He was too much. Still too much their king cobra Specialist and Jack couldn't handle him anymore. Jack had too many responsibilities now, because he was promoted and they were selling him on. Sold on in a government surplus sale in Vegas, of all places, on show in one of the glass display rooms that honeycombed the sale warehouse. His life was on display on a touch screen information pad.

He could end up anywhere -- well, nearly anywhere. Permanent Specialists had to be sold to someone with security clearance of a certain level, and that meant either Government, Military or licensed security firms. That was his future now.

Out of habit, he studied the people looking at him and his resume, and his 'neighbors'. His showing room adjoined one other, inhabited by a younger man with messy hair and a touch of a vulnerability, that easily piqued the interest of the mind-sets in which he'd been immersed. He was more interesting than the people stopping and looking, then moving on. Every now and then the salesperson on duty would repeat the same old spiel, but there wasn't a whole lot of call for Permanent Specialists. Maybe the kid next door was one too.

But he couldn't talk with him to find out. The glass was mostly soundproof at one layer, and talking through two layers of it would just muffle the words, warp and slide them into inaudibility more that any hereditary hearing problems. Even so, he approached the glass, pressed a hand against it and looked out hard at the people who were passing by. He was all dressed up, with no-where to go, and it made him want to laugh a little. Nice suit, nice shirt, and Jack had stood in front of him forever, giving him instructions on how to behave himself and to be good and he was all right, being sold on wasn't the end of the world.

It felt like it.

There was an audible click, which meant the sound feed had been turned on, and he noticed that the younger man next door also glanced up. That meant an interested party and the possibility of questions.

She wasn't someone who looked like the normal buyers. She moved like an exotic dancer, but wore the ID of a Law enforcement agency.

"As I explained, Ms. Willows, these are the only two Permanent Specialists we have on sale."

Fantastic. Will threw up a tight smile, an inclination of his head in acknowledgement. Was he supposed to wag his tail? Be a happy pet waiting for a new master to pick him out of the cage and take him home to a wondrous new life? No, that wasn't going to happen.

"It's not the fact that they are Permanents, it's their specialism I'm interested in. Greg Sanders is a PV I see, and William Graham is ex-Federal stock with a Specialist rating in Criminal Empathy," the woman was saying.

"He was the specialist -- one of those responsible for catching the most notorious psychopaths ever..."

"Yeah, I know that Lecter, Dollarhyde... and he's on sale because he's a burn out," Ms. Willows said seeming diffident, but Will caught the gleam of interest in her eye. "Are they a functioning pair?"

She gestured to him and the man identified as Greg Sanders.

"Ah, well, let's just say they could be," the salesperson admitted. "It's a special offer -- a Criminal Empath and a Professional Victim coming up in the same sale have to be sold on as a pair. Buy one, get one free. We're throwing in the PV with the purchase of Will Graham."

"But how do I even know if they can function?" the woman replied. "Burn out cases."

"Look, even as burn outs, they've got qualifications and training knowledge that you could utilize," the salesperson sounded a little desperate now. "Graham is a fully qualified forensic specialist and Sanders has a DNA and trace specialism. Those have to be valuable skills to you. If you bought one of those new in the Employment Markets you would be starting at the offer price on this pair for just one, let along with all that experience and skill."

Will was lucky that he could make a cup of coffee in the morning. He was lucky that he put one foot in front of the other, except when he was on a scent. He was burnt out on life, not work. Life was strange and muddled and full of things that weren't in context and didn't inspire. He wanted a view, he wanted better things than he could have, and he knew where he wanted to go, but he couldn't.

He was no red robin in a cage.

Ms. Willows, whoever she was, was looking singularly unimpressed. "But will he function? Someone unable to function is no good to me, and I don't have time to nurse him through the process."

"That is part of the PV's job description. That's the beauty of the system, he's trained in support of a partner Criminal Empath," the salesperson said. "Even if they weren't matched, he still knows the handling technique, though there will be times that the registered Owner will use the controller."

"They are both chipped?" Ms. Willows asked, looking at him. He noted that she wasn't a free so she must be buying on behalf of an organization.

"Of course. Their chips have received annual service, upgrades and checkups."

"I'd like to speak to them," she said and the salesperson nodded, stepping back as she stepped forward.

"Hi, Will, my name is Catherine. How are you feeling?" she asked in a very different tone of voice to the one she used with the salesman.

"Slightly overdressed for the occasion of being talked about like a used car that's missing a tire." It was hard to just stand there casually, to not mimic mannerisms that were ingrained into his mind, to not *watch* hers like a hawk. She was graceful, and she knew how to modulate her voice, so he was leaning towards government and not private security. Police, possibly.

"Could be worse, could be sitting there naked if you were in the entertainment employment auctions," Catherine replied in a dry tone. "Are you up to doing your job? Yes or no? I'm with Night Shift Vegas Crime Lab and we have need of your skills. Urgent need. I know your reputation but I'm not interested in that -- I need to know what you can do now."

She spoke bluntly, and honestly almost challenging him to respond in the same style.

"I can do my *job* just fine. If you want me to do anything else or if you want me to indulge in banal conversation with you about the news or what was on TV last night, we're probably going to have a problem. I'm not a burnout. I'm up for auction here because my handler feels he's too old to handle me any longer." He kept the intensity low, pressed back the urge to press against the glass and try to get out or intimidate. But he leaned, pressed a forearm against the glass so he could see her better. There was a fractional recoil in her posture, a tensing. "But I do the job just fine."

Catherine seemed to accept that. "Can't afford to be picky about social skills. Not that many of you Specialist Empaths graduate out, and even fewer departments can afford them. The whole state of Nevada has two pairs and neither of them are available." She looked at the sale price, and nodded. "We'll take him... them."

"Do you want to interview your other purchase?" the salesperson asked.

Catherine looked at the young man next to him and was about to say something as her pager obviously beeped. "No, it's him we want. The rest is... a bonus. Sort the paper work and have them released, while I take this call."

Will leaned back, stepped back from the glass, and turned his head to finally give his attention to his co-purchase. Well, it seemed he was going to get to know the young man, whether he was interested in knowing him or not. But he did have to wonder what on earth a PV was. Professional something. Or maybe it was perfect. Perfect vessel? No, that was strange, even in his own head.

The salesperson was bustling around. One advantage with the chips was that a lot of the transfer data was held on that and with a wireless scanner at a locked frequency, it could be transferred over very simply. His twofer offer was looking somewhat resigned to being not counted as important. He looked haunted around the eyes, right up to the point when he turned and smiled and it transformed his expression completely.

Either Will was reading him wrong, or he was an incredible actor.

"Hey, there," Greg said, approaching the glass plexiglas partition, now that the speakers were on. "Good to meet you as we're obviously going to be working together. Name's Greg."

"Greg man without a last name, or do you just prefer Greg?" He pressed a palm up against the glass. "I'm Will Graham. Call me Will." Or call him whatever he wanted. He was going to cling tight to the shreds of himself he still had, the mannerisms that were his own, had been his own, and part of that was introducing himself to others in a proper manner.

"Greg Sanders," the younger man replied. "Looks like I'm going to be your PV. Which is, well really cool. Everyone learns about you and the cases you cracked. I'm just sorry you didn't get a chance to pick someone compatible -- you must be used to working with Federal trained PVs and I've only been in Law Enforcement. New York. Anyway, it's great to meet you, Will. I promise I'll do my best for you -- my graduating levels were good and if I get to do forensic work when we're not running a live case, then that makes me pretty happy."

"Yeah, is this PV thing some acronym for something? I'm guessing it's not Personal Valet, but it's not exactly a letter combination that leaves me a lot of options to guess. I've always worked alone." He leaned on his hand, watching Greg's face. There was startlement there, and then a look that Will knew was 'you've got to be shitting me' disbelief.

That was always the foot Will liked to get his working relationships off on. The foot of 'you're pulling my leg'.

"You're kidding right?" Greg blinked a couple of times. "Professional Victim. Technically I think the rank is listed as Victim Empath, like you're a *Criminal* Empath, but the media called it Professional Victim and pretty much everyone calls us that." He looked at Will for a long moment, through the glass. "You must've come across PVs...or was your Owner doing the handling as well as doing Control?"

"Jack took care of everything, so I guess, yeah." Jack shook him awake when he didn't want to be and Jack kept him to a routine, and Jack followed him headlong into danger, if he knew Will was headed that way.

And apparently there was someone who did it professionally. "How long has your designation been around?" Couldn't have been long, and Will knew that his work had to predate it. He'd been twenty when they'd realized he had so much more than a mere promising career in law enforcement.

"About ten years," Greg replied managing to look concerned and impressed at the same time. "That's... well, I'm pretty amazed. There's a high incidence of burn out in the Specialist Empath class even when there is pair support. It's a rough career path but I guess you know that."

"I know. I definitely pre-date your specialty, I think." It wasn't hard to crack a smile, not to Greg. "You'll have to show me what you do. Once we're out of these interesting glass cages. You're from New York, you said?"

"Was, yeah," Greg replied. "Stupid display rooms." He looked around, his eyes also not missing anything. "I guess what I do isn't that much different to what you do, but from the other side of the equation. And the handling, and bait as well."

He shrugged a little and seemed to be studying him in the same way as he was watching him.

"Bait?" Will turned, caught a sharp motion of the salesman that made him pivot towards the man a little too fiercely. He was only reaching to release the latches, only in peripheral vision.

"Yeah, bait. You really haven't worked with us before have you?" Greg answered, with a hint of surprise in his voice. "Oh hey, time to be bar-coded."

"Step out of the holding area please," the salesperson said, "And kneel and bend forwards so I can scan your neck."

Greg dropped down fluidly, easily assuming the position as if he had a fair amount of practice.

Kneel and bend. Kneel and bend and he was *not* going to scrape and bow. "I'd hate to inconvenience you by making you look a man in the eyes when you're using your scanner." Will moved, out of the glass section, and knelt down, but didn't bow his head down. Hands on his knees was as much of a concession as he was going to make.

He heard the beep of the scanner on Greg's neck, he heard the beep of his own and the sound of someone walking towards them in high heels. Catherine, evidently, was returning.

"Some reason you couldn't offer them a chair to sit in to do this?" Catherine said. "Permanent Specialists are still indentured, not slaves. Convicted felons are slaves without the right to personal dignity."

Her tone sounded serious, completely convincing, and the salesperson stood back hastily.

"I, I'm sorry ma'am, I've worked mainly with the slave market clearance stock. Force of habit."

"Yeah, save it for the complaint I'll be putting in," she said, and turned to them "Guys, you don't have to kneel here. There would be an outcry in the department if any of us were required to do that, and started a trend. Let's get you home. C'mon."

"And home is where, again?" Will stood up sharply, too close to the salesman. The way the man flinched made him smile, made it easier to turn his head and smile as gracious as he could at Catherine and Greg.

"The Vegas PD complex. Technically our apartment block is called Crescent Yard, but everyone calls it the Grave Yard," she replied wryly. "Cop humor for you."

Greg snorted a little and rather amazingly automatically put his hand on Will's arm. People didn't willingly touch him. In fact, he couldn't remember anyone casually touching him and Greg was relatively a complete stranger to him.

Touching him.

"Not that different from Fed humor. Behavioral sciences is called the Animal House." Headed by Crawford and his King Cobra, and it left Will feeling a little disoriented. "Is there anything else you need to do here?"

"No, your personal effects are being shipped direct, and your ownership is registered to Jim Brass, head of Night Shift," Catherine replied. "I'll take you home. Then I'll have to go on into work while you get adjusted. It's a pretty standard set up. You rate a level below the free penthouses with your Permanent specialist ratings and we've got a couple spare. There's only me on that level at the moment. We've got the CSIs in there as well and most of the night shift lab staff. It's a nice enough place and we have roll call at an hour before shift. Jim discontinued the curfew because our hours are so erratic, but you have to meet the mandatory minimum."

Catherine shrugged as she picked up the folder of papers and documentation that the abashed salesperson offered her.

"Uh, Ms. Willows?" Greg said. "Will and I are going to have to go through establishing our baselines. Is there going to be someone around who can reset the controls?"

"Controls? Baselines?" Hell, personal effects were sort of questionable, too. It all depended on what Crawford considered Will's. Will started to move when Catherine started to move, shadowing her.

"Controls..." Greg exhaled slowly. "If you want a functioning pair, we need to do this, especially as I'm pretty sure you're in the middle of a case and that's why you want us. You want us -- or Will up and running, he needs to come into this situation stable, with his controls set."

He seemed to realize pretty quickly that he was talking to two people who had no idea what he was talking about. "Okay, look, let us have the default control codes temporarily and the Owner ... Jim Brass can change them when he has a moment."

Catherine looked at him suspiciously. "Doesn't a control zap give you an intense high, like a drug?"

"No! Well, yes, but that's not the main function but that's all anyone thinks about," Greg replied, sounding frustrated. "I am not an addict. Fine, don't give me mine, I was reset before I came down here anyway, but I can tell Will hasn't been, okay? When was the last time you were reset Will? A few weeks?"

Will shoved his hands into his pants pockets, and glanced sideways at Greg for a moment. "Look, I don't even know what you're talking about. I don't *do* downtime or, or anything that sounds like what you're talking about. If we've got a case, Jack briefs me and it's on. Period."

Greg looked horrified and temporarily speechless. "How are you not *insane*?" he said finally, nearly choking on his shock. "Seriously, how have you stayed on the right side of the line? He's been running you 'hot' all the time? Jesus..."

"How am I not *insane*? Are you sure you even want to be asking me that question?" It was hard to not be offended, as much as Will was used to being treated with kid gloves. "It works. It works, okay?"

"Look, guys," Catherine interrupted. "Enough, I don't care. You can sort this out later, and fine… I'll do the control signal, just once. That'll have to do. I don't have time for the long process."

"You don't know what you're asking," Greg put in sounding anxious. "I mean great, but shortcuts are a bad thing..."

"You're getting until tomorrow *only* because it's going to take me that long to get processed so you can see the information on this case. If I could, I'd have you in there now," Catherine said in a firm tone. "You'll cut corners now if you have to and go back and do it properly afterwards. Understand?"

Greg nodded reluctantly and slowly and went quiet. Evidently he thought this was a bad thing, and Will had no idea why.

"That's fine. All I really need is a shower and a smoke." He scanned the crowd, seeking, seeking, and watching as they moved through it. The live tracker in his arm was itching a little, but he wasn't going to pick. "What's your case?"

"Serial abductor and killer," Catherine replied and lowered her voice. "We've been after him for a while. We were getting close, but this time... He's taken Jim. It's personal to all of us, but we can't magic leads out of thin air. But as I understand it... that's pretty much what you do."

"Yeah," Greg added in a muted tone. "You might want to see what I do, too." It was said quietly though, as if he was aware that no one seemed particularly interested in that at all.

"Great." They were nearly to Catherine's car, then, and her insistence on the job over all was at least familiar to him. It was something with which to ground himself. He was going to stay focused and get the job done right, think of it like any other case he'd worked, fix it, and then deal with his new reality.

Maybe it wasn't the latest way of doing things but it got results. And at the end of the day, that was what it was all about.

As if he hadn't had a bad enough couple of months already, culminating in being sold on, he was matched up with a guy who'd been running hot for his entire *life*. This was bad, really bad because he could see the tells they drilled into them, of a man skirting the border line. The physical symptoms, the sharp looks, the tiny responses to speech as if he was continually keeping himself in check -- everything that signaled a critical burn out.

And they wanted him to pair up and work with him and Greg had a feeling they didn't even know what that implied. Or even knew what Greg did.

They wanted the hunter, and that was probably all they knew to look for, and *someone* needed to get Will in check. He was either a couple of cases from shutting down completely, or a couple of cases from turning into one of the psychopaths whose mindsets he adopted. In a good, healthy Criminal Empath, when they were ‘switched off', they asked about the victims. Cared, interacted like normal people. Will wasn't doing that. Will had sat in the car on the ride over and stared vacantly out the window the whole time.

He needed the reset; the both of them had to have it, and Greg needed to talk this Catherine Willows into understanding how important it was, if they were going to find the person who was their mission.

He was the other half of the equation. Where Will would be getting into the mindset of the predator, he would be getting into the mindset of the prey. Predicting what they did, how they did it, finding the matching trigger point that set off the predator. Acting as bait sometimes, playing a live scene with the predator to facilitate the whole process. It worked. It was proven to work. He'd taken out 6 serials as part of his time as a Victim Empath. A good record. Fuck, who was he kidding, it was an excellent record. Not in the same league as Graham, but he'd been part of a good team.

His room was nice. Big spacious and obviously been unused for some time. He was next door to Will and he didn't have a clue of how to deal with someone who did not want to be dealt with.

Aiden had always been easy. A little rough around the edges, but at the end of the day, she was responsive and calm, and a little fun to be around. They had a good relationship, working and otherwise, and he'd tried hard, tried hard to keep her afloat. But thinking like a monster all day took a toll, and one slip, and... And most Criminal Empaths didn't live that long. A lot of them flared out hard, or they killed themselves because of something they did in the line of duty.

Aiden shouldn't have killed herself, but she did it anyway. He should've been there to stop it. He knew he could've stopped it but a big part of the problem was he hadn't been there because their Control stepped out on a live scene, a category 5 live scene, and as a result of that, when she killed herself, he'd been in hospital.

And when he got out, he was a PV without a partner, and not many Criminal Empaths wanted to buddy up with someone whose partner had committed suicide. It said, hey, not going to keep me alive, not going to keep me sane.

Maybe he should be grateful that Will had no idea what it all meant.

But it was right back into the same situation, maybe worse. Probably worse, because no one except maybe the guy who'd sold Will Graham on had realized that he was probably a lost cause. Hell, no one did things the 'old way' anymore because it *did* create monsters, murderers, and a higher suicide rate than any other permanent position.

Which left Greg knowing that he *had* to do something, but not sure what.

He pushed himself up. So, it was going to get rough, he'd been there before. Even with Aiden, but that had been part of the job. He could offer the emergency techniques to bring Will down, and he could try and show them that he wasn't a write off. This was his only chance.

He went out and wandered down to Will's rooms and knocked on the door. Greg wondered if he was showing signs of forgetting to eat if he wasn't prompted. That was like a big beacon of doom. He looked like a pretty solidly built guy, but that could have had everything to do with a routine and someone *doing* that prompting.

There was a hesitance in opening the door. Greg could hear a hand on the door handle, but no motion. Then it opened, slowly, swinging inwards, and Will's body filled the doorway. "Greg. Can I help you?"

"Thought I'd see if you'd had anything to eat yet," Greg replied, smiling. "And to go through a few things, maybe talk about things with you?"

That was pretty straight forward, not too much pressure.

Will's eyes dropped and he scanned Greg's body before he stepped back. "Not a problem. I haven't eaten yet."

Uh-huh. Warning signs. "So, you want me to get you some? I'm pretty sure Catherine said something about a big communal kitchen."

And Will was looking at him with predators eyes. Greg knew that feeling well enough to feel it in use.

"Big communal kitchen with people from the rest of the house. I'll give it a miss for a while, myself." He stayed in the room, as if he was inviting Greg in.

"Got anything in your, uh, kitchenette?" It wasn't designed for much more than on the run heating up food, but it might have something there. "I can throw something together if you want."

Yeah, the guy didn't eat properly. He stepped inside. If Will lost it and tried to kill him then he guessed that would prove his point. Admittedly, not in a way he particularly wanted.

He was kind of fond of being alive.

"Yeah, uh, I'm not sure what I have but you can give it a shot. Do you mind if I watch?" Will closed the door, a quiet click sounding when he locked it, too.

"No problem," Greg said and smiled at the other man as he walked in. There were probably basics. Tinned stuff and they probably had a team who prepped a place when word came through. He found the fridge and opened it. Bread, eggs, cheese, beer, milk, some plastic looking ham and random vegetables.

Cupboards revealed some pasta, some sauces amongst other things. Frankly, he wanted quick and easy, so everything thrown into an omelet it was.

"Gunna make an omelet. That okay?"

"Yeah. I'll cook for you some time," Will offered. He kept out of Greg's way, and leaned against the far side of the bar so he could watch Greg. "When I've got my head on straight. Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you."

Greg looked at him. "You will, some time," he said calmly even as he grabbed a pepper, an onion and some mushrooms, chopped them up rapidly and decided to cheat by softening them in the microwave for a few minutes before frying them up.

And Will just watched. He leaned on his elbows, eyes tracking Greg. He wasn't used to be watched like that. Aiden had never been that much of a predator in their down time. "So tell me about what you do. I'm curious."

