thought still managed to enrage him, that his former mentor had forced him to do that, and he latched onto it almost desperately. The burn of his anger should help him through what was about to come.

"We're going to have so much fun here, just let me show you," Sylvestin said, stepping back and out of Don's line of sight.

There was a brief silence before it was broken by the sound of a small, whirring engine and the noise of winches and levers hoisting and rotating. At first Don couldn't see anything, but then something entered his line of sight; a mirror. It was a full length mirror that Sylvestin was positioning over him so that he could see himself and the immediate area around himself. It was not a comforting sight. As he'd expected earlier, Don saw that he was not, in fact, tied down, his captor relying instead on the drug to keep him where he was. Well, at least he was counting on it for now, the blood caked manacles attached to the two ends of the metal table he was laying on clearly indicated that Sylvestin had no qualms about using more conventional means of restraining his victims.

What really worried Don, though, and what made everything else seem irrelevant were the two trays of... of instruments lying on a small table near him. Though they were clean to the point of gleaming, he had no doubt that they had been as blood soaked as the manacles when Sylvestin had been through with Pamela Field. Don attempted to focus on that, on what he knew of the case instead of on what the psychopath had in store for him, but it didn't really help and he could hear the heart monitor giving away his fear yet again.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Sylvestin said as he stepped forwards once more and stroked the arranged tools. "You're going to become intimately acquainted with all of them before we're through."

Don fought to control his heart rate, to not give the man what he wanted, but found that he couldn't. His face and eyes gave away nothing, this much he could confirm in the mirror, not that he really had to worry about his face just now. The impulse to still the muscles from displaying any emotion was still there, but it was useless without the ability to force his pulse under control, which was probably why Sylvestin used the heart monitor in the first place. Well that and... he almost shied away from the thought but forced himself to confront it. Sylvestin probably used the equipment to better be able to keep his victims alive until he was ready for them to die. It gave him greater control over the situation and also allowed him to know when he was pushing too far too fast and was likely to lose his victim before he wanted to.

"I can hear you're already anticipating our little sessions together," Sylvestin stated, his face transforming into a predatory smile. "So what does it feel like to be on the opposite side of the hunt, Eppes? Eh? To be the helpless one restrained and not allowed to defend yourself?"

There was a reply on the tip of Don's tongue that probably would have gotten him injured if he'd been able to utter it, but his vocal chords and mouth were as unresponsive as the rest of him. Almost as if sensing the intent, Sylvestin gave him a taunting smile before turning towards his tools.

Despite the almost complete lack of results his previous efforts had garnered him, Don once again threw everything he had into attempting to move his leaden limbs. Logically, he knew that sheer force of will could not hope to overcome the effects of the drug in his system, but it simply wasn't in his nature to just lie there and do nothing. He and Charlie had had many a discussion about his inability to see reason sometimes and to submit to it. As far as he was concerned, emotions and hope were a powerful force that his little brother wasn't giving enough credit to when it came to his calculations.

Not unexpectedly, Don got absolutely nothing for his efforts but some useless twitching of his fingers and bare toes. Instead, he could only watch helplessly as Sylvestin approached his tray of instruments and paused, as if trying to decided which one to utilize first. Well, that and his own immobile body, though he tried to avoid focusing on it as it creeped him out to see himself so still while his eyes moved restlessly in their sockets.

Another wave of helplessness and hopelessness washed over him and he wondered desperately if anyone even knew he was missing yet. He had no idea how much time had passed between entering the grocery store and now. It could be anything from a mere hour or two to several days. With the use of drugs, the sociopath could have kept him unconscious quite easily. Unfortunately, since he'd already been starving when he'd been captured, he was left with no real reliable markers as to how much time had passed.

No, wait, that wasn't entirely true, Don was able to see his own reflection in the mirror and it didn't look like he had too much stubble on his face. Not that it was a very accurate indicator of the passage of time, but it caused his stomach to sink even further. If it was right, then it could well be that no one even knew yet what had happened to him, which meant that he was on his own here. He had to fight against his own body to prevent the heart monitor from giving away his ever increasing fear and terror. He was on his own and as helpless as a newborn; exactly how Sylvestin wanted him.

"Well, first things first, as Momma always used to say," Sylvestin stated, picking up a large pair of heavy duty scissors. "And who am I to argue with her?"