Greg shrugged. "You get in the mindset of the predator -- I'm the other half of the equation. I figure the mindset of the victim. Play their actions and reactions. Comes in useful when there are missing victims. I've found a few. But really we're meant to play opposite you guys. Help you find mindsets, trigger points, re-enact scenes and probable actions. When we find trigger points, sometimes we get sent out as bait. We're meant to ground and balance you guys."

He found a frying pan and oil.

"I've never played a scene in my life. I just think like the killer. The general mindset isn't hard to get. The specific goals and patterns are what I work on. What drives them, what makes them act. I used..." Will paused, watching Greg. "I was originally a profiler. Once upon a time before my current designation."

"That was probably when the Empath designation came into being," Greg answered. "Now they use all empathy designations all over. I've been trained to work with your designation, to recognize problems. I've only known you a few hours and I'm seeing them Will. I want to try and help you, work with you." The oil was heating and the microwave pinged.

"Problems." Will's mouth twitched and he leaned forwards out of his chair to shift the pan. "Easy, you'll scorch the oil."

"Well, after pretty much accusing you of going nuts earlier, I was trying to be diplomatic," Greg replied as he let the heat down a little on the pan. "We've kind of got to find a way of working together. The odds are we'll end up having sex at some point as well."

It made Will laugh and look at him with a lifted eyebrow. "We will? That's uh, not how I like to get on with things."

Greg looked up, oddly embarrassed. "Sorry, I keep forgetting you don't know the protocols for a new partnership." He tossed the steaming vegetables into the pan, hearing them sizzle. "I'm qualified up to a level 7, top level. You would be, too. That's a full on re-enactment of a scene. Much more common is re-enactment of criminal sexual elements. Part of the set up of baselines is to establish a level of trust prior to that."

He grabbed the eggs, cracking them expertly into a bowl.

"I don't, I..." Will looked down at the countertop. "I won't do that. Commit the acts of the people I'm looking for. I've spent too many years being careful to not fall into their patterns to give in now because you're telling me it's the new vogue within the designation. I'll, I'm willing to admit that I need someone to watch me. Jack did that. Jack thought that one day I'd wind down and be a normal guy and he couldn't do it for me anymore, and I don't function well on my own. I fall into patterns I shouldn't. I..." He huffed a laugh, still not looking up at Greg. "He went on vacation, with his wife. She's dying, by the way, so him taking time away from work was the best thing the man's done for his marriage in years. And I had two weeks alone in my own head, and I did some things I shouldn't have done. I know I need to be watched."

"Then I'll help you out," Greg reassured him with as much confidence as he could muster. "As much as you'll let me."

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or regretful they wouldn't be doing that. But things changed. He poured his lightly beaten egg mix in the pan and tossed in some of the ham shredded up, as well. "Won't be long."

"I like mine a little over-done," Will admitted, looking up again. "I prefer to know what's in my food."

Paranoia. Greg mentally ticked another warning sign box. "Can't vouch for the ingredients, but it's quick and fast, and tastes okay." He grated a little cheese on the top of the omelet and turned it down to cook through.

"So. You going to let me help you?" he asked, meeting his eyes "Or am I really going to be the free bit of the special offer that no one knows what to do with?"

"I need help." He said it slowly, watching Greg still. Always watching. "You're going to get used to me trying to get the groceries myself. Back, back before, I worked with Lecter for a while. Seeing as I suspect he probably fed me pieces of five or six of his victims just for the kick of doing that to a Fed, I prefer seeing what I'm eating before it's cooked."

Lecter was the Big Name. They all knew about Lecter, they all knew about Will Graham and what they all knew didn't add up to shit, because all this time Will Graham had been doing it a different way. "I get that," he agreed, getting out a couple of plates. "We'll do it together, bit by bit. You give me a reason for something and I'll work with it."

He served up the omelet, having some for himself but most going to Will, as he'd at least eaten that day and he was sure Will hadn't.

Will shifted, pulled out a chair for himself and one for Greg to sit in, across from him at the small dinette. "What do you know about me?"

"Not enough. We know the cases, we get taught the cases and the facts, so I know about the facts of you facing off with Lecter and Dollarhyde, but not a lot else," Greg replied as he sat and found some cutlery and handed it all over. "Care to fill me in?"

"No one talks about the hundred other cases I've solved, because they're the normal ones. People killing women in non-exciting ways, hookers and runaways, spree murders. It started with a case before that. I tracked a man for over half a year. He was slashing college girls, eight dead in all. I started to think like him, started to get into his mindset as I built the profile. I eventually stalked him down to his house -- with Jack calling me a damn fool all the way -- and I caught him in the middle of his trying to kill his own daughter, and having just slashed his wife's throat. I killed him. That I could... think like that, disturbed me. I shut down. By the time therapy got me through it, I... I needed a crutch to do that kind of work. I didn't just face off with Lecter, I worked with him. Closely. I got into his head without knowing it, and over the years, I'm more and more... pulled in. Sometimes I think I hallucinate he's there when he's not. I thought I saw him in the crowd at the sale today."

Greg shivered a little. "It's hard to think someone else's thoughts. You are the leading name and you should've had all the support that everyone else gets. Your mind needs to rest from all of this. PVs get 'the fear'. That's what we call it. Sometimes it cracks us, that moment of fear just before being murdered kicking in and never stopping. The Controller is meant to reset that. For you, it's meant to give you relief from those thoughts. Turn them off, give you your own mind back. Right now I guess you're switching things down bit by bit."

Will picked up a fork, waved the tines slightly before he started to eat the omelet. "When I didn't want to work, Jack would show my photos of the victims. Not dead, but alive. He'd show me their god-damned family photos because he knew that I always imagine the next one and the next one and the next one, because I don't want that happening. To inspire me to do my damn job. If I can get a sense of the victims as living people, it's... easier to give in to the rest. But I've never used a person. I use their effects. I talk to family if I can."

"So, imagine you could talk to the victim," Greg suggested, talking so Will had no choice but to eat. "Because that's the sort of pressure you don't need. You need... to relax. "

"The reason I learn the victims is so I can see what sparked the killer. What bloom he saw, so I can feel it and feel them. It..." Will shook his head a little. "I can see how the technique would work."

"There's always cross over, but..." Greg shrugged. "Maybe I'll demonstrate at some point. So, yeah. I guess when we're done here, we go up to this Jim Brass's penthouse?"

"Catherine Willows said she'd come back down here for me, so I'm waiting for her signal at this point." Will was eating, scraping doggedly through the food. "I just need you to keep me controlled, and I think we'll work well. I'm open to your style." And he'd said nothing about the controls or the signals or anything.

"Touching is part of it," Greg said as he finished his off his meal. It wasn't that bad, but Will didn't seem to be enjoying it much. "We're meant to touch. Apparently it can ground people. But you found it weird."

"No one touches me." Will tilted his head slightly, and ate another forkful of the omelet. "It just doesn't happen. Everyone knew me back home."

"You gonna punch me if I do it again?" Greg asked, pretty sure it would help, no matter what. He needed human contact.

"No. It just caught me off guard at the time." Will slipped the last piece into his mouth, and scraped up a few remnants off the plate into his mouth. "Pretty good. Thanks."

Greg couldn't help himself, he smiled. "Thanks. Okay, well I'll carry on doing what I'm meant to do. You have forensics training too?" He decided a little casual conversation might help as well.

The mention about the passwords and the controls had made Will go tight, made his posture stiffen, and Greg didn't want to bring it up just then, not when Will was relaxing and eyeing his plate like he might eat more if it happened to magically appear. "I do. That's what else I look for. You have... was it DNA?"

"DNA and trace. I was doing that before I tested off the scale for an Empathy designation," Greg replied. "Still hungry? There might be something here we can make into a dessert."

"Yeah. I have a sweet tooth. My wife used to chew me out over it." Will stood up, stretched, and headed into the kitchenette space to open the fridge and freezer doors.

"Maybe there's ice-cream," Greg said, allowing himself a little smile. He should've known once he got him to eat he'd want more. Score one for him. "You were married?"

"Once. It was dissolved when she bought herself free, of course. It's not like I was going anywhere. We have a son, Josh. He, uh." Will leaned into the freezer, and then leaned back with something in his hands. Looked like a brand new thing of ice-cream. It was probably one of the basic three flavors, but Greg was game and Will was eating on his own, showing a little initiative. He was still running hot, but Greg could talk him back down a little, it seemed. "He's a good kid. Grown up now, actually."

And if he wasn't good at what he did, he might've missed the red hot undercurrent of pain pushed way down. "Yeah? You see them much?" he asked finding some bowls and spoons. "What've we got?"

"Rocky road, actually." Will set it down on the countertop, and popped open the plastic. "I don't see them much. She remarried. Josh got a new father who's also bought free. I suspect they have a white picket fence and possibly a dog at this point."

Greg found himself touching Will automatically at that hint of bitterness. "Nice for them, not so nice for you," he commented. "Gimme, I'll eat anything like that."

"There has to be at least a really big spoon in here," Will commented, turning around and looking through drawers in quick motions. "Molly was a good woman. She was sweet. I really did wish her the best. We were married before my designation was shifted. It put her in a bad situation. Stay with me, and never move or change, or..."

"You let her go for the sake of your son and to protect her from what the changed designation made you and brought after you," Greg said automatically and then cursed himself for just blurting out his intuitive conclusion. That wasn't relaxed dinner conversation.

"You're quick." Will straightened up with a spoon in hand, and edged Greg out of the way a little so he could scoop it up himself.

He shrugged a little. "Sometimes too quick for my brain to catch up with my mouth," Greg admitted. Honesty was paramount as well.

"The reason Jack... never tried any of the fancy things they do with you is because he wasn't sure they ever did any of it right. I'm a living breathing guinea pig." He dropped a heavy scoop of rocky road into a bowl for Greg, and scooped it for himself, too. "You said you've always worked with someone before. What happened to your Partner?"

Greg took a mouthful of the ice-cream. Honesty. "She... she was called Aiden. She was good on solo, but together we were really good. There was a case, one of those cases that had been around for years, big political deal, and public terror. They authorized a Category five live scene because they were running on evidence fumes."

He paused a little, trying to get the memories in control. "They were... not good scenes. But we did the prep, and we went in both of immersed in the role. Our Controller was on watch to stop things." He shrugged a little. "It revealed what they needed, but the Controller stepped out. Family crisis or something. It went too far. I woke up in hospital, and Aiden... she killed herself."

"Remorse in the Becoming. That's why I don't want to play those games. I'll talk to you, I'll interact with you on some of those levels if I can work it out, but I will *not* do that." Will leaned his elbows on the counter, and fidgeted with his spoon a little. "When Jack and his wife came home, I cooked them a four course meal. I was... out of my head. Two weeks unsupervised. It was all house pets from the building. I turned a Corgi into a roast."

Jesus. Greg patted him again. Will had no idea how close he was to the edge, and he couldn't think of a way to tell him that wouldn't send him running. "You don't have to worry about being alone again. In tough cases, I slept in with Aiden, so you just say if that would help at any point." He wasn't going to judge Will. He'd been running 'hot' for years. There were bound to be glitches in the system somewhere.

There was a quiet click as Will tasted the ice cream, teeth against the spoon. "Right. Just... let me get through this case, like I am now, and then I'll let you do whatever you need to do with controls and anything else. They clearly just bought us for this reason, if Vegas has gone this long without Empaths."

Greg nodded. "I was watching Catherine. Our 'victim' is not someone who she is used to seeing as a victim at all. She's not the type to panic at the removal of authority, so her concern is based on a personal concern and respect for the man. Jim Brass is someone who doesn't control for the sake of controlling, but people can't get one over on him. She implied he has more experience, and she called the place 'home' which means he is most likely well liked and a surrogate father figure for a lot of people. She doesn't resent his free status, and she isn't the type to let people have her respect unless it is earned, which means he must be more than just competent," he observed. This was the first stage, impressions from the family, friends and environment.

"So he runs a good place. I know places where if the head went missing they might be throwing parties in the commons." Will took another slow taste of the ice-cream. "Not making special purchases to speed up the process of maybe getting him home in one piece. And the killer must keep his victims alive for a while, or there wouldn't be a hope in hell of us finding him. She either knows that he is still alive according to MO, or hopelessly deluding herself."

"She's not the type to delude herself, and she referred to him as a serial abductor than as a killer," Greg pointed out. He was going to damn well show that he might not have the experience, but he was good. "That has to be based on a previous MO. And so does their lack of evidence. There must be something that triggered a direct strike against Jim. I'll need to see the profiles of the other victims to see if it is out of pattern, which would mean he was on to something, or following pattern."

"And we can't do anything at all until she deigns to grace us with her presence," Will pointed out. Then he went still, and tilted his head a little. "Ah, keys in the door. Speak of the devil."

Greg finished his ice-cream off and sat back as Catherine came in. "Hope you're decent in here, or if there's indecency, you're willing to give me a chance to collect evidence for the downstairs notice board," she called out. "Sanders in here as well?"

Greg raised his hand and waved a little. "Guilty of eating Will's ice-cream."

"You've eaten? Nicky did one of his world famous chili beef concoctions downstairs. Usually enough to last a few days. You get hungry, help yourself," Catherine said. "So. Rooms okay? Anything missing?"

"No, I think we're fine." Will straightened, turned around with the ice cream bowl in hand. He didn't turn his back to her, and he didn't really turn his back to Greg, either. Paranoid, even when he was calm. "I'll explore the bathroom and the rest later. Greg made an omelet."

"If you can cook, the entire household will be really happy at your arrival," Catherine said. "Because most of us are bad at it, and those who can only know the same old things. Anyway, I'll take you upstairs to Jim's place. I'll bring home file copies when I get in during the morning. You'll be in with the rest of us tomorrow night so try and work your sleep patterns around. Got everything you need?"

Greg shrugged. "This is pretty much it," he replied.

"Food, and a place to sleep." Will shrugged his shoulders as he scraped down to the bottom of the bowl quickly before he set it down on the countertop. "Let's go. Is there a chore Rota we get added to, or is it ad lib around here?"

"We had a Rota once..." Catherine replied as she turned to leave. "We keep it up on the fridge on the principle that it's an object lesson of optimism in the face of reality. No one knows when we're going to hit a double so it makes a Rota a waste of time. Anyway, let's go. I appreciate you guys doing this tonight. Seriously."

"I've managed to talk Greg into hitting the ground running. We can work on my baselines later. Just, if you ever think you have to shoot me, do it. Jack was pretty fond of the threat." And Greg wasn't fond of it at all, but the way Will said it, like some part of him actually wanted it done that way, was disturbing.

"Or... you, know you could just use the Sleep function on the wetwire remote control. We're both wet-wired," Greg pointed out. "Slightly less mess, less terminal and the same outcome."

Catherine half smiled. "I'm liking the sound of this remote for the brain. Follow me." She started walking. "We've had this serial as a reappearing perp for a while. He or she has an MO of abducting victims, holding them, and then torturing them before killing them. The period of time between one to the other has ranged between one to two weeks. Jim was taken day before yesterday. Time is not on our side. Whoever it is, they are exceptionally careful regarding evidence, and must know something about the process."

Will tagged after her, still a little behind her. "Was he abducted from this building?" If he had been, the guy knew more than just a little about the way things worked. Greg almost wanted to guess inside job, or semi inside job.

"We're not sure. Jim was on his way home last we knew. His car was out front. There's no sign of forced entry but no sign he made it into the house. He... just wasn't here when we got home," Catherine said. "We don't know if he was taken from the car or from here and believe me, we've turned the place over looking. Because he lives here, it's difficult to tell if trace was old or new."

Greg was taking it all in as they went up the stairs. It was easiest to take a victim sometimes on home ground. They had patterns, rituals that they weren't even aware of. Come in, get a drink. Look at a newspaper and flick through mail. Attention somewhere else, and that would be all there was. But a clean abduction would have to involve something like drugs.

Injection or on a cloth. Either one was likely, but a combination would get a more quickly subdued victim. And that was important for someone who abducted first to take care of the deed at their own leisure.

"Right. What was our boy's pattern for his previous victims? Male, female, older, younger? How's he do them?"

"Male, younger," Catherine replied. "Physical type pretty similar. C.O.D appears to be as a prolonged exposure to torture with definite sexual elements. Some by asphyxiation, some from blood loss or internal damage. It's... intense."

Oh great. Psychosexual motives. Greg grimaced a little.

"Jim's not in that category?" he asked and was willing to bet he wasn't. This felt like an interception, rather than a choice.

"Jim was probably someone he saw investigating his handiwork, and he decided he could delay consequences if he seized him, too," Will murmured. "It sounds adaptive. Do you have photos of our boy's work?"

"No, Jim's not, but you probably are Greg," Catherine replied. "And yes, I do, but not here. One of the things I'll bring back."

"So we need to learn the normal pattern, and then map the differences a different victim profile would make to it," Greg said, as Catherine opened the penthouse door.

"Something along those lines yes. Here we go, Jim's place. We've been over it with a fine tooth comb. It might not even be the abduction source." Catherine cautioned them. "But you'll get to know about Jim here."

"Good." Will lifted his chin slightly, scanning the place before he stepped in; hands slightly to his sides now, body a little tense. The Penthouse looked pretty Spartan, and a little messy. Cluttered here and there, like the occupant couldn't be bothered to really clean up when he did have the time. Will headed for a table, fingers hovering near a photograph. "Huh."

"His daughter Ellie. They don't really talk," Catherine said. "Came as a surprise that he had one when it came up a while back. Don't think it was on his side though."

Greg wandered, opening up his attention wide, taking in all the details he could. The type of books. The ones untouched, the ones read through... The papers out, the keepsakes that were kept, the photo's... more of his CSIs than his family for a start.

Will hovered over the photographs, too. He looked at the ones that Greg assumed were Jim, an older man always and only in group shots. The rest of them were younger in the pictures, and Catherine *had* said that Jim was off the target type. "Was he from New Jersey originally?"

"Yes, he was," Catherine confirmed. "How'd you pick that up?"

Greg had to admit, he was good, but he'd come to the same conclusion from a glimpse of New Jersey team memorabilia in one of the younger looking photos.

"I recognized the face. There was a... a case with a man killing hookers in New York, and dumping them in Jersey and visa versa. I think he was beat, or maybe vice at the time." Will cocked his head a little, and turned to look at Catherine. "Did he keep his case notes here or at the office?"

"There might be some here, but most are at the office. Jim's never been the tidiest person, but he does like notepads," Catherine replied. "Look, I've got to head in so you guys take a look around and lock the door when you're done. You're to stay inside until we get your ID sorted out, otherwise anyone could challenge you. Your housemates know you exist though."

"Does that mean we should expect visitors?" Will asked casually.

"Maybe Nicky -- he's not meant to be on duty, but if I know him he'll be researching back here," Catherine said. "We're all maxing out what time we can. If he... no one wants to lose Jim."

Greg could see that. He could see the commendations that should've been in places of pride on the wall, leant up at the end of a book shelf. Active cop, good cop, but didn't like commendations. Now a CSI -- sideways shuffle? Invalided out, or pushed, or jumped.

One of them.

Will nodded. "All right. Thank you. We promise to not get into trouble." It was vaguely dismissive, as if Will wanted to work there without the supervision.

It seemed to amuse Catherine if nothing else and Greg just smiled a little when she glanced over at him as he perfected his art of fading out of direct attention. It was easier that way. He watched as she left and then started looking around with that heightened state of awareness that he had trained to achieve.

Of course as their instructors had said, it didn't mean anything if they couldn't intuit the meaning behind the information.

Will seemed to have tamped it down and was doing his own thing, maybe building Jim up in his head as a target, or inspiring himself to care about the case, or whatever he was doing in his mind, while Greg tried to build a profile of the man in his head, so he could have that to compare against their killer's usual target.

He had a feeling he was going to end up playing a target whether Will wanted to work that way or not. Because the easiest way to buy time was to give a better catch. You didn't gut the fish in the net when you had a better catch on the line as Poppa Olaf would've said. He worked in silence for a while, working his way under Jim Brass's skin. Flicking through notes, studying doodles as much as text. He didn't want to interrupt Will either, not until he seemed done.

And when Will started to wander out of Greg's sight, Greg let him.

It seemed like Greg's first guess about the guy had been right. Well liked, socialized with his lessers, and was probably a workaholic. There were no dead giveaways, but a lot of implied things.

Well, implication was his business. He studied a picture of the man looking for changes over time. He studied a picture of his daughter and saw no resemblance at all. Huh, that was a little twist right there. Single as well, no romantic relationship and no sign of any in the recent past or plans for the future. The calendar was interesting, the dates random clues to what was most important. His overtime notes were impressive. Married to the job by the looks of it. Jim Brass was taking shape in his mind.

He headed into a different room to the one Will had entered. Poked around the bathroom, took note of the sort of things he used and what that said. Looked in the medicine cabinets and smiled a little at the condoms there and lube. Then he went in search of Will.

Will was in the man's bedroom, just standing there. He wasn't touching anything with his hands, but everything with his eyes, from what Greg could tell. The place had been left as it was after CSI had finished with the place, half turned upside down with care. "What have you got?"

"A good start," Greg replied, recognizing someone with their sense wide open. "He was military once, he's a workaholic and possibly has addictive behaviors to mask past pain. He's a solid as granite in loyalty and affection even when betrayed. He'll fight, but he'll fight smart rather than blindly."

"So he's still alive," Will murmured, looking at the vacant bed. "That's all I needed. There's no evidence here. The crime wasn't committed here. Our guy waited until he was out of the car to get him, but before he got into the house. This isn't a scene."

"Yeah, I'm with you on that. Some people are more complacent on home turf, but Jim wouldn't be. He'd know exactly what was to hand. He's a fighter... a dirty fighter if he has to be, so even if there was a drug, he'd struggle and fight," Greg said. "Last time he was in here was when he got up. I don't think the killer is going to know how to deal with him. The confusion might buy time."

"You'd be surprised how quickly killers decide how to deal with people." Will tilted his head slightly, and then pivoted to leave the bedroom. "I'm done here. I need to see the victim photos and work on the profile. Our boy's a psychosexual, right? But that doesn't tell me anything. You know how many shades of that exist in the world."

"I need their photos and the interviews made with friends and family," Greg replied. "Hopefully Catherine will bring that tomorrow." He followed Will again, his hand automatically going to his arm, just as it would've with Aiden. Grounding wire she used to call it. Keeping her head clear when it wanted to tie up in knots.

Not there when she most needed it.

"No kidding. Although torture gives heavy hints in certain directions," Greg answered.

"Still not enough. Is he cutting them up? Is it ritual mutilation or ritual decoration that simply leads to death? There's a huge difference between sexual bloodletting and turning a man's ass into a cunt, but I'd call either one 'torture'." Will rolled the words off easily, casually enough to make Greg grimace, and he didn't shake Greg's arm off. It was a start, even if he was tense.

It made him wonder what Will's real personality was underneath the old layers of torn murderer's masks. Maybe he could do something about the tension. Massage or... okay, not that. "True. Motivation is key in victim selection. Okay, so you want to head back downstairs?"

"If we're trying to reset ourselves for nightshift, we might as well stay awake. That means we should either give a passing chance at meeting some of our new co-workers, or I can stare at a wall for the next few hours until she gets back with something to do."

"Well, let's take a wander downstairs to the communal areas," Greg said. "She said someone was around."

"Right." They walked for a little while, quietly. Will seemed to like his silence, and Greg could cope with that. The stairs were quiet, too, except for Will's footfalls on the edge of the stairs. Will pulled away a little, going his own pace, one hand on the handrail, back straight. Same pace for every step, like the stairs were hypnotic.

He watched him closely, just in case he had tranced out on him. He had to make connections here. He'd need some sort of support the first time he was out in the field doing his thing, because this partnership was only going one way, and he needed someone. He would need someone.

He had needed Aiden sometimes even if she was the one who'd done some of the things that made him need that comfort. *Her* personality was different to her being them.

She had an off. She had a way of interacting with people that wasn't the case, and Will didn't seem to have that. He breezed right past the door that was labeled '1st floor'.

Greg was worried that yeah, maybe resetting Wills baselines was going to be difficult. There were times where Aiden had resisted it, the other personality not wanting to "die". God only knew what Will would be like.

"You know, we could try out some of that food she was talking about," Greg said as they headed down. Will had eaten an omelet, but Greg was hungry, and he had a feeling that Will possibly hadn't eaten since he was transported to be sold.

"Maybe, yeah, uh..."

"Through here I think," Greg said keeping that contact as they walked. "We could watch TV if no one is around, chill a bit... you know..."

Relax, get to know each other, Greg wanted to say, and oh, god, *he* was going to fall apart if things didn't start to run the other way eventually because he was already there, forming up their most important victim in his head, getting into place to step into the role.

"This getting to a comfortable point with me is important to you?"

"Yeah," Greg replied. "I... look, part of my job is to be a victim okay? That does things to me just as much as it would to you. If you're on the other side I need to be able to trust you."

Will stopped, stopped just outside of the door, looking at Greg. It was hard to read Will's face. It was a blank look, but even a blank look could hold a wide range of emotions. Will looked... almost unsure. "Look, I don't want you hurt."

That surprised him. "It's part of the job," Greg said slowly. "It's okay... how's that different to what happens to you?" Mind violation was the worst of traumas, they knew that.

The edge of Will's mouth twitched. "If I say 'because I'm older than you', you're not going to buy it, are you?"

"No." Greg replied immediately. "Will, I'm a professional victim. It's what I do, and what I do catches killers, criminals, before they can hurt people."

"You said it yourself. You asked why wasn't I crazy, and you *still* want to trust me?" Will pulled the door open, slowly.

"You're the strongest person I've met, I can judge that," Greg replied. "If you do something, it won't be your fault."

"Yeah, that's what they all say. Except, it is." He started off into the hallway, slightly ahead of Greg, and nearly barreled into a guy his same height, but a lot younger. He was in a t-shirt and jeans, and pretty built, Greg decided.

"Whoa, hey there -- hi, and you two little lost lambs are?"

"Hungry, apparently. Nick?"

"That's me, but I still don't know who you guys are." He looked one step away from going for a gun.

"New housemates -- Greg Sanders, and this is Will Graham. Bought in today," Greg said.

"Empaths." Will didn't specify who was who, which was funny. "Catherine told us that you were in the house, and that you cooked. We've just come down from the top floor."

"Up in Jim's place," Nick nodded. "Starting hot out the gate. She was lucky to find a pair at the auctions after all. If you want some of the chili, there's a whole mess of it there in the kitchen."

"Thanks. Greg reminded me that food doesn't just exist to turn your stomach." Will flashed a smile, and it was like he was turning on a whole different personality. No weakness, all alertness -- definitely a cover. Maybe he thought Nick was a threat, or prey?

"Yeah. Uh, here, I'll show ya'll where the kitchen is. Where'd you come from?"

"Me? New York..." Greg replied easily enough. A little longer and he'd have Nick mentally categorized in his head. "We weren't a pair before we were sold on." Interesting. He could see the attraction to Nick. He was good looking and with a sensitivity that anyone would respond to.

"Quantico." Will answered that, and Nick twisted, looking at him for a moment before he tilted an eyebrow at Greg.

"Huh. You guys think you can, you can find Brass?" Nick led the way, walking casually, taking them towards what looked like a pretty average, big kitchen.

"We'll give it our best," Greg said. "Don't know yet what we've got to go on. From what I gather, not a lot."

Yeah, and it was killing Nick not being able to help Jim. Why? Because positions were reversed and Jim had managed it. That was guilt there. Why was he feeling guilty? But there was guilt there on the man's face. An expectation that maybe he could have done something if he'd been there, and maybe he hadn't been in the House when he'd thought he should have been. Guilt usually had very little to do with reality, particularly from bystanders.

"What were the other cases like?" Will asked.

"Bad. I've been in Vegas for a long time now and we've had some crazy stuff go down," Nick said. "But this was bad. Really bad. We had it described as S&M gone bad. Evidence of object violation, repeated rape, cutting, whipping, use of unidentified tools and objects, electricity and ... yeah."

It made him look faintly sick and Greg nodded. It still seemed on the more sexual side of things, which for him was comparatively normal, and part of the job to have an insider knowledge into those motivations.

"What's in the chili? It smells great."

"Rice and red beans," Nick replied. "Might be...uh...kind of dead by now. Here, have a seat, I'll serve you up some of the good stuff."

Greg wasn't sure if Will would eat it or not, but he would. "Yeah, I'd like that, thanks."

Nick nodded and served up glancing over at Will. "Yeah, cause of death was asphyxiation, blood loss, internal injuries, that sort of thing indicating it wasn't a specific end point just an inevitable result of escalating torture. You want some of this?"

"A little, thanks." He pulled up a chair at the bar, watching Greg more than he was watching Nick. "Kind of dead is all right with me. How long has our guy been at it?"

"He's a fast mover. 8 months, but escalating in the last two," Nick supplied. "I really hope you can give us a lead. Never seen someone sweep a place so clean. We've got to get to Jim."

"This is more Greg's territory than mine," Will murmured, tilting his head slightly. "Go on, Greg. This is what you've been looking for?"

"What who what?" Nick set two bowls down in front of them, and gave his attention to Greg.

"I need to know about Jim," Greg asked. "That's part of what I do. You ever heard of PVs?" Before he would've assumed yes, but now he couldn't assume that much.

"Professional Victims? Yeah. Cath said she was going out to see if she could find Empaths at the sale, and you guys are it. There's a pair up in Reno that we've had to borrow from time to time."

That made it easier. "I'm the PV, and Will's a Criminal Empath. I need to know about Jim. I'll be doing the same with the others, but right now you know about Jim and that's what I need. Tell me about him?"

He took a bit of the chili and... okay, it wasn't bad. Not great, but definitely edible. "Tell you about him?" Nick pulled up his own chair, across from them, and folded his arms over his chest. "Uh, sure. Jim Brass is probably the best guy I've ever worked under. He's a hardass sometimes, but in all the good ways. He knows how to motivate you in a case without kicking you in the balls."

"Do you like him as a person?" Greg asked. "How would you describe your relationship with him? What do you feel about it?"

"I miss him like crazy. He was a good supervisor and a good friend. I used to work as a beat cop, and he had, too, so he appreciated a CSI with a gut instinct." Nick was squinting at Greg as he spoke, like he was trying to work out how it was useful.

"He's saved your life before," Greg asserted, suddenly sure. "Directly saved you hasn't he? You feel you should've been able to do the same and it's driving you crazy that you can't."

Nick's eyebrows went up. "That's... That's the story. I was.... I was buried alive. This complicated setup that should have killed me, killed us all, and you know what? I'm here. I'm alive. And we can't do this for him. We have to buy in outside help."

Greg nodded. "We're not going to be outside. We're part of your team," he said. "I don't know if we can, but I know Will is the best there is. You'll have studied his work and you'll know he's caught some of the worst there have been. Ever." Buried alive. He wondered if Will had picked up on the vibe. "You're close as a team right?"

If that was what had brought on the personality shift, the openness, the *smile*. "Yeah. We're like a family. Most of us have been here for years, and we do good work together. We don't see much influx."

"Then you get two at once," Greg said. "So what else can you tell me about Jim? Anything, no matter how trivial it might seem."

"I don't know. He's just... Jim. He's kind of rough around the edges, drinks a little much sometimes. He's a good guy. He's the kind of guy you trust your life with. He doesn't date, doesn't fool around with anyone in the house, even if half the place would be willing to if he were inclined."

"Hey, nothing wrong with that," Will murmured. He'd wolfed through the better part of his bowl, and started to stand up. "You know what? Greg, I'll be up in my room, getting acquainted with the shower. Don't leave early on my account."

That worried him a little. He could be wrong but he had a sneaking suspicion Nick turned Will on, for all the wrong reasons. "Sure... I'll, uh, drop by on my way back up," he promised.

It as much easier to get a feel for someone in front of you and he *had* Nick now. He knew if he wanted to, he could be Nick's perfect... anything. Friend, lover, confidante. He was very easy to read and that had to stand out like a beacon to any predator. He was willing to bet Nick had been targeted more than any of his colleagues. He'd have to give him lessons in blocking that.

Greg promised himself, he wouldn't be long, but he needed this.

Nick watched, waited until Will was gone back into the stairwell before he opened his mouth. "That's... *the* Will Graham. Holy shit, and Catherine went to that sale looking for a maybe a couple of Bargain Bin Empaths like Kepler and wassisface up in Reno, but damn. And you're from New York, not Podunk somewhere. That's..." Nick shook his head a little, and he looked torn between misery and delight. "I think maybe we've got a chance in hell now. This guy has been driving us up a wall, and he's been escalating. If you can *find* Jim for us..."

"He's good. I'm pretty sure he's the best out there. But…" Greg looked at Nick. "He's been working without a safety net. He's running hot at the moment so if he's a bit... sharp or out there, that's why. I'm in because I lost my partner -- Will and I aren't a matched pair, but I think we can work together."

Maybe he was the bargain bin Empath. He'd be lying if he said being offered as a freebie didn't smart a little, but bundled as a package with Will Graham went a long way to soothing that.

"So, anything you've got, that you can tell us will help get us there quicker."

"I'm still not... sure what you need to know," Nick offered. But he didn't seem skeptical of what Greg was suggesting he could do. "I can't really think of much to say about Jim. Mostly it's stories, moments. He's always in action."

"Stories are good," Greg encouraged. "Tell me any stories that leap to mind, I'm looking for the personality rather than facts. Facts I'll get tomorrow. This is the important stuff."

The look Nick gave him was probably amusing if he wasn't on the receiving end of that look. "Stories. Alright, stories I can do."

And maybe it wasn't the usual way to get into a trust situation with a coworker, but it seemed to be working. The more Nick talked, the more he relaxed, and the more he learned about Jim. He was definitely the father surrogate for the group.

He was everything an Owner should be. Tough but fair, out there with his team doing the job, working alongside them. More importantly, Greg picked up the subtle messages. The possible over indulgence in drink and tendency to avoid relationships, the dry sense of humor, fondness for hockey and noir humor and a presence as solid as a mountain. These were the things he had to know, not facts and figures. He was getting a feel for him slowly but surely.

The only problem was that Greg wasn't sure that knowing Jim would help find him in this case. Jim was off pattern. He was a known aberration, even if he was still missing. But the aberration had probably happened because Jim had hunch about the case.

"So, are you guys going to try to hit nightshift hours?"

"Working on it," Greg replied. "Might flake in the mean time but yeah, once the paper work is done tomorrow, we're in. I think Catherine is going to send some material back for us to look at."

If Jim had a hunch, then he could find it once he got the pattern. Even if he didn't, he'd be trying to take on the other victims as well.

"After that, there might be some progress I guess." He smiled at Nick, liking the feel of his personality and someone so solidly good all the way through. "You've worked with an Empath team before?"

"Yeah. Keppler, and Millander. They're..." Nick rolled his shoulders. "Good at it, I guess, but I can't take being in a room with them for long. It's nothing about the *work* they do. It's just... them. Personally. Keppler's crooked, and is just as likely to plant evidence at a scene as he is to investigate it, you know? And if Paul is supposed to keep him in check, he does a crappy job."

Greg grimaced a little. "Sounds like they could use a little refresher." It sounded like someone's core personality had corrupted and with Empath pairs that tended to bleed across like a disease. He looked at Nick. "It's possible I could get a bit freaky when I'm running hot. I *know* I get freaky after I'm in a live scene or playing bait, so I'm just warning you okay?"

"Sure. Not a problem. Is there anything I or some of the other CSIs here could do to help you out? Because we want you guys to... work out here. Whether you can find Jim or not." Except, Greg knew that Nick didn't mean it. He might *mean* that in an open and hopeful way, because his voice was leaning towards a heavy dose of 'please find him'.

"This has been great help. The chili wasn't too bad either," he teased a little. "I better go see how Will is getting on. He's going to have a harder time, I think."

And there was the chance he got into the shower and forgot to get out at the moment.

"Yeah. Uh, if you guys want some company, I'm down here in the commons. PBS and the discovery channel pretty much rules the TV around here, but if you want something trashier, you can probably steal the remote."

"I'll see if I can lure him out," Greg said, getting up. "Catch you later Nick, okay?" He gave a wave as he headed out and back up the stairs towards Will's apartment. He knocked on the door again, pushing at it to see if it was open.

Open. Right, that was either trusting of him, or a mistake, and Greg wasn't sure he wanted to step in close to the door. He let the door swing open, made sure that there wasn't a bucket of nails balancing on the top of the door.

"Will? It's Greg? I'm coming in okay?" He announced to the room, giving him plenty of warning before he finally did enter the room, and hey...no bucket of nails. "Will?"

No Will, either. There was the sound of running water, which meant that Will was either finishing with his shower or he was in there and out of it. Okay, so he should go in after him. Little early in proceedings for him to be doing a hunt and rescue, but here he was.

He made noise, and he entered the bathroom with a "Will? It's Greg. You in here? Everything okay?"

No scaring the guy, no startling him. Always warn ahead of time that he was there, that he was a presence. Will was coming off his hinges, and maybe he'd been doing it for years. Greg sort of expected him to be in the shower, masturbating, maybe. Aiden had done that a lot, and so that was what he was expecting. But not really for Will to be just standing there, with the water focused at a spot on his back. Not moving, breathing, okay, breathing was a good thing.

"Will." he tried again, and then louder. "Will!" even as he reached out, into the shower to touch him. The water was running cold. He'd been in here a long time.

Completely out of it, and Catherine *and* Will expected Greg to *work* with that? To *not* reset him until they'd solved the case?

They were crazy.

Will jerked, and caught his forearm in one hand, grip hard. His eyes weren't focused, not from the start, but Greg had the sense of mind to not panic, and the grip didn't turn much worse than aching.

He'd had worse, he'd definitely had worse and this was a good sign that he could still distinguish harmless from threat. "Okay, I think you're clean enough Will," Greg said calmly. "You want to come out of there?"

"Cuts get infected if you don't wash them." He straightened up, twisted towards Greg a little more, and did move, slowly, to get out of the shower. The water was a little pink, and Greg was trying to not stare at Will's body because there was a good chance it could 'turn on' whatever protocols were already running hot in his head.

Even so he needed to know the trigger for this. Greg tossed over a towel. "Cuts? What cuts?" he asked, just in case there were some physical ones he had overlooked.

Will turned his arm over, showing Greg the inside of his forearm, and the ripped bloody patch there. It was a pretty small mark, but it hadn't been done cleanly. "Took the tracker out. I messed a little with the one on the back of my neck, and then I stopped."

Greg gaped. "Jesus... What were you trying to do, give yourself a lobotomy?" he said. "Okay, look, let me dry you off a little and then sort that out for you, okay? You do that with your teeth?" he asked as he started drying Will off. The man was closer to critical mass than anyone could be. He could literally break at any moment.

And Greg was the one who was expected to stop it from happening.

"Yes." Will was pliable, let himself be dried off. He just stood there while Greg did it, and Greg wasn't sure if that was good or bad. "I've been thinking about it for days. It itches."

Yeah, he knew that feeling. "We'll have to get you another one, but for now... here's, uh, a robe, let's put this on... and then, I'll find the first aid kit and work this for you. I want you to tell me what you were thinking about. Can you do that for me?"

"I was thinking that I don't want to be followed. Found. I'm tired." Will moved a little, shrugged when he started to pull the robe on in a stuttered motion. "I can't do this... half-case, waiting."

"Well, this is where you would, or should be reset," Greg replied looking in the medicine cabinet and pulling out supplies. "You need to relax, to let go of tension. I have to admit... I thought you might be up here doing something else."

Will hovered behind Greg, didn't move to get himself more comfortable. "I don't like to masturbate when I'm thinking about murder."

But the urge was there, he'd been right about that. "Thinking about murder?" he asked as he turned and got out the swab, the antiseptic and steristrips.

"Which isn't a surprise to you." Will watched him, but his eyes weren't tracking right. He was half-tranced. "I don't... kill. I plot. I plan. I prefer to dwell on torture. Our boy is one of those. His dream might seem grandiose to him, but it's a base desire."

"Yeah, I'm with you on that. " Greg dealt with it quickly and efficiently. "You are coming with me out into the living room and you are going to tell me exactly what you are thinking about, and I am going to give you a neck massage. And you don't have to censor what you are thinking, okay?"

Sometimes the wanting to say needed a release, and talking could help.

"Sure."

So did taking control of the situation. He had to do that with Aiden, and it seemed to be what Will needed to do. To give up control and let someone else take charge of decisions. When Greg moved into the living room, Will followed, tagging along just like he'd done with Catherine.

The neck massage might just stop the chip from pinching -- it did that if muscles got tight and the less attention Will was paying that, the better. He got Will to sit so he could slide behind him and carefully started. "Talk to me Will. Tell me."

His muscles were like stone, inflexible and painful no doubt. It left Greg half-way wanting to ask when was the last time that Will had had any attention like that, but it probably wouldn't be an answer he wanted to hear. "Not sure where to start. I want to make something bleed just to feel the blood on my hands."

"That's a starting point." Maybe to someone else that would be unusual, horrifying, but to him it was pretty normal and he knew the questions that would help, a way of plumbing the subconscious for ideas. "Anyone in particular?"

"Nick. I had to get out of there. Someone's hurt him before and it's right there, right on the surface, and I know how to make old wounds ache, and I wanted to see him ache. It's all in his eyes for everyone to see..."