Don had a whole slew of responses to give to that particular question in light of the late Mrs. Sylvestin's own illness that had caused her to so thoroughly abuse and twist her own son, but unfortunately he couldn't utter a single one of them. It was probably just as well, as he knew from experience that there was no reasoning with Sylvestin. The man was insane and the usual logic and arguments for use when an armed and dangerous suspect threatened a disarmed agent wouldn't work. It was really pointless to even try, but he couldn't help wanting to. In the end, it was fact that he couldn't do so, that he was being prevented from making the choice as to whether to speak or be silent that really grated him. It was the lack of even some semblance of control which hit him the worst, which was stupid, he knew, but there it was.

Sometimes Don really hated Bradford and his training that ensured that Don could not hide such things from himself anymore. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss.

Without anymore preamble, Sylvestin reached down and grabbed hold of the hem of the shirt Don was wearing. With swift, practiced moves, the man began cutting it off of him. The only indication that this process was anything other than a clinical disrobement as might happen in the ER of a hospital was the deliberate detour Sylvestin took to ensure that he cut the FBI logo above his heart in two. The malicious grin on the man's face as he did so sent another wave of dread coursing through Don and he closed his eyes for a moment before he felt hands at his jeans and he snapped them open instantly. As with the shirt, Sylvestin methodically cut his pants from him and left the pieces lying on the table like a discarded skin. Thankfully the man left his boxers alone, but Don knew from the crime scene photos that it was only a matter of time before they too were taken away from him. For the moment, however, he was thankful for small favors and watched Sylvestin closely as the man started humming to himself as he returned the scissors to the tray and seemed to be debating what to do next.

"Oh, I know," Sylvestin suddenly exclaimed, grabbing what appeared to be a pair of pliers from the tray. "How about this? It's important that we start things off on the right foot, no?"

The mad giggling was back and Don cast his mind about desperately for something that he could do to stop whatever Sylvestin had in mind. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he could do to help himself. All he was currently capable of was lying back and watching passively as the sociopath approached the end of his table and turned his attention towards his right foot. Apparently he'd been quite literal with his wording there, no wonder he'd been cracking himself up.

His thoughts were taking on a slightly hysteric edge and Don wondered absently if perhaps the drug didn't also have some additional effects as this wasn't like him. He wasn't acting quite like himself and the fact that it had taken him this long to come to this understanding spoke volumes about his mental state.

Don had a flash of insight just before Sylvestin reached down and grabbed his large toe nail with the pliers. Instead of instantly pulling it off, the man paused and looked up at him expectedly. The waiting was almost worse for Don than if he'd done it right away, as now he could do nothing but try and brace himself for the pain that he knew was coming. At least he didn't need to worry about stifling any cries or other sounds of pain which would otherwise try to escape him. That was probably the reason why there were manacles attached to the table; sooner or later Sylvestin was sure to grow bored of not being able to hear his victims' suffering as he tortured them.

The complete inability to react to the sudden flare of pain that shot through him in any way other than to squeeze his eyes shut felt surreal to Don. It was almost as if some vital component of the process was missing. Forcing his eyes back open, he saw that Sylvestin was watching his face closely, his toe nail now held in the pliers. Mustering up his best defiant glare, Don shot it at his captor and was pleased to see that some of it must have gotten through given the way Sylvestin's face lost its look of smug satisfaction and darkened. So, he could still apparently annoy the sociopath.

"This is merely the beginning," Sylvestin declared angrily. "I will hear you scream and beg for death before I'm through with you."

It took all of Don's efforts not to roll his eyes at the man. Now he just sounded like some crappy movie villain. The fact was, however, that unlike the big screen bad guys, Sylvestin was real and insane enough to make his statement become a reality. So, unoriginal or not, it was a very real threat. Despite that, it gave Don some hope. If Sylvestin wanted him to scream and beg, then he'd have to take him off the drug first, which meant that Don would be able to try something. Once he'd regained control of his body, anything was possible and he focused on that as the psychopath turned his attention back to his captive's toes.