Yeah, he hadn't been wrong about that either. "Yes, I know, I could see that," Greg agreed, kneading hard at his shoulder. "You want that, you come to me Will, I know how to give you what you need."

He'd have to watch him around Nick, but it was true, he could *be* what Will most needed in Nick if it came to that. It amazed him -- no one questioned the chips and tracing on the Criminal Empaths, but no one asked why the PVs were also Permanent Specialists. It was because he could be anyone. He could read someone and be their perfect anything. He could get close to anyone, manipulate them to do anything.

People feared specialists like Will, but if they really thought about it, they would be fucking terrified of a PV gone bad.

Greg was sort of glad that they weren't scared of him. It gave him greater access to places where Will wouldn't be trusted just because of his particular Empath designation. "Mmm." Will tilted his head forwards, let Greg get more access. It showed the raw spot Will had scratched just beneath his hairline, against the nape of his neck.

"Touch is very powerful," he murmured. "Particularly for you. It is the thing most often denied a real killer, something they build fantasies around. Wanting to feel blood is not unusual. Is the craving too much?"

He'd done that for Aiden before. Cut his arms so she could touch and break the mental loop she had become stuck in obsessing over how it would feel and in her case taste.

"No. Chewed the, bit the damn tracker out and I remembered I can't stand the taste of it." Will shifted, scooted backwards a little against Greg.

He craved the touch, which was a positive sign. One against all the bad, but it was hope. "Good," Greg murmured, still working on the muscles. "It's pretty nasty stuff. Ran a vampire wannabe killer once...." He winced a little at the memory of Aiden making him drink his own blood, but fortunately he was protected by the distance set up by the resetting. Messy, but in the long run, not too much physical damage.

All he had was a couple of scars and a fuzzy memory that didn't feel real. Like an old report that someone else had written up for him. If he didn't *have* that kind of distance from it all... then what?

"Uhn, I had a case with some dumb... dumbass little shits who read Anne Rice and thought it was real." Then he'd be like Will. Who needed saving from himself and was probably the biggest victim of them all.

"So, lots of sex as well? Or just endless angsting people to death?" Greg answered as he literally squeezed the tension from Will's shoulders.

"Sex and blood and a lot of angst, and I really think all of their murders were accidental. Three 'oops, they bled to death' is pretty suspicious." It seemed to be working, because Will's words were less stunted.

"Pretty damn careless," Greg answered. Will felt good, he was getting impressions from him all the time and he'd be lying if he didn't admit the attraction was kicking in. It shouldn't be, but it was and he would've half welcomed the chance to play 'Nicky' if Will had been desperate in need in the shower. So, it was a little warped, and okay, maybe it could be claimed his enjoyment of things was warped as well, but he did okay.

He managed just fine the way he was, which was ironically what Will said, too. Greg stretched his hands, cracked a couple of knuckles, and leaned back into the job of working tension out of Will's back. So, he liked touch. It was pretty obvious, when the guy was responding to it like an attention-starved cat, and that should have been the last thing he'd been deprived of.

Then again, when a guy killed your house pets and made them into a meal, it would be pretty hard to stomach the idea of getting frisky with him, even if the two things were probably circularly linked. "Mmm." Will shifted, stretched a little and worked the robe down so Greg had better access to more of his back. "You wouldn't believe the last time someone did this. You have great hands."

"Thank you. And this is what your PV, if you had one, should be doing for you," Greg replied. "It's very important you get this sort of intimate contact and relax. When was the last time you had… uh... anything?"

"I got loose in Florence. Italy. You don't want to hear about it." 'Loose' implied that he'd been somewhere that he shouldn't have been and he *knew* he shouldn't have been there in the first place. So what would be in Italy?

It wasn't his handler or Owner, because... no, that didn't work. He wasn't the sort to do that. So it had to be something else, someone else.

"I probably do want to know," he murmured. "Because I'm curious like that. Someone you knew?"

Random didn't suit the profile he was building in his head. Why would he hide that? "An old friend." There was almost a note of shame, or guilt when he said that. Greg wasn't sure if Will felt shame, but there was definitely some conflicted emotions about whatever had happened.

Greg remained silent for a moment, processing the information and letting it mull in his head a moment. People were easier to 'read' when you were touching them. Their muscle tension spoke volumes. "An encounter you wanted and did not want at the same time. Something that you are not sure you regret but you feel... guilty and unsure about. Did you keep this secret from your Owner?"

"He worked it out. He wasn't... particularly pleased at the time." Greg was imagining retribution or punishment, but Will's shoulders didn't tighten when he said it. "We talked about it. But it's a little like keeping a moth from smacking itself into a porch light."

Instinctive drive then, a pull that could not be denied. "One of your subjects then -- it's common to feel a pull," he murmured. He'd felt it himself with some of the victims. Like an obsession from getting under their skin so thoroughly he'd want to get closer and closer to them.

"Common sense should tell me it's a bad idea. But he can't let go and neither can I." Will shifted, moved a little closer back against Greg.

"That's something we need to work on," Greg replied. "That's a reason you need the reset. Stops that dead in its tracks." His fingers worked up Will's neck, carefully skirting around the chip. "If it's someone out there then it has to be someone free. Lecter?"

"Yeah. It's been a problem since before the chip. Not sure a reset would help." Will's voice was a low, easy murmur, a tone Greg hadn't quite heard before.

He liked it. He had a feeling he would really like the real personality hiding under all the layers. "Let's put it this way: If any of the monitoring authorities picked up on any one of the dozen or so signs I've seen today, they'd have you hospitalized in a maximum security psychiatric hospital."

"I could get out." Will rolled his shoulders a little, and leaned his elbows on his knees. It had to be a nice view from the front, too, since he shrugged his robe down more with the gesture. "Jack used to remind me that we still do euthanasia."

He took that as a hint to work down his back. "The more I hear about Jack, the more I dislike him," Greg replied more than a little shocked that he might even joke that way. It really was a miracle Will hadn't lost it completely.

"He could have done worse by me. I..." Will exhaled slowly, muscles moving slightly beneath Greg's hands. "We put each other through hell."

"You needed more support than he could provide," Greg said. "Will, you're the best at what you do, everyone knows your reputation. You should've had more... something. I find it hard to get my head around when I talk to you and find not even the basics have been done for you."

"That's the downside of being on the ground floor. You had the benefit of mistakes that were made with the first of us." Hell yes, because the first Victim Empath had ended up dead almost right off the bat. Greg remembered that, too.

"True. Things have come on a long way since then. Most professions use the Empath designation now, though admittedly not many of them are Permanent Specialists," Greg replied resisting the urge to kiss the back of Will's neck and shoulder. "Things are a lot more refined."

"Now. They weren't always." He shifted, sighed quietly, but didn't make any moves to get up. "Thanks. I feel... better now."

"Great," Greg answered, pleased to have pulled Will back even just a little from the edge. "When we have some things in our rooms aside from the bare minimum I am going to do a proper massage on you." He made it a promise and didn't let go. "You know, I've asked a lot about you, is there anything you want to know about me?"

"What were you before you were designated?" As if that was important to him, that Greg be something *other* than a victim, when he'd been so willing to latch onto it in Nick.

"I got designated pretty young," Greg said with a shrug. "But I was DNA and trace qualified before I got pulled over into the Empath career path. I would've liked to have been what Nicky is -- CSI maybe. The whole solving things. But now I solve people."

"Why did they sell you on in New York?"

"It's hard to partner up a PV who let their partner kill themselves," Greg answered, his voice becoming low. "No one wanted me, even though I'm good. Aiden killed herself and whether it was my fault or not, people chose anyone else other than me, because I'd already failed."

"Because you represented their worst fear. Losing control, hurting a partner, and having to face consequences without a button switch to make it all better for them." Okay, and maybe it was a push button solution most of the time, but Will wasn't representative of a healthy mind, either.

"Yes, that about sums it up," Greg replied trying to conceal that nagging sting of failure. "And the fact that possibly they themselves could not be stopped from becoming the very thing they hunted. I miss being part of a pair."

Will shifted a little, started to sit up. "I'm starting to realize that my first assumption might have been wrong."

"What was your first assumption?" Greg asked as he took the cue to give him a little space.

"That you were some kind of over-ambitious therapist trying to show me up." Will twisted, turned to look at him slowly. His eyes looked more focused, and he looked maybe more alert without being so sharp-eyed than he had since Greg had first seen him.

Greg snorted with laughter. "No way, I'd be far too biased once we've linked up. Besides there are rules therapists have to live by, a certain distance that I don't. I want to help you and it's not all altruistic. Nothing good happens to unchosen PVs."

"All right. We have until Catherine comes back from work, then. And you don't have the... control settings you said you needed, so what *else* can we do in the mean time that's productive?"

"After that massage I can pretty much think of things that are, uh, reproductive," Greg admitted with a grin. "Let's just say I missed that too. We could uh... bounce some impressions around?"

"Probably best to avoid that right now. I can't half-work a case. It's all on or nothing. In between doesn't work for me." And since he seemed like he'd shifted to less-on, he wouldn't want to get into it again. It was one way of managing life running hot.

"Okay, so you want to watch some TV? Just relax a little?" Greg asked. "Or we could go back downstairs and socialize, but you might want to avoid that."

"We could go watch TV in your quarters?" Will tilted his head slightly, a quirky invitation. "Seeing as they seem to think we'll have set up camp here."

Greg grinned back. "Okay, let's do that and see if I can manage to stay awake. C'mon. It's going to be some time before Catherine gets back.

Will threw him a smile. It was an amazing difference that just a little contact made, and it gave Greg hope that he *could* keep Will grounded until Catherine or someone was willing to reset them and let them work on their levels. Otherwise, they'd just work the case, and deal with things as they came, and Greg could relish the fact that he was no longer alone.

Hell wasn't any of the hundred trite sayings people had that described what it was.

Hell, Jim Brass was pretty sure, involved being locked in a small room in some psychopath's basement. And it might have been all right if he'd just been *locked* in there, if he'd been able to roam and move more, but he was naked, and chained up, and all of it implied that he wanted to get out of there as soon as he fucking well could.

The guy was physically pretty strong, but in a fair fight, or a street fight, Jim was sure he could've taken him despite the last few years as CSI Night-Shift Supervisor and Owner. But the bastard had used a pressure syringe, catching him getting out of his car and he didn't even have enough wake time to finish the punch he'd started to throw.

That was the stupid thing. He should never have been ambushed like that, never gotten that sloppy even if he wasn't a detective anymore and his designation had been switched with service maturing to Free.

Well, he was anything but free now.

He'd made a guess about their guy, started to follow hunches, but he hadn't been anywhere near as close to it as their guy had suspected he was. He'd probably been a few weeks off of catching the guy, if that, and here he was. Locked in the guy's 'playroom'. There was no question what he was up to in his free time. There was a second room, and while Jim hadn't met his fellow captive, he'd *heard* him a lot.

He'd worked out that he wasn't the guy's type, more a captive of necessity than preference. Jim didn't know whether to be obscurely offended that the man needed something else to get the taste of him out of his mouth.

Not that he particularly wanted to continue on from their "warm up" torture, but he was pretty sure the other guy had been a more recent captive, and the poor bastard had started screaming a little while ago now. If the autopsies were right, there could be a good few days of this to come. Maybe he'd mix and match, maybe he finished one of them off quickly... who knew?

Jim didn't know. He couldn't tell, and that was part of what left him on edge. It was thinking about his future, which was bad or worse, or thinking about what had happened as a 'welcoming' show of the bastard's hospitality. He was definitely a free man, because there were no other sounds of life in the house.

Just someone sobbing, crying, in the room next door. Jim shifted where he was crouched on the floor, and felt his ass twinge in sympathy for the other victim. His neck still ached. It wasn't that the guy was *strong*, but he was precautionary.

He didn't do anything unless his victim was completely immobilized. Then he did exactly what he wanted, and what he appeared to want was a certain type of behavior, a certain response and a lot of pain. Which made sense because it had been the lifestyle club he'd gone to on a hunch to ask about "supplies" that had apparently tipped the guy off. Maybe he'd been there in those dark dungeon corners and thought he was asking about him specifically, Jim didn't know.

Jim wasn't into the pain side of sex. But he knew how to endure things. He knew his own way of thinking; He'd deal or die. He wouldn't break.

He wasn't going to give the guy that kind of pleasure. He wasn't going to shake and cry and react, and he wasn't going to *not* deal. He was going to survive, and he was going to escape. An opportunity would present itself, and he would escape. No ifs, ands or buts.

The noise in the room next door trailed off, slowed down, muted out, and Jim wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. If the other guy was lucky he would've passed out. On the other hand if the guy was still in the mood, that was bad news for him.

He found himself waiting, looking across at the door trying to figure which way this was going to go. He was usually pretty quick in subduing, but if it was a case of 'interrupted by unconsciousness', he might not be as careful as he usually was. Jim tensed when the door swung inwards, a quick motion, but the man stayed out of the reach Jim had with his chain restraints.

"Mister Brass, I hope you're feeling better than you were before."

"Well you know, the decor really sucks," Jim replied trying to get him to relax, get his guard down. "And the service is terrible."

"You're looking at this all wrong. You need to think about serving me. Then this will go so much better. I should not be giving you such a grand opportunity, but I think your intelligence has made you deserving of my attention." He circled to the side of Jim, still wary, and Jim twisted, watching him. The man was dressed, sure, but he was also tenting the front of his pants. Ready to go.

The other guy had denied him his climax then. Great. And he was pretty sure complying wouldn't actually help. It would remove the need to break him, and move towards killing him.

"Some how I don't think so. And the opportunity is nowhere near 'grand'," he said trying to sound laconic and unconcerned, while deliberately looking at the man's groin.

Distract him, maybe. "You will come to believe differently." There was a body shift to the left, and then the man got his hand to the right and got fingers right around Jim's throat. There was a sound of handcuffs, the familiar metal on metal noise that told Jim that the choking was just to distract him while the guy got him trussed.

He still struggled though, but the bastard always clipped the handcuff to something before releasing anything else. He choked until he was seeing bursts of light behind his eyes and on the verge of passing out.

Believe different. Yeah right. He was going to believe the guy was a complete psycho.

It was systematic. Even if the plan was to get Jim handcuffed and in the middle of the room, he was restrained completely first. Handcuffed tight to the pipes that lined the walls, before his leg restraints were hooked up to one of the cemented in steel bars that spanned the floor, before he cuffed Jim's arms behind him, choking him now and again in the process. And it didn't matter how damn hard Jim fought, he was out-handcuffed even if he wasn't out-classed. Even hard, the guy wasn't taking any risks.

"Do you want me?"

"Are you fucking kidding?" Jim answered. "No. Why the hell would I want a sick bastard like you?"

It might make him angry, but he was pretty sure that giving in just led to more and more exotic 'games'. So, he was going to keep being defiant, buck the trend. See where it got him, how much time and how many mistakes it could get him. Not that he was in a position to barter with the guy, not when he was knees down on the floor, attached to a metal bar that maybe gave him half a foot or left to right motion.

"You will. You just aren't..." The man paused, and smiled wildly, slowly. "Open to it, yet. You will be." And it seemed like he'd decided something, because he turned towards the door, and left it open when he stepped out.

Arrogant fucker.

He was willing to bet the rooms were soundproofed or the house was far enough away that people didn't hear, because if someone could hear, they would've reported the screams coming in. He was mentally mapping the place though, what he could. Adjoining doors, a partitioned basement no doubt. Custom built -- they should've looked into custom gear. Maybe that's what the guy thought he was doing. Maybe his team would think of that.

Maybe he'd get through this without screaming and without giving the guy the satisfaction. He knew about physical abuse, he knew about survival.

He'd seen enough people die miserable, sad deaths that he didn't want to be one of them.

Custom-made work, though. People kept track of things like that, unless the guy was in construction. Then the custom-done house work wouldn't even hit the radar. It'd look like a guy doing repair work, not building his own dungeon.

Jim kept his head spinning, so he didn't feel like he was waiting for the guy to come back, even though he was.

He had to last out because his team would find him. Catherine was relentless, Nicky would never give up, nor would Warrick, for all that they butted heads on occasion. Sara could be scary with her focus some time and all that working on his case, yeah, they'd find him. He'd just have to hang in there long enough.

And try and ignore the doubts he had that even his team could work that fast.

Footsteps and he was coming back, back into the room.

"I have a toy I want to try on you, but you aren't ready for that yet, and I want something more intimate." Jim twisted in his restraints, looking over his shoulder. The man had a jar of something, and a dildo that looked like it was attached to a blood pressure pump.

"Seriously, were you always this twisted or was it something you worked at?" Jim replied, not really having to use his imagination much as to where that was going to be going.

It was pretty obvious that the dildo was going in his ass, and the jar of stuff was maybe, if he was lucky, lube. "You haven't come to appreciate my brilliance yet. You will. They all do." And funny, they were all dead, too. The man stopped, stripped out of his pants, and Jim tried to not stare at his dick at it caught against fabric, bobbing eagerly probably at the mere thought of what he was about to do to Jim. "Even a crudely built man like you deserves the opportunity to be a cockslut for me."

"I think you've jacked off to one too many porn sites," Jim answered still deliberately sounding casual. "I hate to break it to you but they're pretty much faking it. If you want an exotic fuck, go pay for it like everyone else."

"I've had exotic fucks. No, you're going to become so much *more*. You *will* become a perfect servant to me." The man slapped Jim's left ass cheek, and let his fingers slide down along Jim's asscrack. "Before me, who fucked you last?"

"Generally I top," Jim replied with a hint of scorn even if it was leaning towards a lie. He did both. "Perfect servant my ass."

"It will be." Fingertips lingered, traced the sore ring of skin. "Spread your legs if you want this done wet."

"Like they're not spread enough?" Jim answered. "Come on like I'm going to believe all that bullshit -- like you're not going to do exactly what you want anyway."

One finger pushed in hard, dry and fast, and Jim lurched forwards against the cuffs. "I want you compliant."

"Yeah, well we don't always get what we want do we? Because there's no way in *hell* I would have your finger up my ass if there was a choice in the matter." Jim fought down his reaction as much as he could, trying to remain annoying and not the compliant cockslut the man wanted.

"You'll choose it soon." The finger pulled back out, leaving a dull burning sensation before he felt the man kneel closer behind him. The next touch against his ass was cool and slick, two fingers liberally pushing lubricant into his ass, toying at the edges. "I could hurt you. I could break you down, fuck you apart, but I think I can get what I want better if I make you enjoy it. And I will get what I want."

"You've got a long job ahead of you if you think I can enjoy anything you do to me," Jim replied. He tried to will his body to be inert, dead to sensation and not respond to what was happening. He knew he couldn't help physical reactions, but they still felt like a betrayal. But the longer he was a challenge, the longer he was likely to survive.

He'd seen what the guy had done to his victims. He'd seen the shape their bodies had been in by the time he was done with them, whether it took two weeks or four. Pieces were missing, they were burnt, choked, and physically in a shape that if they *had* escaped, they wouldn't be able to live normal lives. Jim didn't particularly want to be found with his balls cut off and shoved in his ass.

"We'll see." The man leaned in closer, pressed his dick against the back of Jim's thigh, and slowly slipped the two fingers in. It was slick, and that made it easier to take the tiny stroking, teasing motions. "Do you feel yourself getting hard yet?"

"No." Mind over matter, he was not going to get hard; he was not going to give the guy the satisfaction of making it that easy. He knew it could be done, but he wasn't going to make it easy.

But the teasing didn't stop. The man kept sliding his fingers in and out slowly, curling them and searching for Jim's prostate. And when he found it, he didn't just press and poke at it, he curled his fingers hard against the vague edge, rubbing in a twitch of motion.

Christ. There wasn't much he could do to stop his cock twitch at that. That tended to happen when he went for medicals. Didn't mean he was enjoying it though. It was an involuntary action like...like a sneeze. He tried to pull away, but there was very little range of movement.

And the finger followed, kept twitching there and rubbing against that spot. The man's free hand reached down between his legs, and started to stroke his dick, trying to coax it past half-hard and twitching.

He held back, he knew he did, maybe not as long as it felt but a long time but a man could respond purely physically when mentally he had no desire to do so. For all his bluff and bravado, the man was getting his way and he was losing his.

His dick got hard, and the man stroked him harder, firmer, and kept stroking while he worked those two fingers out. "See? This is what you want."

"Not. From. You," he gritted out. He forced his mind away from fantasies and daydreams that might trigger him, towards painful thoughts, thoughts of anger. Thoughts of his ex-wife. Thoughts of how he'd felt when he realized he was being betrayed by his best friends. When he knew Ellie wasn't his. That was pain, not this piffling exercise in control and power. Let him have what? A meaningless victory. "So you've got my cock to stand up. Coma patients get that much action."

"You'll beg me for it, tonight." He said it quietly, kept stroking Jim's dick in determined motions. The two fingers came back, pushed more slick lubricant into his ass, and toyed at his muscles again before he felt something firmer press against it. To turn around and look, or not?

Not hot enough for the man himself so probably that damn dildo. He did groan then because it was larger than he was used to. He hadn't bottomed for anyone in a long time. He hadn't had sex in a long time, for all he was Owner of a House full of very good looking men and women, and it was his right to have whoever he wanted.

"I won't beg," he managed. "Anything you get, you'll have to fucking well take and know I didn't want you to have it."

"I won't take this out until you beg," the man murmured, voice quietly amusing as he kept pushing it in. It was *big*, big enough to feel substantial, and it was hard to not groan when it was seated all the way in him. The base was wide, flared, and left him feeling stretched out.

"Then... you won't be getting anything for yourself because I'm not begging you for anything," Jim managed, trying to use a tough guy image like a shield. He knew he couldn't stop him, but he was trying to stop the manipulation. Making it his responsibility, his action. He'd have to fucking well take it.

He'd just withstand it. It was just a dildo in his ass, after all. Even when the man pulled it out and pushed it back in, timed with the stroking over his dick. There was nothing to *beg* about it.

Until the plastic dick up his ass was pressed in hard again, and he heard a quiet pumping sound that went with a feeling of being filled *more*.

That was hurting, that was pushing it too far and he knew he made a grunting sound of pain and found himself clenching his jaw. "You sadistic fucker!" he managed. No begging but he needed to make noise or he would scream. "You think... you're that big?" He nearly panted trying not to react.

"I like my men open. You'll welcome me, soon." The stretching feeling stopped, briefly, and then it started again, spreading his anus as the man worked the hand-pump. It had to *stop*, but the guy was using custom-made shit, so there was no guessing when it would stop if he wanted to stretch it that far. Just, just pain, though, pain and a hand stroking his dick and the feeling of being filled *stopped*, finally, stayed steady. Aching but steady.

Then he turned on the vibrator.

"Holy crap!" He might as well have touched him with a cattle prod. He couldn't not try and move, technically *away*, rather than towards but just moving was some sort of a relief.

The man chuckled quietly, and taped the base, jarring it hard. "I'll let it run forever if you don't beg. I'll plug it in and let it run when you sleep and when you wake up again and you *will* like it."

Jim shook his head, not trusting himself to words just then though most of the ones he was thinking were profanities. Let him do it. Let him waste time trying to break him that way instead of with knives and machines and other "toys". This wasn't pride, if it was just about pride he would've just said the words. Words were just words, but in this case, they were a short cut to death.

The longer the guy took to get through each successive stage of torture, the longer Jim survived. Even with his ass stretched out and the dildo vibrating away, and the man's fingers wrapped tight around his cock. The only problem was when the man shifted the dildo, tilted it, made Jim groan hard and pressed it right on his prostate. There was no way that he *wouldn't* come.

He must've been holding his breath trying not to come, because when it finally happened, forced out of him with an undeniable burst of pleasure stirred thoroughly with shame and disgust, he nearly passed out, his vision graying out at the edges and him slumping forward.

The man caught him, pressed a hand flat against his stomach, and hauled him back up to hands and knees. It didn't help that the vibrator was still in him, pressing hard against his prostate and against everything else in his ass.

Jim decided to go with semi-conscious as a tactic. The damn vibrator was going to hurt and over stimulate if he left it in, but he was half hoping the guy wanted to fuck so badly he'd move on from that torture. He stayed as passively awkward to move around as possible.

"Do you want to beg for it to stop?" The man leaned in close, pressed his mouth against Jim's back. "Do you feel stretched wide?"

If he answered yes to one he'd assume it was yes to both. If he said No, then it would be no to both. "Fucking... trick question," he managed in a rough snarl. Neither yes nor no.

"Do you feel stretched wide?" the man reiterated, and there was a pause of the feeling of a hand against his ass when the dildo was given one more *pump* of air.

That he could answer. "Yes...fuck you, yes." Jim managed even as he nearly choked. It felt like someone had stuffed a life raft up his ass and pulled the ripcord.

The vibration turned off, which was a blessing, and there was half a pump more of pressure added to the damn thing before he heard a hiss, and felt it start to deflate.

That was a blessed relief that made him ache in a not completely unpleasant way. Although he was not looking forward to whatever came next. Even if it was likely to be his torturer.

He was sore, and stretched raw, and okay, hopefully the guy would just fuck him and move on, but Jesus, he was tired of it already. When the dildo was pulled out, it was with a sloppy sound, and the man chuckled.

This was nothing; he had to keep telling himself that. This was nothing compared to what could be being done, it was nothing to wait he'd been through in his life. He'd seen action, been in war and been injured. Physical pain was something he'd dealt with before.

Except, it was invasive. It was in him and it was about making his body betray his mind, and it was definitely degrading. He felt the man spread his asscheeks wide, looking intently down at him or something. "Yeah, that's nice."

God only knew what type of man would consider his abused ass a work of art. He would've kicked if he'd been able to. All of his macho retorts seemed a little pale and strained as they came to mind.

'Fuck you' was probably going to get him an 'I think I will,' and the man was already pressing hot skin against his stretched asshole, rubbing it against the rim. "Mm, you stretch out so well."

Jim was gritting his teeth again. "Just get on with it, you bastard," he muttered.

"We'll get it on," the man assured him. And then he slid in hard.

Jim couldn't help it, he yelled. He was over stretched, sore and loose and the man felt like a toothpick compared to the size of the dildo. The comparison did him no favors.

This at least was familiar. Couple of rough times when he was a marine, yeah. Things not gone right. Less planned but rougher.

He clenched his teeth and just went with it, let the guy fuck his ass, because as sore and as tired as he was, the sooner it was over the better.

At the moment what depressed him most was the prospect that if, no, *when* he got rescued, they would put him through a shit load of compulsory therapy. Now that was a painful experience. He let his mind down over that instead of what was happening in the here and now

He didn't need therapy. He needed a liquid diet because shitting was going to hurt like hell in a few days. He needed to focus past the here and now and just... cope. Deep breaths and cope.

He was doing that and he'd made himself something to be worked on, not something to be killed quick and discarded. That might buy him a few days, which might give his team time to find him.

They were good. But secretly he wasn't completely sure if they were *that* good.

All Jim had to count on was his own hope. And his ability to grit his teeth when the bastard started to pound away at his ass.

Greg had been out most of time, his version of working involving a lot more interaction with people. He'd been tracking down his 'Victim Zero' through the paper trail because in serial cases, they were usually the one's that had the triggers strong enough to switch the murderer from someone a little creepy into a full on killer.

He wasn't sure exactly what he felt about Greg. He was good at what he did, but Will wasn't exactly sure what that entailed even after Greg had explained it. He did seem to be good at dealing with him, none of his confessions seemed to particularly disturb him and he understood his need for silence when he was working.

As far as Will was concerned, that was good enough. He was doing a generally better job of handling Will than Jack had in at *least* a decade, maybe more, and he was easy to connect to. Maybe that was what he *actually* did. He connected with people, acted like the thing they wanted most. Greg was fairly sexual, too, but there was a masked feeling to it that left Will on edge, unsure, unwilling to move past more than just comfortable.

Maybe it was because comfortable was so unusual he didn't want to lose it. Or maybe that he wasn't sure what it would mean. Either way, he wanted to wait.

There was a knock on the door frame and Greg poked his head around. "Hey. When you've got a moment I'd like to do some pair work with you," he said. "When you're happy with where you are."

It was a funny way to phrase it. It wasn't something Will was ever happy with, not when he came into a case late. He preferred a live scene, and not in the way that Greg seemed to think of it. When the body was still fresh, when the blood was still congealing, when he could feel his target's presence in the room and feel all of the things he, and occasionally she, felt. He let his eyes skim the pictures, and tried to push down the ache in his chest. "What do you mean by pair work?"

"I keep forgetting you don't know, uh... I want to test out some of my conclusions against yours. See if it triggers anything." Greg replied. "But like I said, only when you're happy with your headspace."

"I'd prefer a live crime scene, but that's also the outcome we *least* want right now, so I'll work with what I have." Will lingered a little longer. It was there in the pictures. Whatever he was looking for was there in the pictures. The body dumps weren't in ditches. They were posed, they were positioned so they could and *would* be found before they started to decompose. Someone had cherished them.

"Okay." Greg came in and shut the door. "I think I've tracked my Victim Zero and I've got a decent profile. I want to bounce him against your profile."

Will put his hands up slightly, a vague gesture of surrender. "We can try."

"Okay, the first death that shares characteristics with successive victims was only linked late in the game. His name was Josh Thatcher and he worked on the strip. His employment history puts him in most of the casinos -- employed by one of the gambling cartels. Braun's. Not their best purchase. Liked his off time, skipped curfew, went out clubbing a lot in some more dubious clubs," Greg said. "His housemates put him as a lifestyler wannabe slave-fetish... which is interesting because one of the angles Brass was investigating were the BSDM clubs."

"It's probable that our man sighted him there. His tastes run towards the..." Will glanced at Greg, reaching for the word. "He dominates them, and is trying to make them become something for him. He cherishes them, in his own strange way, so he would plausibly be looking for someone who was already leaning that way in terms of interests."

"Maybe he thought he was on to him," Greg said. "Josh was a... hardcore sub. He boasted how much he could take; that he hadn't met the Dom yet that pushed him beyond his limits. He was also working his way through most of the doms on the scene. One of the statements was a Dom who had Josh poached out from under him one night and after that, though they saw him around he wasn't playing the scene."

"Was the Dom able to give a physical description of his poacher?" Will had kept to the scenes only, the direct crime scenes, and Greg had taken the interviews.

"No. The guy was furious though. He lost a lot of reputation having his sub 'defect'," Greg answered. "So, I'm thinking that he entered into a genuine lifestyle relationship. The autopsy showed old marks, evidence of sex-play over a sustained period of time. I think the first time murder was an accident."

"And left without the other half of his relationship, his options are limited. Josh Thatcher's body was placed sitting up in a flower bed in a public park. The state of decay indicates that he kept the body for a period of time, probably no more than two days, while he weighed his options and worked out how to proceed."

"I'd be willing to bet that spot has some emotional meaning for the killer, more so than a lot of other sites. I believe he will revisit it at various points." Greg finished. "Now here's the thing... there are two possibilities here. One is he is looking for something better, or that he is looking for a reincarnation. Will, I want to show you my Josh Thatcher, and I want you to tell me what responds. I need to tweak the persona a little. I'll go out; I'll walk back as him. Difficult to explain, but you'll understand when you see it. That make sense?"

He wasn't going to be an asinine skeptic. He wasn't, as tempting as it was, because people seldom questioned him when he talked things through. The difference was in the showing. "I'll give it a go."

Greg seemed to recognize what he wasn't saying and gave a half smile that clearly meant he had been here before. Off he went, out around the corner and there was a long pause before he came back.

And for a moment he didn't recognize him. He was moving completely differently, different attitude, challenging and vulnerable at the same time. Something in the way he rolled his hips inviting people to have a piece of him and when he glance around, his eyes...god his eyes had that look that he'd seen in Nick on their first night at the house, but magnified.

Will never would've expected this, never.

It was hard to pull his thoughts together enough to actually ask Greg the question he wanted to ask. "What, uh. What am I looking for here?"

"Is it 'attractive' to your profile of him? Is there something missing?" Greg said and he wasn't using his usual vocal intonations any more either. "It needs to be irresistible, because the only way we're going to pick up on this guy is if you hunt out his grounds, and we wave a little irresistible bait around."

Profile. Will leaned back in the chair, looking at Greg. Attractive to the profile. "It's in the eyes."

"Would it make our killer notice me as a target?" Greg insisted. "What would he want? What does he crave?"

He seemed serious, but Will wasn't used to other people taking risks aside from him.

He wasn't sure how to handle it, except that Greg honestly *expected* him to. He closed his eyes for a moment before he opened them again, looking at Greg's face again. "A natural submission. He wants people who do it naturally, who want to have control taken from them."

"Okay, I can tone down the attitude," Greg said. "What does he desire from them aside from that lack of control?"

It was distracting to see some of the harsher edges melt away but the person in front of him was softer, more 'fuck me', more vulnerable. This wasn't how he worked, unless he counted Lecter.

"I, I don't know." He didn't want to know, and he closed his eyes again to try to push back the urge to play along, because it was the last thing he actually wanted to do. "He wanted a good body. A lean, young body."

"Yeah, I do fit his profile..." Greg said and then dropped back into his normal voice. "You okay Will?"

No. No, he wasn't okay. They seriously expected him to do that, to let go like that? "I can't do that. This. I can't let myself react on this level."

"Shit..." Greg was there touching him. "I'm sorry Will, this was meant to be first level stuff. You must be really keyed up to slip over. I'll stop, it's okay... that's enough. We'll do it your way."

He recoiled, just for a moment, shaking hard. "You have no idea how hard I try to control myself. I can't *do* that, I can't just play act."

"So you're up around a level three or four most of the time," Greg murmured not withdrawing the hand. "That's why we need a control. Safety net. I'm sorry, you do such a good job of keeping a lid on it, I misjudged. It's not your fault Will, it's mine. I won't push. I can run it solo when it comes to bait anyway."

He turned his head slightly, and Greg's wrist was right there, close to his mouth. It was running with instinct to let his lips part, to make contact and bite just a little, just gently enough to feel the flexibility of tendons under his teeth before he edged back, closed his mouth tight. God, he wanted to, it was a need that was curled up tight in his stomach, waiting to burst free. "You have no idea. I try to keep it all in my head, and that *look* you just gave me..."

"I know. I know... it used to drive Aiden over sometimes," Greg said. "If you need it, I can handle it okay? If it gets too much."

He couldn't know what he was offering. But his eyes seemed to tell him that he did.

Which had to be a lie. Will didn't answer, but he half-held onto Greg's arm, kept close to him. "No, you don't want to. We'll just... break, get coffee, and get back to working a little more traditionally."

"Yeah, okay... I'm really sorry Will." Greg answered. "You better not observe when I go out ‘cause I'll really be turning it on."

Turning it on. Will shook his head slightly. "Just let me get grounded. If we're out, we're actually looking for the guy, and that's different than sitting in here and you expecting me to be fine and great about it."

Greg actually looked incredibly guilty about the whole thing. "Okay. I... I'm sorry I pushed so hard. I didn't mean to I was just keyed up about working with someone."

Will shifted the fingers that were still stroking Greg's arm. "Hey, I'm a head case, remember?"

"Least you've got company in that," Greg replied and gave him a smile that looked a little weak. Obviously it really had upset him which was strange because other things hadn't. Things that would've upset any normal person.

Some trigger in there, and it made Will want to get closer to him, to keep that body on body contact. "I think you have the profile. It was definitely, uh, a success."

Greg smiled a little and looked like he was going to say something when the guy who had been very briefly introduced by Nick as Warrick rounded the corner.

"Hey, I was looking for you guys," he said his lazy look focusing on them both. "We've got the Sheriff pushing for action and some of the Department Owners are in. We're being called to the conference room."

"Now?" It made Will pull back a little, made him pull himself together. Meetings he could do, he could find that part of himself still and lay out the facts for people who just wanted a job done to hear.

"In five. They keep pulling us in for updates. I'm guessing they are assuming you guys can perform miracles," Warrick replied. "Spin a lead out of thin air."

"We've been working on it," Greg replied.

"You might be surprised what we've managed." Will sat up, let go of Greg's hand with only a lingering contact until his hand wasn't touching skin any longer. "I guess coffee was going to have to wait."

"We'll steal some from the break room," Warrick said. "There's big pressure now, not that we needed anymore incentive."

"We gathered that," Greg said, still staying in his personal space. Very few people ever came close. Even Jack stepped back.

He couldn't blame Jack. He'd given Jack enough reasons to step back, and this... essentially a stranger kept involving himself with Will. Willingly. "All right. Take us to the meeting room."

He showed them where to go, and they did get the coffee on the way. Greg seemed to be a coffee freak because he savored the taste of it before they got dragged off. Warrick had not been exaggerating. Everyone was there, from CSI to suits and Catherine was looking ready to commit murder already.

"Now, all your team is here Ms Willows," the Sheriff replied giving them a strange look. "Tell me you know how to find your Owner and Supervisor."

"May I?" Will asked, glancing to Catherine for a cue. He preferred to not speak out of turn, given that most people in the FBI respected him but also liked to pretend that he was a dog that could walk on its hind legs and talk.

"If you've got something to say Will, you go right ahead," Catherine said looking at him with thinly disguised relief. "Gentlemen, this is Will Graham, our newest acquisition and a Criminal Empath. Next to him there is Greg Sanders, an additional purchase and Professional Victim. They have been working this case from the moment they were bought."

Will nodded, and met the Sheriff's eyes probably more firmly than the man would have liked. "Greg and I have been working on profiles of the victims and of our target. Through this, we have a working model of the type of people he's selected, and why, and I have an idea of how. Our killer is a lifestyle Dominant. We're unsure of what his occupation is, but he would have to be a freeman to sustain his tastes without having been apprehended so far."

"But do you know where Jim Brass is?" one of the Owners asked. "As I understand it we have little time left. He's been there for nearly four days."

"Jim is not the killer's usual taste in victim and that will influence what happens." Greg put in smoothly. "If he was not killed immediately -- which is unlikely because the killer displays his kills, we believe that the killer will try and subvert him, and undoubtedly CSI Brass will not be the usual compliant victim he targets. That will extend his expected survival."

Catherine and the other CSIs were looking impressed. No doubt they were giving them ideas and angles even now.

Which was good, because the more they interacted, the further along they *all* got. Will missed his techs, his fingerprint guys and his analysts, who did the work for him when he was stalking down a killer. "Our guy wants to recreate a prior experience, from Victim Zero, his first kill. Getting Jim Brass to *that* point will take longer than his other victims has. This was a survival claim, not part of his normal pattern, so there is a good chance that he will keep Jim Brass captive and continue in his normal method."

"I see." the Sheriff replied. "Very interesting but how does that help us get him back."

"Uh..." Greg raised his hand. "I guess that's part of my role. With the input of the team, and Will's expertise in finding 'hunting grounds', I will run a live victim role as bait."

It was Nick who leaned forward then. "What exactly does that involve?" he asked.

Greg glanced at Will. "It means Will profiles the most likely spots the killer is likely to revisit. We have a couple. I adopt the empathic profile of his "ideal" victim, I go out there and let him take me, orient on me, and attempt abduction. There is a solid principle involved. If you have a taste for something sweet, but all you have around is ...celery, and then someone offers you a chocolate, you are going to drop what you are doing to take what you crave."

"Back up a minute...you said let him take you?" Nick insisted on focusing on that part.

Greg nodded. "Yes. It has to be done as rapidly as possible. Jim is what we call the Expansion point where the killer's psychopathology expands out of his normal type. If he succeeds in killing him, he will become a killer of opportunity, taking anyone available."

Will crossed his arms, looking at the Sheriff. "He'll see new opportunities that are *out* of his previous types, and he'll start to lose his sense of purpose and control. Right now, he targets good looking submissive men, but if he gets the right kind of satisfaction out of re-creating Jim Brass into an object worthy of his attention, and the subsequent killing of him, then even *you* would fit his new profile type, Sheriff."

That was enough to make the man shift uncomfortably and Catherine cut in.

"We've seen it happen before," she said. "This is a good a shot as anything we have. It matches with the fact that Jim was investigating BDSM clubs before he was taken, and at least three previous victims had some indication of old injuries consistent with that conclusion."

"It's a risk. Have you done this before?" the man asked.

Greg nodded. "Yes. A few times. It's... well, it works. It's the logistics that need deciding. I can lure and you can intercept on scene, or allow him to take me back and track me with my locator."

"I prefer an on scene interception. You go back to his home turf, you're at risk. We're all at risk." He'd run ahead of the rest of them, and killer fatality rates were *high* when Will worked the case.

"But we would know where his house was, " one of the Owners put in. "You would know immediately where Supervisor Brass was."

"I want to know when you can do this?" the sheriff put in. "Time is against us."

Greg glanced at Will before saying, "Tomorrow? I've got to get into character, change my appearance a little."

"This guy doesn't have a second house. This guy isn't operating on that level of obfuscation. We get him, you take his wallet out of his pocket, and you go to the address," Will said simply. "We'll go early in the evening, and in the afternoon I'll canvass a few places that we might want to hit given our victim's patterns."

"We'll arrange police support," the Sheriff replied. "I want this operation to succeed as soon as possible."

"There is still no guarantee that he'll take the bait," Catherine cautioned. Will saw Greg look down as she said that. It was possible but not likely.