The nails were okay, Don told himself, they'd grow back eventually and weren't really as bad as some of what Sylvestin could have chosen to start with. He could only hope that the man stuck to such innocuous things before he was released from the drug's embrace so he wasn't crippled and thus prevented from making a successful escape from the warehouse. It would help if he could discover exactly where he was being kept ahead of time, but he could improvise once he got outside and figured it out for himself if necessary. He was good at that, thinking on the fly or adjusting his plans at a moment's notice.

Since he'd kept half his attention on Sylvestin while thinking of the best way to act when he regained the use of his body, Don was instantly aware of the shift in the man's attention. Still clearly displeased that he wasn't getting the type of reaction he'd been hoping for, Sylvestin threw the pliers back onto the tray and swept aside the toe nails he'd collected on the side of the table Don lay on. The man paced back and forth a few times before reaching a decision and stepping aside, out of Don's line of sight even with the use of the mirror. Against his will, the heart monitor clearly displayed his increased anxiety as Don desperately listened for some clue as to what came next. There were some footsteps, a metallic noise and what sounded like sloshing liquid before he was drenched with ice cold water.

"There, ignore that," Sylvestin growled.

Panic flared within Don as the water ran down his face and dripped into his nose. Unable to open his mouth or wipe the water away with his hand, it was starting to hinder his breathing. Either Sylvestin didn't care or he didn't realize what was going on as he did nothing to rectify the situation and Don was left with no option but to wait and see if he'd drown on a pathetic bucketful of water. Wouldn't that be a horrible way to die? Dark spots were just starting to dance at the edge of his vision when the water was finally wiped away and air returned to his lungs.

"Hmm," Sylvestin murmured thoughtfully as he glanced down at his captive.

It took Don a few seconds to become aware of how his heart was racing and his stomach sank at the feeling of dread that seeped in. Oh God, no, not that. Please, not that, especially not in the way he knew Sylvestin would do it; namely over and over and over again, taking him to the brink each time but preventing him from going over it. He could tell exactly when the man made up his mind, even before he climbed onto the table and straddled his chest for better purchase.

"I haven't tried this before, so it'll be a new experience for the both of us," Sylvestin said gleefully.

Another host of colorful responses instantly sprang to Don's mind for that particular remark, but he didn't even try to give voice to them now, focusing instead on attempting to move his arms in order to defend himself. Whatever Sylvestin had given him, however, was still far too active and he could do nothing as the man reached forwards and wrapped large hands around his throat and started to squeeze.

A primal panic slammed through Don as his air supply was once again constricted. Only this time, it was done completely and, much as he wanted to squirm and fight, he couldn't. He couldn't do anything but lie there and look up into Sylvestin's manic eyes that looked far too pleased with himself. It was as if he was experiencing a deep, all encompassing joy and Don was forced to close his eyes in order to block it out as his body fought desperately for air around the constricting hands, or as desperately as it could with the paralytic in his system. It felt odd and so horribly wrong to be panicking and yet have his body feel so complacent and lax.

He found himself totally unable to keep his eyes shut and so Don turned his focus up to the mirror instead of meeting Sylvestin's gaze. Not that it would have made much difference as his vision was rapidly darkening and going hazy as his body started to shut down. The loud warning shriek of the alarm flooded his ears and followed him into darkness. There was a loud retort, or several of them, just before air hit his lungs once again. Don wasn't sure if he'd actually blacked out or not, but if he had, he didn't think it was for long.

Much as his mind wanted his lungs to take large, gasping breaths to make up for all the oxygen he'd been denied, Don found himself taking small breaths. It was as if the drug was only just allowing him to breath, but preventing him from doing anymore than that. As a result, the haze around his mind cleared slowly and he had a horrible sense of déjà vu. Hadn't he already been through this once today? The dread solidified within him at the thought of going through this over and over again to the accompaniment of Sylvestin's ecstatic eyes. He shuddered as he realized that the look had been almost orgasmic.

The sudden shifting of the heavy weight pressing down on his chest before it disappeared entirely had Don turning his attention back to the present. Had Sylvestin changed his mind for some reason? His vision was still nothing beyond a blur of colors, but he did his best to take in what was going on around him. A dark shape appeared above him and there was a buzzing in the air before something touched his face. If he'd been able to, he would have flinched away in surprise even before he realized it was a hand. At the very least, the drug was preventing him from giving away more than he wanted to with inadvertent movements.