"You haven't met the bait, and I have," Will murmured. It was maybe *weird* support for what Greg did, but he could honestly say that if he were their man, he wouldn't pass up *that* look, that bruised look in the eyes, like over-ripe fruit pleading to be plucked. "He'll take the bait."

Will threw up a tight smile at the gathered Owners. "Is there anything else you need from us, or can we start work on any coordination that we'll need?"

"Go ahead. This operation is authorized," the Sheriff said after looking at the other owners. "We'll leave you to it." They got up and he looked at them all. "I don't think I need to emphasize how important this is, do I?"

Catherine shook her head. "No sir," she replied "I think we're all well aware. Thank you." With that, the Owners and the Sheriff left, leaving the department behind.

"How much of that was on the money and how much was moonbeams for the Owners?" Sara asked with a hint of sharpness.

"I don't do moonbeams." Will turned, looking towards the young woman. It was hard not bristle, but all he *had* was his professional reputation, and he wasn't going to wreck it for a dog and pony show.

"I think Sara is just concerned because we've found no evidence and this is out there on a limb," Catherine said. "We are basing this on your... intuitions."

"Our highly trained *empathic * judgment," Greg clarified. "And personal experience. Look, if anything we left out detail -- Yeah, I would be happier if I had time to refine my profiling, but I test ran a profile to Will just before we came in and it's good enough. By the time I look the part, it will attract the killer. The problem is that it might attract others as well. That's the big problem."

"So, I'll be with you," Will shrugged, looking at Catherine and the woman, Sara, and Warrick more than Greg. "Or watching. I've got the scent."

"So you're going to sniff the guy out?" Warrick asked mildly. Nick was looking with concern at Greg and at him, and that look was less present when he was at work.

"Look, they can do this," Nick put in. "But I don't see people having a problem with Greg risking his life."

"Nick, it's part of my designation," Greg said patiently. "But I'll have Will in there. I'll need someone to carry the other side of the role and no offense Nick, I can't see any of you pulling off hardcore dominants. Well, maybe Catherine..."

"Thank you," Catherine said dryly.

"...but we're aiming for a male-male dynamic."

"The reason I don't want to have this be a capture and follow is because I will not hesitate to kill the target if I have to, in a situation on his own territory. This is frowned upon, and because of that I would rather get him in the club, signal the police, and lock the place up until we're sure it's our man."

"It just seems very simple..." Catherine made a face. "Look, I'll be straight with you guys. The Department hasn't done too well with the incumbent Empath Pair. The ‘too good to be true' scenarios generally were."

"You bought me. *You*, ma'am, bought me, specifically for this case. And given that my solve rate is 99%, I think I know what I'm talking about when I say this to you: Sometimes a case is *just* this simple. Our man hasn't evolved to the level of obfuscation that you think he has. He's in his comfort zone, still. He snatched your Jim Brass as a precautionary action, and in doing so he thinks he's guaranteed himself his place in his comfort zone for a very long time. Maybe he won't be at any clubs tomorrow night. Maybe he won't be at any clubs the night after. But Greg and I will keep trying, and I'm betting that after his next victim shows up as a body dump -- a victim that he already had who isn't Jim Brass -- he'll be in the clubs again. And he will *see* the bloom in Greg's eyes, and he's going to want to pick that bloom for himself."

Greg's hand was resting on his arm again as if it belonged there, grounding him.

"We can hope so. Better than the lack of evidence we have right now." She exhaled. "Okay, we need to get some work done. Warrick, Sara you're on the 4-19 that came in. Nick, you help Greg and Will prepare. I'll be handling any new cases. If you want to go home early to prepare for being up this afternoon, you go ahead."

"That's fine. Can I take the scene photos with me?" They'd left them in the work room, but that was easy enough to backtrack and grab.

Catherine nodded. "Just sign them out," she replied and that appeared to be the signal to break the meeting up.

Greg was still staying close to him, doodling on his pad in sketches of various "looks" he was obviously thinking of trying.

Will sat up, then leaned forwards and rubbed the palms of his hands against his eyes. "Jesus. At least Jack knew he could take my leash off and let me go to it."

"Nick told me some about this other pair," Greg murmured. "I can understand why they are suspicious... I think they need retraining. But despite that Catherine still came out and put her neck on the line to buy us. You going to be okay running hot tomorrow? Because you might have to play the part to get the guys attention."

"I'm always running hot," Will mumbled, not moving. "But letting loose, yeah, I can let loose. Not a problem. I'm going to look over the photos again when we're back at the house, and then I'm going to crash until the afternoon."

Their stuff had finally arrived, which was just as well, otherwise Greg would've had to find a way of going out and finding the nearest sex and erotica shop to get some gear. There were several large boxes that had some of his "work" gear in which were purchased along with his service. Everything from wigs, high heels and makeup, to the sort of gear he thought might be needed.

He needed to get the look right. Costume and look completed the illusion and he wouldn't know if he was getting it just right until he got it just right. Some people thought he knew automatically what to use; it was never that easy.

It was bizarrely a lot like getting ready for a date. Maybe the clothes that you *planned* didn't actually look as good as you'd hoped they would, just from lighting or the day or the humidity, or luck of the draw, but it needed to be perfect, and it was in the changing clothes, wigs, and playing with his hair that he got a better for feel for how he needed to *look*. The closer to dead on the look was, the better a chance Greg had of nailing the personality.

It just felt easier when he was wearing the right skin.

There was a quiet knock on his door. "Hey, Greg? Will said you might want help in here. I figured since I'm your chauffeur until your paperwork is all signed and sealed that I might as well make myself useful."

"Hey, Nick come on in," he said musing as he put another top out near the pile on the side. He requested a full length mirror and got it -- he suspected it was Catherine's but he needed it. Ah, there was his extensive hair doctoring kit. He put that out as well.

"Thanks." The door, unlocked, opened quietly, and Nick closed it behind himself. "Will's out on the back porch, staring into a cup of coffee and smoking. And you have more clothes than Catherine, holy crap, man."

Greg flashed him a grin. "Yeah, he does that. Getting into the mindset. And they're not exactly mine. They're work clothes. One of the most common things I do is a reconstruction."

"Right. I'll be honest, the rest of the team thinks ya'll are as crazy as a bowl of fruit loops, but I'm interested in what you're doing here. So tell me about reconstruction and is there anything I can help with?" Nick was funny like that, Greg had already decided from their quiet bits of conversation he'd had with the other man. He was *curious* about them.

"Sometimes it's as obvious as doing a run through for a public appeal on TV," Greg said gesturing for him to take a seat. "Sometimes its role-playing a scene, through... you probably do a little of that to try and visualize where stuff goes, or how something happens. I do that and the play through pretty much always reveals some new means of looking for evidence. It's difficult to explain." It really was. It was natural to him, something he understood and yeah, maybe he was as crazy as a bowl of fruit loops, but he had done well up until now.

And so had Will. It was just that he wasn't used to being *told* he was as crazy as a bowl of fruit loops, and maybe Will was. "So you're... reconstructing yourself into a generic version of a victim?"

"No, a very specific victim, tailored to this killer, based on the victim profiles," Greg replied and put another shirt to one side. Too normal. He was going clubbing in a sex club. It was going to have to be sex all the way, practically begging for it. "See, I thought people knew more about how it worked than you apparently do. It's not too different from reconstructing the crime using evidence. It just... extends the process of thinking things through."

"So, if Will's accompanying you, is he going to dress up for his part, too?" Nick leaned to look at the clothes, and held up a muscle-shirt. "How about this?"

"Maybe. Doms can get away with wearing ordinary clothes if they want," Greg replied. "Eh, let's see how it looks." He gave a bit of a smile. "This part is like playing dress up... try things on, take things off. I think I'm going to do my hair wild. Makes me look younger and tends to signal a need for control."

"Seriously? Here I thought it was a signal that a guy had an addiction to hair gels." Nick leaned, watching Greg with obvious prurient interest.

"That too," Greg said as he pulled off his shirt exposing a lean and wiry, and somewhat marked torso. "So, you get tested for an Empath designation, Nick?"

"Yeah. I scored well for either way, but I scored better for forensics work." Nick kept his eyes on Greg. "If you show some of those scars, it might catch the guy's attention."

"Yeah, I was pretty much planning that," Greg answered. He thought as much. "Forensics is better in terms of life expectancy and not being a Permanent Specialist designation."

He slipped on the top, thinking about it a little and grabbed a pair of leather trousers. "These things are damn uncomfortable to wear."

"Yeah, I bet they are. But you're out there to put on a show, not be comfortable." Nick smirked a little. "Seriously. Anything I can do to help? Because it's help you, or watch Will chain-smoke." And from the way Nick said that, he didn't want to watch Will.

"You have good instincts about what creates a good effect," Greg said and smiled. "There's going to be lot of playing around with makeup, gel and other products -- might be... let's just say, not many men want to stick around for that sort of thing, so if you don't want to, then don't worry."

"Nah, I'm secure in my manhood. Plus..." Nick grinned as he moved towards one of the cosmetics cases that Greg had set on a dresser. "I had six sisters."

"Hey, man, you're likely to be better at this than me," Greg replied. "Want to pick me out some stuff that says 'take me home and do unspeakable things to me and I'll love it'?"

This was something he hadn't anticipated, Nick being in a position to help out. He looked like such a guy, probably not buying into the poly relationships most people were in. Even reading him so carefully didn't give information on the reasons for emotional responses.

"Sure." Nick seemed relaxed with him, comfortable in opening the makeup kit before he started to dig into the contents. "Huh. Are you going for hard core, or pretty boy?"

"Touch of both I think. Will says the guy likes them young, lean and good-looking, but with a real urge to submit naturally. Victim Zero thought of himself as hard core, but wasn't as much as he thought," Greg replied, getting the trousers on. They were tight and clingy and he wouldn't be wearing any underwear tomorrow either.

Maybe some chain or clamp accessories would help.

"Well, he wasn't as hard core as his killer, no. Okay, so... How about some eyeliner, and some..." Nick picked up a couple of shimmer cubes from the box. "And some of this for highlights?"

Greg smiled. "Yeah... bring it on. Any good at bleaching tufts of hair?" He was barely resisting the urge to laugh. Nick was great, really great doing all this unselfconsciously.

There they were. Fine linked chains that he could attach wherever.

Then he had to think about whether a collar would be declaring him taken or if that would be a challenge to the killer to take someone already taken.

He'd have to see if any of the others had worn collars, and then decide which choice to make. "Yeah, I can give it a shot," Nick murmured, opening the little jar of eyeliner before he turned around to look for a brush.

"Cool." Greg smiled again. "Nick, I've got to say you're one of the most unlikely people I know to be doing this. Seriously."

"Yeah?" There was a quirk of his mouth, like he felt complimented by what Greg had said. "Cool. How come?"

"Because... You put across a different persona, especially when you are at work," Greg said as he picked up an assortment of the chain accessories. He had a few cool ones handy. One of his bait-sessions had taken him into similar areas in New York.

"I wouldn't call it a different persona." Nick turned towards Greg with the eyeliner and brush in hand. "Here, stand still for a second. It's just a different level of professionalism. I spend a lot of time with Jim and Catherine telling me to not hang it all out on a limb for the victims."

"You must've been borderline close to being me Nick," Greg replied, standing still and relaxing. "Lucky escape."

"Yeah. I don't think I could have..." Nick rolled his shoulders slightly, even as he leaned in to carefully apply a little eyeliner around Greg's right eye. "You know, done this every day of my life."

"No," Greg murmured. "I don't think I will be able to either. But on the whole that's usually not an issue." Victim Empaths had high mortality rates, not just from scenes or baits gone wrong. They cracked up, they broke, and they couldn't live with the 'Fear' and committed suicide. Whatever it was, they were lucky if they just broke and were retired.

Greg figured he was doing all right. He held still while Nick leaned a little to outline Greg's other eye. He was healthy, still had a good outlook on life. He had someone else to focus on, other than himself, other than Aiden's death. "No?"

"No. Burn out is high." He tried not to move too much. "On the other hand, we've... my previous partner and I put away six unsolved serials, and contributed to hundreds of other cases. It's hard to stop in the face of that. And they have ways of reinforcing it's a good thing."

"Yeah, the wet wiring. I did some research on that." But probably not enough to really understand it, probably enough to creep himself out, though. "Is that how Will keeps going?"

"Will is... I have no idea how he is keeping going," Greg said. "He's so close to a meltdown I don't think he realizes it. But he won't let me do a reset until we've found Jim because... and he's probably right, it's going to take some time to rebuild him. I don't think he's ever had a reset. He is so wound up he's working at like... what we call 'running hot' all the time. Uh, like that moment when you have your gun drawn and you're in the zone. I freaked him out earlier by trying a basic exercise and he was way too keyed in and he was scared he was going to lose it."

Nick gave a quiet, low whistle, and stepped back, reaching for the shimmer cube he'd left on the countertop. "Man, five minutes of that is more than too much for me to take. When were you last reset? We don't really even have a controller here."

"Before I was sent to the Auction," Greg said. "I'll need one after this goes down, then hopefully I'll get to establish baselines with Will. Right now I'm winging it." He smirked a little. "Baselines can be interesting. Remind me to warn you guys... it tends to involve some pretty weird things."

"You can warn me now. Seeing as when you guys will probably most need someone to know what's going on, we'll all be preoccupied." Either with a funeral or celebrations, A or b. "Close your eyes."

He could trust Nick; it was easy to close his eyes and smile a little. "The principals are that we have to establish trust relationships of actions we might do in the fields. So there is a fair amount of tying up exercises. Sex. Being familiar with how Will would hold a knife to my throat with trust, rather than threat of a killer persona. It helps with the grounding. "

"So, if you do these things in a normal frame of mind, it makes it easier to do it when you're..." Nick paused, and there was a dusting feeling of a brush sweeping intently over one eye lid. "Running hot."

"You have the contrast which acts as an anchor point," Greg replied. "It's weird but it works. And it's a very tactile position."

"So that's why you're always petting on Will's arm. I think it was creeping the Owners out." There was a grin in Nick's voice, and he brushed the dust over Greg's other eye.

"It's very important. Touch is one of the few things that can have a grounding effect on a Criminal Empath," Greg explained. "Sociopaths, psychopaths tend not to experience touch in any intimate way except as a fulfillment."

"That makes sense. Here, open your eyes." Nick stepped back slightly, hands on Greg's shoulders for a moment.

Greg did so, blinking a little. "How's it looking? You ought to see me when I take a woman's role. I wear a mean pair of stockings."

"Seriously?" Nick grinned, trying to not laugh. Yeah, he might laugh now, but he hadn't *seen* Greg all decked out. "Okay. Is that what you're looking for?"

Greg looked over at the mirror and smirked. "Yeah, hold on. Let's try out the whole look."

He clipped on the chains, and roughly spiked his hair. "I'll go out and come in and ... try and look at me holistically. You've got good skills."

"Yeah, but I don't think I can look at you like a sociopath." Still, Nick didn't say *no*, and that was heartening.

"Don't need to. I just want an ordinary person's impression of how I come across. You might not need some of the subtleties to get the idea. Will's job is to tell me if it is triggering. You can just tell me your judgments," Greg said as he headed out of the room.

He took a moment to slip on the carefully constructed persona, submissive, wanting strong control, offering everything, hurt, vulnerable and a need to feel that hurt and vulnerability *intensely*. Hungry for contact, a different walk, a different movement, a different smile. Eyes wider, emphasized by the dark lines and soft powder. Touch of light and shimmer was making him alluring, the shine of chains there and skin and scars peeking out. The hair would have to wait, but. He approached Nick as if he was offering to drop to his knees and suck his cock. Which he probably would, if Nick didn't freak.

It was hard to tell if Nick swung that way, though, or if he was just open-minded about things like makeup and fancy clothes.

Nick leaned back, and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Wow."

"You got an impression or two...?" he asked modulating his voice into the different patterns. Slower, more *wanting*. This was the glue that held the pieces together. He kept the sexual undertone strong, with subtle moves of his hips and hands.

"Yeah. Yeah, I've got an impression all right." Nick was just *staring* at him, though.

"Makes me look different doesn't it?" Greg murmured approaching him even closer. "Sometimes people who know me don't recognize me." He stepped into Nick's personal space and looked up at him concentrating his effort into *that* look, the one that Will could see without trying.

The look Will honed in on like it was a sign saying 'come and get me'. "Yeah. You look... like you want something, and that something is probably in my pants."

Greg smiled at him. "Not for long," he teased a little before he let the appearance slip and returned to plain old Greg. "So, looked good?"

"Hell yes." Nick exhaled, and okay, yeah, he was looking a little freaked out. "You should do movies."

Greg laughed a little. "We get seriously intense acting lessons. And other sorts of lessons as well. Did I freak you out? Sometimes does the first time anyone sees it."

"Yeah, I'm a little freaked out. I wasn't sure if you take it the wrong way or not if I told you. Kind of freaked out in the way Will freaks me out. Like he's a little *too* turned on, you know?"

"That's the point. You ever wonder why a suspect says 'She was asking for it'. It's because they are reading different signals." Greg said. "He's seeing... like seeing color and infrared where you would see color."

"It doesn't make it any less wrong to do that to a person. You might see it, sure, but that doesn't mean it's there for *you*, you know. Like a girl in a miniskirt."

"For Will's mindset, that's the trigger," Greg said. "And when he's being Will, he's fighting it like crazy. Tomorrow though, he'll be going with it."

"So he hasn't been going with it before now?" Nick stepped back, circled around Greg. But not in a stalking way. In an appraising way. "I think you've got the look down."

"No. That's the bleed over, the problems. He should be able to do what I do, but it's... it's harder because let's face it, most victims are normal," Greg replied. "His targets... aren't."

"Not by a long shot. I'm still kind of in awe that Catherine bought *him*. His early cases are the stuff that textbooks are written about, right down to the 'and then shit went wrong' part."

"Yeah, we got those lectures as well," Greg replied. "But he needs a helluva lot of support. That's part of what I'll be doing and I want to do. We're meant to become very codependent, and then have a Control out there balancing us."

"Who's going to be your Control?" That usually ended being up to the Owner, or the Owner him or herself, but there wasn't an owner just then, and that was the whole problem.

"That could be a problem," Greg replied. "All the more incentive to find Jim I guess. I'll just have to uh... muddle through until then."

"Yeah, that's what we've all been doing." Nick moved, sat on the edge of Greg's bed. "So, anything else I can do to help you out?"

"I think I'm cool. I'll do the hair in a bit. Got to research and see if a collar was a turn on or not for this guy," Greg said. "I appreciate the help Nick. And I really hope things are going to work out tomorrow."

"Yeah. We all do. I want it to be this easy," Nick admitted. "I'll be downstairs. Cath wanted me to keep an eye on you guys, and Will's kind of worrisome. But when you want the hair done, let me know. I know what I do with peroxide."

"You're one surprise after another," Greg said with a grin and patted him instinctively on the arm. He felt a little relieved. If he got fucked up doing this, then there would be at least someone who might help a little, or understand some of it. "Tell Will, if he asks I'll see him later, but I don't want to screw up his zone. Aiden used to hate that."

"Sure. He probably gets all of this better than I do." Nick got up from the bed, and the mattress squeaked in his wake. "If this doesn't work out, remember that it was just a shot in the dark for us, anyway."

"It wouldn't be the end of the line," Greg promised. "We don't give up until something is resolved."

"Yeah. We'll appreciate that, too. You don't even know Jim, and yeah, it's your job, but you seem to be putting your all into it for him."

"Gotta make a good impression with you guys," Greg replied and hesitated. "Nick uh, if something goes really wrong... shit, I've only known you a few days but... look, there's a file in the bottom of my bag there. Usually all those details are with the Control but... uh..."

He shrugged a little. "Just so you know."

"Details for what?" Yeah, he could already tell that Nick wasn't a guy he could just *give* information like that to and not expect him to probe.

"Living Will, letters, certificates, personal stuff... all of that," Greg replied and forced a smile. "It's procedure. We always have our affairs in order, especially before a live run."

"Are you kidding?" Nick's voice tilted a little. "Okay, I'll... I'll remember it, I just hope it doesn't go that way."

Greg just smiled a little and nodded. "So do I Nick," he said because that was the only hope he could allow himself right now. A nice easy baited live run.

It was starting to get on his nerves.

Once maybe every 8 hours or so -- he was guestimating, really, but Jim was pretty sure it was a *good* guess -- the Guy came back to play with his ass and fuck him. Once or twice, okay, fine, but it was starting to get to him. Starting to wear at the edges, even though he *knew* that if he gave to the guy, he'd end up dead so much sooner than if he gritted his teeth and just took it like a man, if he struggled and fought tooth and nail, if he wrestled or tried to wrestle free every time.

But he hadn't had enough food, and he was trying really hard to not think about his injuries. Wrists, ankles, his neck, a few burn marks, and his *ass*, well, that probably looked like ground beef because it sure as hell felt like it. And there was no way the guy could make it worse for him, not that Jim could conceive of, but the bastard was pretty damn creative. And he liked to chain Jim down, hands and knees, head down, spread wide.

Which was where he was again, with the bastard plotting who knew what behind him.

No sounds from the other room, hadn't been for a while so he guessed maybe that was another victim to this particular bastard. Which meant he was the sole focus of his attention right now and that wasn't a good thing. It was difficult. Half the time he thought he had to resist everything but then the Guy got more than a little frustrated and he had to wonder if he didn't give a little, show "progress" that he might just get his throat slit for the trouble.

Or maybe he was just rationalizing giving in a little. Almost incoherent mumbles that possibly might end up as begging but he'd deny if asked. Choked sounds that might be screams swallowed down hastily.

"Have you thought on the essence of your submission?" It was such a damn solemn phrase, while the man circled a finger around his asshole.

"Not wanting to die springs to mind," Jim managed, with the roughness of his voice ruining the flippancy he was trying for. He just sounded tired.

"If you die in my service, you will have the honor of staying in my service after." After. After death, Jim guessed, which wasn't really sounding like a good way to persuade people to play along. The tracing finger shifted, pushed one knuckle deep dry.

It was sore as hell, and Jim couldn't suppress some sort of noise. "This some sort of Egyptian thing? Weird metaphysical shit? Because if you kill me, you're not keeping hold of a damn thing."

"I'll be the last thing you ever see," the man murmured. The finger pulled out, and Jim could feel slick lube sliding down his ass crack.

Maybe he was right. Maybe. But Jim didn't care. Fuck him. He wasn't going to let it be a weapon against him. "That doesn't mean you *own* me. I'm a freeman."

"Owner. I know. You're an owner, and your people serve you, which will make your submission so much more sweet when you do..." He felt a sharp pressure against his ass, emphasis on the *sharp*, and holy shit, was he going to cut him?

"What the fuck are you doing?" he said and he didn't like the high tense tone in his voice but, that... that wasn't good. He wanted to move away, he wanted run a mile from this psycho but he was bolted down.

There was no-where, no place to go *to*. "Opening you up. It *almost* looks like a cunt. I thought I'd add a little red."

"Jesus Christ, don't..." Jim tugged hard. "Don't, fuck.... don't, please..."

And there it was and he damned himself for it. The first hint of begging or bargaining.

"Why shouldn't I?" Because he didn't need to *die* was why, he didn't need to die of a cut up *ass*, but there had to be a way to say it and not concentrate on the slow press of a sharp edge and fuck, he *was* cutting, just a little, just a nick, but as long as he kept pressing, sliding that knife slowly in...

"Because, shit, because you won't get much more pleasure from it," he tried and it was almost impossible not to shake with fear at the feel of metal pushing deeper.

Metal and sharp, sharp all the way, enough pain to bring tears to his eyes, to make his chest heave against his will. "Will you do what I ask of you?"

Give a little or become his next carving project. "Yes! Yes, just..." He hated himself for giving in, for agreeing but something told him if he didn't the guy would cut him, would keep cutting him because he toy was boring him now. Even so, he felt a stinging behind his eyes that he didn't allow to come to anything.

A hand steadied his ass for a moment, and the blade inched back out. It had probably only *just* been inside of him, but it was enough. He still hurt, felt wet and not from lube. "Yes, a little color makes all the difference."

Difference between resistance and the first few cracks appearing. Jim let his head droop down. It would be easy to give in now, too easy. He was exhausted, in pain, fucked over and screwed up and he didn't know how to go on.

He barely had enough energy to shiver when he felt the guy lean down and drag his tongue up the line of Jim's ass.

Compared to the knife it felt good. Compared to the knife anything felt good. But right now he was trying to clamp down on his urge just to babble and start begging to be let go because it was there. It had found a weak spot and was pushing at it with growing pressure. He didn't want to be here, he hated this, he hated everything, he just wanted it to go away and he screwed up his eyes and clenched his fists trying to make it happen.

It didn't, but hey, there was always the chance that God or something out there might mistake an overweight Owner-cop from New Jersey for Dorothy. He definitely wasn't wearing red slippers, just a red ass, again, and the next lick against his skin hurt, but at least it wasn't the knife. "Yes, yes, I can make you like this...."

The sound he made was very close to a whimper, though he was calling it an exhalation in his own head. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak but the sounds leaking out anyway. He didn't know how to bend to this. He knew how to resist, how to fight but not how to bend. When he started to break it would be all splinters and shard, brittle and painful and he could hear the first cracks coming.

"Yes...." His ass was slicked again, more lube poured on, pushed in, and two fingers probed almost delicately this time. "Yes. Do you want me to fuck you? Tell me you want me to fuck you. Or I'll just have to expand you."

He hesitated before he said, "yes, fuck me," but the battle was already lost and it was pointless to deny it. Expanding would be the beginning of the end, he knew that. He needed to distract him somehow.

Keep him from getting too fascinated with the idea of turning his ass into a cunt, or whatever the hell he thought he was doing. Those fingers twisted inside of him, pressed over the cut that made his body hitch. "Next time, I think I'll fist you."

He groaned at that, not sure whether to dread it or welcome it in comparison. Fisting *could* be okay, getting fucked with a knife really wasn't. A particular movement made him yelp and he decided he would just have to deal with the next prospect when he got there. Maybe he could just pass out. Although now he dreaded the possibilities of what might happen while he was out.

"Soon I'll have you riding my dick, begging for more," he murmured, and there was a pulling sensation, of two fingers spreading him wide in opposite directions. "So beautiful. I don't think I'll fuck you after all. I think I might just soften you up a little and go find something more appetizing."

Jim hated the fact that he *wanted* the guy to find another victim. Desperately wanted the reprieve that would mean for him, but he made himself say "No, no, don't... no more."

"Just a little more. While I get dressed to go out. You can contemplate your submission while I get ready." And then all touch was gone, just for a moment, and Jim wanted to sag in relief, but he knew he couldn't, not really. It wasn't a reprieve; it was a pause before the storm, a storm that he felt being shoved slowly into his ass. Dildo, then.

It came to something when that had become *normal*, easy and something to nearly welcome. Perhaps that was the point. He was gradually giving him worse options so other things seemed pleasant in contrast.

He wanted to kill the man. He promised himself he would find a way to see him dead, legally or ...otherwise because knowing he was alive doing this... no. He couldn't breathe knowing he was still out there. He would have to die.

There was no question that he was going to have to die, Jim decided, when he felt a second, slimmer dildo being slid in alongside the first, leaving him stretched too much again, the cut-line a sharp pain before the man turned on the vibration

It hurt. It hurt enough to draw out pain and god alone knew how long he would leave him for. Hours at the least, possibly longer. He closed his eyes and tried to find some sort of Zen point beyond the feeling of violation and pain. He could do this. He knew he could.

If he kept telling himself that he might believe it.

There was no winning it. There was no way he was going to get out of it, and he started to let things slip before they'd gotten into the car, because it was all or nothing and if he tried to hold back, there would just be nothing.

There was no winning, so Will let it slip, and he hadn't done that since Jack had sold him on. It was something they needed to do, and he kept telling himself that until his mind settled into a comfortable place. Until it clicked, until the poisonous feeling had clawed up the back of his throat and settled down between his shoulders and Will wasn't sure.

He was pretty sure he shouldn't have been driving, but he was doing it anyway. It wasn't like a cop car could just drop them off outside of the place.

Greg looked... Greg looked like he had delved into the dark recesses of his mind and pulled out a living fantasy and slipped into its skin. He'd sat in silence a little and then as they got closer to their destination he decided to speak.

"You're okay with this, Will?" he asked, and Will knew if he looked, he'd see dark eyes, blooming with something vulnerable and wonderfully hurt.

It was beautiful. It was everything that part of him wanted to *keep*, keep and take away and enjoy life with, and Will couldn't. It wasn't him, and he wasn't sure what was him to begin with anymore. "Peachy."

"Uh-huh. I can tell you're in the zone Will," Greg replied. His hair was wild and amazing as if it had been gripped roughly and here and there he could see the pale gleam of a scar tantalizing under material. "You going to play the Dom in there or hunt around alone?"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight." There was too much risk, to start, and then, well... He wanted to keep Greg as his own. And the way Greg looked, tempting and ready for the taking; anyone else would be hard pressed to say 'no'.

"Once I step out of the car, I'll be in role completely," Greg reminded him. "You act however you need to act okay? It's okay, it's part of the deal. I mean if you think you need me to do anything, or assert yourself, you go ahead. I'll be there wanting it."

Will got the impression Greg was trying to give him a free pass without actually spelling out what it was for. "We're here to work a case, not relive my masturbatory fantasies. Some other time." He threw a smile at Greg, as he wheeled the car carefully into a parking spot. He was armed, which was nice of them to allow.

Greg wasn't -- it didn't fit with his persona and frankly, things were too skin tight it hide anything of anything. "I'm just saying," Greg replied. "You were holding back before. You don't have to be careful with me."

Will tightened up his turn into a parking space, and stayed silent until he had the car parked and the brake down. "Look. I'm telling you that I'm no longer holding back. If you keep telling me to 'not hold back', I'm going to *show* you just how much I'm not holding back. Do you understand?"

Funnily enough, his sharp tone seemed to make Greg relax as he nodded. "Yes. Thank you," he said, and the strangest thing of all was that he sounded grateful.

Greg closed his eyes then for a moment, taking a few deep breaths and when he opened them again he was that someone else. That look was there in his eyes and his body language shifted.

He eyed Greg for a moment, let his gaze linger on the younger man before he nodded sharply. "Let's go, now. You look... ready."

"Always ready," Greg replied with a smirk that was inviting, even as he got out of the car, his movements different from his almost gangly normal way of moving. They were smooth as silk, needy and exotic. The overall impression was of someone out there looking for sex. He was meant to be flaunting it and he was.

It was all out there, all for Will's eyes, but no, not just Will's eyes, it was for anyone who wanted to look and try to take a piece. It left him irrationally jealous, yes, because Greg wasn't *his*, but he wanted him, and that was almost one in the same, the wanting and the having, having because he wanted because he could have it because...

Will shadowed him, stalked close by him as they came up to the club's bouncer.

The bouncer looked over Greg and then flicked his eyes to Will. "This one yours?" he asked. "He might be a bit over dressed for this establishment. Keep him on a short leash if you don't want to share."

"He can get under-dressed if the occasion requires it." Will slid a hand loosely around the back of Greg's neck.

"Dungeons are free to watch, charge by the hour to use," the man said watching the way Greg leaned into his hand. Greg was quiet which was strange because he'd gotten use to the talking, but Greg didn't move even when the bouncer stood aside.

He waited, and it was only when Will squeezed gently, and urged him forwards that Greg moved. It was seamless, beautiful, and he could enjoy it. It was easy to do lose himself in it, as they entered the place.

It was much like any club of this type. In the main areas there were people drinking, showing off their subs or their doms. Singles flirting like crazy, Doms hunting for a hook-up. They had "entertainment" and an elaborate display of dungeons viewable. Some of them would be professionals, hired in for the spectacle. Some would be people buying in time.

Greg was swaying, moving provocatively already, telegraphing everything.

"Do you see anything you want?" Will leaned in close behind him when they stopped a little ways inside.

"That would be up to you," Greg murmured, pressing back against him. He turned then. "You want to show me off some?"

Greg's eyes were dilated with arousal, dark and bright. It seemed he really got into character.

"I should. Let all of these people see what they can't have." Will moved them towards the bar, declining on the dungeons. That wasn't that their man came there for. He was looking at the subs, the couples, the ones in reach.

"Then do it." Greg looked around to where subs knelt, or sprawled in their Dom's laps or were trussed up. Free subs circulated offering everything from blowjobs, serving as furniture for the evening.

There was a lot he could do, but it needed to attract the right sort of attention. That was his particular genius.

Their man wanted intimate, but violent, and he wanted to see the bloom in Greg's eyes when he liked the feel. Will sat down at the bar, and hauled Greg up into his lap, fisting the fingers of one hand into some of those pretty dangling chains Greg had to keep him close. "Lean your neck back for me. I could fuck you right here. I could *fist* you right here on the table, cracked in half over the bar, Greg. Do you want that?"

If he expected fear he was surprised because there was none there. "Yeah, fuck yeah," Greg answered, arching for him. "All that... please."

The words came so easily to him, the look there in his eye's inviting him to do just that.

Will leaned in, and placed a sharp bite on the line of Greg's neck. "Beg. Beg for my dick up your ass."

"God yeah, please Will, I want you to fuck me, I need you, need your cock in me, hard." Greg's voice was just the right twist of needy and desperate. "Hard so I feel it, please..."

All part of the floorshow, and where Will would have hesitated before, he could feel it thrumming in him. They were being watched, and if their man was there, he would see and want Greg if Will took the invitation. "Kneel up," Will ordered coldly, but a little amused as he started to pull at the tight leather of Greg's pants. "Look at you, you little slut. I could pass you around like a party tray and you'd love it."

Greg moaned a little and wriggled a little, and who could resist that?

He hunched Greg close to him, leaning so he could look down along Greg's back while his ass slowly revealed, with help from Will's hands pulling his pants down. Beautiful. Not a full bubble ass, but firm enough that Will cupped one cheek in each hand and spread them, watching any of the onlookers.

People were looking. Some surreptitiously, some literally standing and staring with appreciating smiles.

This was the difference between their designation and normal Law enforcement. He and Greg could slip into different personas all too easily and follow it all the way. Maybe this was what Greg referred to as a live scene. It was surprisingly easy.

It was like breathing. No more complicated than moving his fingers, shoving one into Greg's ass harder than he needed to.

He heard the younger man give a yelp that settled into a moan against his shoulder. No hint of reluctance, no hint that he was acting.

"Yeah... yeah, oh fuck, yeah..."

"Mm, you always like that." Will smiled a sharp challenge to any of the on-lookers, and worked another finger dry into Greg's ass, stretching him roughly. "Where's your lube?"

"Mmm pocket," Greg replied and nuzzled at his neck, sucking at his neck with soft lips. It felt good, more than good.

A tiny little tube, enough to slip away into his pants, but it would do. Will unscrewed the cap, dropped it to the floor, and pushed it into Greg's ass to squeeze it into him. "Good boy."

Greg seemed to melt then, moaning like a porn star. "Please... Please fuck me. I need you..." he said in a throaty rasping version of his persona voice.

"Take my cock out." He shifted his fingers, kept a hold of Greg's ass, but he let him lean back to do what he was saying.

Immediately, Greg's fingers were there, finding his cock, pulling it free and stroking at it gently. Fuck, it felt good just to have hands on him that weren't his own, touching and stroking.

Will let Greg do that, let him stroke him hard and ready, and watching Greg's deft hands was fascinating, something he wanted to indulge in later, maybe. "That's enough. Lower yourself onto my dick."

Greg shifted himself up, seemingly oblivious to everyone except him, and then slowly did as he was told, trying to brace himself and not gasp with every movement. Whatever Greg's experience had been evidently it had involved getting over being shy of sex in front of an audience.

"Please... so fucking big in me... need to... need to move."

"You'll move when I say you can." He squeezed Greg's asscheeks, holding him still on his lap, and he watched the other men, meeting their eyes, seeing if they wanted to get involved in the scene. "Does someone want to hand me a beer bottle?"

It seemed there was a whole host of people willing to do that. A dozen or more bottles were thrust at him from all over, and he looked around at those offering for some sort of an idea of the people there.

Some pairs, with their subs with tongues practically hanging out. Few of singles, one of them a woman. Interesting mix.

Greg was holding himself there, a soft whimper coming from him when he saw him accept the bottle.

"Tell me 'please'." It was a simple request, as he shifted and moved just enough to pull out of Greg.

Greg looked at him then, and there is was, that look of hurt and vulnerability just starting to uncurl, sweet and wonderful.

"....please..." he whispered and then again louder "...Please..."

"You asked so sweetly." So sweetly that Will wanted to, and did, nosing the tip of the open container up against Greg's ass, pushing it slowly in, slowly. It was unyielding, and clear, and tapered at the top so every slow centimeter as Will fucked it gently into Greg was a little wider than the one before it.

Greg made more noises this time, noises that edge on the side of pain and drifted into moans of pleasure. He shook with the strain of holding still, but tilted himself to offer up his ass all the better. Will had a vague niggling thought that doing this should bother him somehow, but right now it didn't. Not with Greg moaning and repeating 'please' with that delicious little hitch in his voice.

It was beautiful, on so many levels, and he wanted to keep doing it, but he was there for a *case*. Get attention, then back off a little, then get more attention. Put on a show and fuck Greg with it until he got off.

Greg was going with it, shifting a little and using his right hand to stroke at Will's cock in time to the movements of the object in his ass. He had his eyes closed now, and moaned and gasped in short hitched as he gave way to what he was doing.

It was beautiful, having Greg submit like that, having him open himself up to whatever Will was doing, whatever he wanted to do to Greg. A little more, and then he pulled it out, slammed the bottle down on the table, and shifted Greg to force his dick in where the bottle had been.

Greg threw his head back playing to their crowd unselfconsciously. He begged in broken phrases and tried to fuck himself on his cock in trembling abandon. No one would believe it wasn't real.

Will hardly believed that it wasn't real, that there wasn't *some* part of Greg that wanted to be fucked hard in front of a room full of strangers. He knew that there was a certain thrill that came from entanglements like that, no matter the regrets that followed afterwards. Will thrust, thrust hard, steering Greg with hands on his waist.

"I need to... please let me..." Greg was gasping out between the thrust. "Please... please I need to come..."

Of course he'd ask permission, that was totally in character but it didn't stop the thrill of power that went with controlling something so intimate.

"Not yet, not yet..." Will bent his head in, bit at Greg's shoulder while he got in the last few hard thrusts because he was *there*, and Greg felt amazing, and god, so tight despite what he'd just done with the bottle, gripping Will's dick the whole length, it felt like heaven and sin, and-- "Now."

And he came, just then at the sound of his voice and words as if he had been well trained just for him and he cried out at the teeth pressing into his shoulder at the same time shuddering inside and out with his release and that movement transmitting to spasms around his cock.

The perfect place to come into, an ass hungry for his dick, his attention. Will made no noise when he came, but bit harder, almost breaking skin, gripping Greg hard and stilling him.

Greg practically collapse forward on to him then, resting against his shoulder and breathing heavily into his ear. It was surreal and dreamlike that he had done it, but this was who he was now.

He held Greg still, and then gently prodded him to move, shifting to pull out of Greg. "Kneel down and clean me off."

Greg slipped down obediently on his knees, his pants gathered around his ankles while he did what had to be not the most pleasant task in the world, even if he was sure that Greg would've prepared himself for the eventuality

There were a group clustered around him then offering comments and congratulations and on man sat down near him. "That's a fine boy you've got there. Had him long?"

"Long enough to start training him properly." He smiled sharply at the man, attention focused as if Greg's mouth on his dick didn't matter that much.

The man's smile grew as he watched a moment longer. "Looks like he's learned well. Eager little cockslut isn't he? Couldn't wait for it. That's the best type I've found."

"Starving for it. He can't get enough. Can you, Greg?" He curled fingers at the nap of Greg's neck and tried to get him to look up. There was a feeling that he was getting.

Greg looked up at him and then over at the other man, giving him the full benefit of that 'look' that seemed to speak to the crazy in him and he wasn't sure but he was sure the man inhaled sharply.

"Yes, sir," Greg answered licking his lips and looking up at him as if he was the only person in the world.

"Can I induce you to let me try him, or watch something a little more challenging?" the onlooker supplied. "It is rare to see such talent. I would like to appreciate it."

Invite and let him sample, or just offer to let him watch? Will dug his fingers in a little, eyeing the onlooker. "What kind of ‘challenging' do you have in mind?"

"Oh, I just wondered how he dealt with a more... rigorous control," the man replied. "I have a gold pass to the dungeon room, the private ones. I can assure you there is plenty to entice you to experiment there."

The two of them, alone with him. Will was going to play along as far as he needed to until the man could show his hand, and he could signal the cops to come and get him. "I think I'll take you up on that offer. Greg, up."

Greg stood, pulling his leather trousers up and looking up at him for reassurance. Every move was perfect, every action would come across as genuine. That was their skill and Greg was just... perfect.

"Good. I appreciate someone who seems to know the importance of absolute control and discipline," the man replied with a smile. He looked harmless but there was a look in his eyes, that 'I've got a secret, I've got a superpower' look that killers seemed to have. He was about to get on the hook, and then they had to reel him in.

"Oh, I do." Will tucked his dick away into his pants as he stood up, putting a hand automatically on Greg's shoulder. Such a tight ass. It was beautiful, and it left Will wondering what Greg as himself was like.