Don's hearing improved more rapidly than his vision and he slowly realized that the buzzing he was hearing was actually a mixture of the rapid beeping of the heart monitor and a voice. No, not a voice, but rather several voices. Were there other people present now? Did Sylvestin have accomplices? That didn't really make any sense, the man had always been a loner, his mother's abuse making him wary of trusting anyone. Besides, David had been so sure that they were dealing with a single perp. Had he been wrong?

It slowly dawned on Don that some of the voices were extremely familiar to him, as were the rhythm and flow of what was being said. The recognition spurred him on and he did his best to rouse more, having been happy to wallow a bit if it meant a longer break before Sylvestin wrapped his hands around his throat again. Eventually the dark shape above him resolved itself into David's head and upper body and Don felt relief flood him as his suspicions were confirmed. The change in his heart rhythm must have alerted his agent that something had changed as David looked down and seem relieved to find him looking back at him.

"Hey, man, you with us now?" David inquired.

Unable to do anything else, Don blinked slowly and deliberately so it couldn't be mistaken for anything but intentional.

"Good, you just hang in there now, the paramedics are on their way."

Don blinked again to indicate that he understood before looking past David to the mirror above. Things were still a little blurry, but he could make out the still form of Sylvestin lying on his back beside the table, a growing patch of dark red blooming across his chest even as more blood pooled on the ground underneath him. Colby stood next to the small table with the instruments, a furious look on his face. The buzzing had slowly resolved itself into distinct voices and he could detect both Nikki's and King's nearby, probably securing the rest of the scene.

His survey of the situation done, he turned his eyes back to David who seemed to have been waiting for exactly that.

"I'm assuming he gave you some kind of paralytic, right?" David asked. "And that's why you're not moving?"

Don blinked again.

"Okay, are you hurt anywhere other than your neck and toes?"

Was he? It was something Don hadn't really had the time to figure out. Besides, without being able to shift, he couldn't be entirely sure, so he didn't respond.

"Is that a no?"

No response.

"Are you hurt elsewhere?"

No response.

"Don?"

A blink.

David frowned at him before realization dawned. "You're not sure?"

A blink.

"Okay, that's okay, the paramedics will figure it out, but I can't see anything."

The helplessness from before now turned to frustration as Don wanted to know how they'd found him. As far as he knew, David hadn't really gotten anywhere with the case and Charlie hadn't had enough information to really help.

"Here, we found this, it's clean," Nikki said, stepping into view underneath the mirror.

"Thanks," David replied as he took the blanket offered and spread it over his boss. "Better?"

Don blinked again before he concentrated on the muscles around his eyes, trying to get them to move a little. All he got for his efforts was an increase in his heart rate out of sheer frustration.

"Don? What is it now? What's wrong?" David demanded, eyes flickering briefly to the monitor before looking back down at him.

Some of his frustration must finally have leaked through as David's face relaxed marginally and he gave Don a tight smile.

"It'll be okay, just relax, I'm sure you'll be back on your feet in no time. Meanwhile we have everything under control here and you'll be on your way to the hospital soon enough."

Don blinked to show he'd understood that, but kept his gaze locked on his subordinate, hoping to keep him talking.

"Your dad and Charlie will be so glad to see you, they've been worried about you. Good thing you managed to get that text to me, though, or we'd not even have known you were missing yet."

Wait, text, what text? Was this something from that missing part of his memory? He definitely didn't remember texting David.

"Between the license plate you gave us and the shot of Sylvestin's face on the security camera footage, we had enough information to track the bastard down. Charlie just factored all the data from the previous FBI case into his equation and narrowed the search area down enough to have patrols do visual sweeps for the plate number."

Oh, well, that explained how he'd been found so quickly, but not how Sylvestin had been stupid enough to get caught on tape or how he'd been able to text David the plate number. Had he caught the man off-guard? He was a highly trained agent and not some random civilian like all of Sylvestin's previous victims in the area. Even if the man had thought himself prepared to take him on, that didn't mean he hadn't given the psychopath a run for his money.

The thought pleased Don and it gave him the grim satisfaction of knowing that even though he'd been captured, he'd managed to provide his team with all they needed to rescue him quickly. The alternative didn't even bear thinking about and he would have shuddered if he'd had enough control over his body to do so.