The man got up, "I have a particular favorite dungeon. Not the biggest but rarely used. Follow me."

He sauntered away into the crowd, supremely confident. Maybe he did want to sample the goods before he tried to steal the bait. That meant he was cautious and didn't bode well for Jim Brass if he was out on the prowl. He was sure this was the man. Sure of it. He had the scent of him, and the scent was fierce, rancid, and all Will could do was all he'd ever done. Waltz right into the fucking trap, dragging his company along with him. Greg heeled close behind him as he followed their target through the meandering halls of the club.

It was out of the way. The man flashed his pass at someone, and then took them down a long hallway with door on either side. When he stopped, Will noticed they were not far from the fire exit, but the man studied the room, presumably to make sure that it was unoccupied then opened it.

As they went in, for the first time he felt Greg shake a little with reason. It looked a lot like someone had taken a medieval dungeon and upgraded the devices. Frames, racks, objects lined up on the tables. A fearsome looking bondage chair.

"Like I said, plenty to occupy you."

Will had to wonder if this was the sort of place he'd created for himself.

It was likely, given the degree of injury most of his victims had borne. It made Will wonder if the man was the club's owner, made him wonder if that was how he'd stayed below radar. Will gave a low whistle, walking towards the chair. "My name's Will, by the way. Will Fall. This is quite the device."

"You have good taste," the man replied. "Mine is Toby Erte. This is a particularly versatile piece of equipment. Your chosen sub can be held completely immobile in a variety of positions. There are built in tools and effects, or you can use something portable."

He picked up a remote. "A work of art. Much like your boy."

"And it's remote controlled. That's ingenious. Did you build it yourself?"

"Designed it for the club," he replied. "There are many pieces of my work in a surprising amount of establishments. From the basic, to the more elaborate. It is very rewarding to see it in use with an appropriate couple."

Will let his fingers linger on one carved arm, before he pivoted. "Greg, sit down in it. Now."

Greg looked up at him and yes, there was fear there and it was all the sweeter for that when he moved and sat in the chair looking unsettled and a little wary. That was all to the good.

He did it despite the fear. "Sometimes Greg gets a little skittish," Will warned quietly, even as he moved to see how Greg could best be strapped into the chair. "But he never says no. He knows he just needs someone to expand his horizons for him."

"I believe that with the correct training, they can far exceed even what they believe to be their limitations," the man replied. "Here, let me show you. These control retractable metal manacles, for wrists and ankles. Here, there are straps that can literally lace around every part of his body. The leg rests there are split, and can be widened as far as you wish. The whole inner piece here can rotate forward and areas slide back for full access. I am... quite proud of it."

Will leaned in close, studying the controls. "Perhaps I should strip Greg so we can see the full extent of what can be done with the chair."

"I would certainly not argue with that," Toby replied with a smile. "Don't worry Greg, you'll love it. "

Greg got up in response to Will's summons and obeyed when it came to stripping. He had to know that Will thought they were on to something. Either that or he thought Will was enjoying himself too much. He stood there, naked, shivering just a little though the room was a comfortable temperature.

Fear. Will lifted his chin slightly, and leaned in close to Greg, close enough to bite at his ear and whisper "be good" before he slapped his ass. "Into the chair again, Greg."

The younger man sat down again looking mutely at him as if already begging for mercy even as he took the position.

"That's much better," the man enthused. "He looks like he belongs there. Please go ahead, experiment."

He took the remote carefully, and after a moment's consideration of the controls, locked Greg's wrists in place, and then his legs.

Greg nearly flinched at the snapping sound and Will heard the man give a low chuckle. "Nervy isn't he?" he commented coming closer to him. "I bet he comes at the drop of a hat. I particularly liked the way that he came when you ordered him to and..."

He was interrupted by Greg yelling "Will! Look out!" as he picked up the buzz of something electric too close.

Will pivoted, throwing a blind punch that he hoped would land home, but it didn't matter if it landed or not because the electric noise stabbed hard against his crotch and then shot pain through him.

He hit flesh somewhere and the other man recoiled back." Bastard! He... is going to be mine... wasted on... you..." Toby said viciously. "What the fuck! Why aren't you out? Should've known you were hopped up on something!"

"Will... fuck, stay away from him... Will! Will please... what are you doing? No! You could kill him!" Greg sounded frantic and he could hear the buzz sound again.

It didn't matter, though, because if he *lost*, the man was going to get Greg. Will lunged at him, fingers going for Toby's neck when he felt pain hit his throat, sending him reeling.

"Stay down you fucker," the man said in a rough voice. "For fucks sake!"

"Don't kill him, don't kill him!" Greg's voice was begging plaintively. "Please don't kill him! I'll do anything you want, just don't..."

"You'll do anything I say anyway slut. Shut up." There was a buzz and zap then but not directed at him and he knew Greg had been pinned helpless to stop the jolt, with no clothes to mess it up. He was out of it. "Now you. Goodbye Will Fall."

And the tazer fired one last time.

Greg woke up with a dose of the Fear clamoring at him which meant one thing. It had gone wrong and the killer had him.

Not the first time it had happened but things had been going so smoothly up to that point. He'd been a little worried about how much his persona for the evening wanted to bleed over. He enjoyed what Will had done, not just the persona he was using. He found himself wondering how it would feel to have that sort of thing with Will for real and those were dangerous thoughts.

But things had gone badly wrong. He should've seen that the guy was waiting to immobilize him so he could tackle Will one on one. One shot and he was out of it, and ... he didn't know if the guy had killed Will. It seemed likely because he was here and still naked and hey, trussed up completely on some sort of similar device to the one he had foolishly sat in.

But he just had to wait it out. Wait it out until someone found Will and then kicked in the homing beacon and tracker. Hour or so, maybe less. He can't have been out of it that long.

They'd find him, and everything would be all right. That was why he *had* a tracker, and if Will was still alive, if...

"Open your eyes, Greg. You have company that wants to watch the show. I thought I'd show you what true submission is, Jim."

"Yeah, pretty easy to fool yourself when you got someone trussed up and unable to argue," came a rough drawling voice from over to his right. He opened his eyes then, not on command but because he wanted to see that all of this had not been in vain. Jim Brass was still alive.

Though not in particularly good shape, from the looks of it.

"Where's Will? What've you done with Will? Let me go!"

"Your Will is probably dead. You should forget him. I have no sympathy for men who feel they have to augment themselves with drugs to feel powerful enough to control someone like you." Toby crossed in front of him, between Greg and Jim. Jim looked bruised to hell, cuffed down on his hands and knees, but he was *alive*.

"No. No, not Will..." It was okay to play the little lost sub; it would probably turn the guy on. It looked like Jim hadn't been cooperating and he was going to be the object lesson. He could play into that, he needed to play into that to get through this. Get the man so into the game he wouldn't notice the assault when it came. It wouldn't be long because that was what the damn trackers were for. "What am I going to do? I need him!"

He even let a little moisture spill from his eyes even while he did privately worry about Will. He couldn't be dead. That wasn't possible.

Will was one of those guys who got up and kept on ticking, who didn't *stop* going. If he even had a pulse, he'd be there in the group that would save the day. "I can show you that I can give it to you just as well as he ever could."

"No, no, please... I love him..." All the time he was watching, his training helping him catalogue the reactions and find the weak spots. Yes, this Toby liked the idea that he could love someone who did this . It was a huge buzz for him.

And then it clicked. *That* was the missing thing he was looking for. Victim Zero was someone he had loved. Not just a mistake, but someone who loved him, loved what he did and he'd loved him right back. That was what he was trying to do. Make them love him.

He'd just found the man's kink and the chink in his armor.

"I... I don't know... what are you going to do to me?"

"Show you what you could be." Toby reached out, stroked at Greg's chin, the gesture slow and tender.

Just enough response to lure him in, to convince him. Mix it with a little natural fear and turn up the vulnerability and helplessness.

"Please..." He whispered and it could've been begging to be released, or with that faint little twist that would only have been heard if you'd been listening for it, it could be construed as consent.

The man didn't want a fight. Perhaps he was enjoying breaking Jim, but he didn't want that now. He was to be a display piece.

That was all he wanted Greg for, to fuck him up in all the ways he thought felt best, to show Jim what *should* be in the man's opinion. All Greg had to do was stall because rescue was on the way. Toby leaned in, kissed him hard. "The bottle up your ass at the club was beautiful. You can be so much more beautiful than that. "

He gave a little back to the kiss as if he couldn't help himself, knowing that would appeal to the man's vanity and conception of himself. "I... I..."

"Let the kid alone!" Jim rasped out. "For fucks sake, haven't you had enough?"

"Not after what I saw," the man murmured. "I saw something beautiful in this young man, and *you* need to see it, too. Put all thoughts of Will out of your head, Greg. Think of me."

"Will you... will you let me go if I do?" he asked in what he hoped was convincing wild aimless hope. Grasping at straws, blindly hoping and with that secret undercurrent of interest.

"Yes. Yes, I will release you." Fingers lingered under his chin, and he knelt down in front of the chair, sliding his hands over Greg's thighs. "Jim, tell him what I do."

"He's a sick bastard who likes to see if he can make you enjoy being raped and tortured," Jim said in a tired but still recognizably wry tone.

Greg was impressed. Jim Brass was tough and more adaptable than anyone seemed to realize. He had lasted this long and he still had that edge of humor left. He allowed himself to respond with a blush, a useful trick he had learned by calling up select embarrassing memories but it could easily be mistaken for the hint of uncontrollable arousal.

"It's not rape and torture, Jim. It's transformation. I've been trying to get you to realize this. Just watch." He reached between Greg's legs, caressing over his balls, and back to his anus.

Greg leaned back and didn't have to reach far into the fake persona to trigger arousal. Sometimes he worried about himself. He wasn't a vanilla guy, never would be but this was a little too hardcore for him. But he never had to work too hard to fake it. His body shivered and reacted with all the unmistakable hallmarks of him getting turned on.

He heard Jim groan in the back ground. "Oh god kid... don't. C'mon, don't go easy.."

"Silence, Jim, or I'll plug your ass again. *Watch*." He felt one finger press a little, and then felt it retreat for a moment before coming back slick. Lube, and fingers up his ass, and how was *that* going easy?

It seemed logical enough to play along, but from Jim's reaction it was probably a precursor to something else. He could deal. The bottle hadn't been that bad because he'd made sure he was stretched before they went out, slicked up and clean. Will had been pretty careful with it considering and it had ended up just the right balance.

"Silence? You sound like Ming the fucking merciless," Jim said and Greg could tell he was trying to distract the guy. Two fingers now. And three. He groaned a little at that.

That was moving fast, a little too fast. Even as intense as Will had been, it had been on that cusp between okay and too much without hitting any impossible level. Three fingers started to shove back and forth, and there was a pause before the forth finger forced its way into his ass, and Toby opened his hand flat.

He did cry out then, because it did hurt and he did screw his eyes shut a little to breathe through it, to bring up the pleasure thoughts he needed to drown the pain away. His hitched breathing took on a different rhythm as he focused on the sense memories of the reset wet-wire jolt. They were like a pure ecstatic pleasure, an orgasm of the brain that didn't stop. Even a memory was enough to drown out pain.

"Do you see this? Do you see how hard his cock is? I'm going to get my thumb in his ass, and he'll *love* it."

That seemed to shut Jim up or maybe it was the way he was panting uncontrollably, because he could make himself come, he could do it and it wasn't even that bad a thing. Okay, he didn't do it every day and he didn't particularly want a killer to be doing it to him but he had that peculiar dissociation come over him where a part of his mind, the part that was Greg stepped back and watched his body just react like the slut he was pretending to be.

He could imagine his Owner's disgust. This was not the way to make a good first impression.

Not that Jim knew who he was, but he'd find out. Hopefully he'd understand what Greg was doing, but if he didn't... if he didn't, Greg didn't know what to do. And Will was injured from it, or dead, so the most he could do was go with it, play along when he felt the extra stretch of the man's thumb in his ass, and then the knuckle, and fuck *that* hurt, made Greg cry out.

The guy was too fast, too impatient. This sort of thing needed time, needed trust because it was hard to relax unless you were that able to hand over control. He had to push himself deep to get through it, even knowing that was what the man wanted. He let himself make the noise, he let himself writhe and tears leak out and his cock go hard because he needed to stall and allow them to survive. Rescue would be coming.

Rescue would be there soon. Just a few minutes, just a few. The man stayed at that level of intensity, just rocking his fingers in and out for a few moments, before Greg felt the man slowly make a fist.

There was nothing to do except scream a choked protest and ride it until he came. That was the proof the man was after, the proof that people could love this, could want this no matter the treatment. Because he couldn't face the fact that he had killed someone he loved and perhaps they'd said no and he'd thought they'd meant yes.

He was too tight for it not to hurt but that was the point and he went with the moment until with a burst of genuine humiliation he gave a strangled cry and came.

H could feel it when the fingers pulled out, no-longer a fist. Toby shifted back, still kneeling, still studying Greg. "Do you see that, Jim?"

"Yeah, I see it," Jim replied. "I see you fucking someone senseless who can't help himself."

He didn't seem impressed even as Greg panted his way through the come down and pain. It hurt.

"I'm *trying* to make you understand so you can find pleasure in your submission. I should cut your dick off and put it up his ass where it might do some *good*." The man turned from Greg, towards Jim, and that was *not* what Greg wanted to have happened, but a noise from the doorway caught his attention.

It was a quiet 'tsk' noise.

Rescue! Thank god! The guys must've tracked him down and he'd never moan about the tracker ever again.

He twisted his head to see who it was. Maybe one of his new housemates was there.

It wasn't one of his housemates. The man looked like a businessman, balding, grayed brown hair slicked back against his head, and his arms were crossed. "You're not very sophisticated, are you, Toby? You're a bit of a brute from what I can see. You really *can* take a normal man and make him crave your fist up his ass, but this is like an amateur's course on how *not* to do it."

Oh shit. There was something about the way the man moved, and looked that made Greg's PV training sit up and scream. His neck prickled as if a panther had strolled in the room. He wasn't the target but this man was more dangerous with every breath than Toby could ever dream of being in a lifetime.

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" Toby stood fumbling for some sort of weapon. He still had the tazer from his abduction.

"Someone who has more pressing business with these two men than you do." He circled around Toby, as if Greg and Jim weren't there at all, calm as he slipped a hand into his pocket. "That's not even one of those expensive ones that shoots the darts. For a man who seems to want to get up close and personal with his victims, you're quite the pussy, Topology."

The mocking tone seemed to put the other man on edge. "You fucking bastard! Let's see how good at this you really are."

And he lunged with his tazer at him, aiming for some sort of contact.

It was like watching a viper strike. The older man was deceptively fast and strong, and he came at Toby, flicking out what looked like a switchblade and slashing at Toby's armpit before stepping away. It left Toby's arm limp, and the tazer slipped to the floor. "Well?"

The other killer stared at him as if he couldn't believe what had just happened and his nerve seemed to break and he tried to run for it. In watching the other man move Greg suddenly knew who he reminded him of. Will, he reminded him of Will, the unconscious movements and mannerisms were close. Not the same, but too damn close and that made him almost amazingly certain of who this was.

Lecter. It had to be Lecter.

He was completely unselfconscious, and fluid, and frighteningly savage when he stopped Toby from trying to run. The stabs he made weren't for death, they were for debilitation and leaving him to bleed out, cutting tendons fiercely, teeth bared. When he had Toby flat out on the ground, he knelt over him, and almost gently popped the blade into his crotch. "Do you like that, Toooooby? I've just ruptured one of your testes."

Toby was screaming and Greg recognized that tone in the noise. It was the Fear, the intensity of fear and crashing in of knowledge that yes, you were going to die and it wasn't an abstract thing, it was happening *here* and *now* and it was going to be bad, incredibly bad.

"Oh god nooooooooooo! No...!" The man was practically blubbering, gasping for air in panic and pain even as blood spurted high and bright enough that he could see it even from where he was strapped down.

"No? Who are you to say 'no' when you've played god with so many men's lives. Be a man about it. What were you saying about submission?" There was a grope of the man's crotch, and then another stab, and he leaned in to -- Oh, fuck, fuck, Greg was going to throw up.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." he heard Jim rasp out even as the man's scream went impossibly high and piercing with terror and then choked off .

It was so damn quick, so terrifyingly quick and Greg tried not to retch as he saw what Lecter was doing with the castrated body part.

Lecter -- and Greg was pretty damn sure he was right about who it was -- sat back on his haunches for a moment, swallowing, letting the blood drip down his face. "I think it's time for us to leave this place."

"You know, not that I'm not grateful, but I'm not sure I particularly want to take you up on that offer," Jim managed, even his voice sounding shaky. "Think I might prefer to stay here."

Greg wanted to say no, but he *knew* Lecter from the case studies. Lecter would just kill them if he had no use for them. "Jim, listen to him."

Lecter had come here for them. Or for at least one of them. That meant they had to both be interesting in some way to make it through this. Maybe he didn't know that he was a Designated Empath with a tracker. They could be rescued, it could be any moment thought right now that could be dangerous.

He wiped the switchblade on his trousers, even as he stalked towards Greg. "There's a good boy. This really is a time to be quiet. Now, which arm has the tracker in it? Be honest, or I'll have to flay both of them just to be careful."

"Tracker?" That was Jim sounding confused and more than a little sick.

Greg found himself shivering a little. "...left..." he said and he had to come up with something to interest Lecter to keep them alive. He was naked in front of the world's most notorious serial killer who'd just *eaten* another killers testicles in front of him. It would have to be something incredibly interesting.

It would have to be prize-winning.

The man cut the restraints on Greg's left wrist, and eyed it, looking for the tell-tale bump that indicated the tracker. He could have done something stupid, made a move for the man's head, but he didn't. He let him find the tracker, and he dipped the blade carefully into Greg's arm, with surgical precision, dropping the tiny tracker to the floor. "There we go. That can be a present for Will." He put the blade away, slipped back into a pocket, and reached into his other pocket.

"You want him," Greg said in a shaky voice, unable to stop it. The place reeked of blood. "He said he'd killed him..."

He glanced at the bloody mess that had been Toby their wannabe killer.

"You'll have to excuse me if I want to verify that myself." There was a flourish of cloth, and Lecter leaned up, placing it over his mouth. "Breath deep. One... Two...."

He couldn't help but try and hold his breath, but eventually he had to breathe in the cloying unmistakable chloroform fumes knowing he had been snatched from the frying pan right into the fire.

And so had Jim. And now they were going to be playing a game that neither one of them was prepared to play.

Nick felt guilty, there was no two ways about it. He'd thought Greg had been a bit melodramatic when he'd been helping out. All that business about his will and things going wrong, just in case. It just seemed a little too over the top and Greg seemed to be a little highly strung, although in comparison to Will he was mellow, but even so. He'd sort of dismissed it.

But things had gone wrong, badly wrong and he had that aching feeling that meant he should've paid more attention. He should've listened to Greg when he was talking to him and realized he was only skimming the surface of what he did and what that actually meant. Because right now it had all gone to hell.

Gone to hell probably didn't even skim the problem. Will had been tazered, and even though a paramedic swore he probably needed at least a rest on top of being treated for burns, he was there with them when they'd broken into the house from which Greg's tracker was broadcasting it's signal.

Nick had realized how out of their league they were when they'd arrived there to find the suspect dead on the floor, and a tracking chip placed neatly on what looked like a torture chair. For a moment when he smelled the blood, he thought they were going to be finding Jim and Greg dead but instead this. It was going to be a helluva scene to process and time was ticking away.

"Okay, what's the deal here," Catherine said as she snapped on her gloves. "You sure this is the suspect, not another victim?"

"I was face to face with the man, and his face is still recognizable. This is our suspect." Will's voice sounded tight, wound up. Almost nervous.

"So, where's Jim. And where's Greg. That's his transmitter. And whoever it was..." Catherine paused and looked around. "Really didn't like people getting in their way."

Nick was looking at the body. "He's missing body parts," he added. "And they are not with the body."

Will moved towards him, crouched down disconcertingly close beside Nick. "Bait. He's using them as bait..." Nick hadn't been expecting Will to lean, grab a sample stick from his kit, but he moved fabric to one side without touching the body. "Oysters."

What the hell? He must still be delirious or something. "Oysters?" he asked. What was that all about? He'd taken bait to act as bait. Who for? Why had the killer been killed?

Will rubbed at his face with both hands. "Testes. The culinary term is 'Oysters'. They're not bad, but I prefer bull to human, and cooked to raw. Watching that probably scared the shit out of them. Scared victims are compliant victims for him. They know they're outclassed, out matched, and if they were smart they didn't fight."

Nick nodded. "That's Greg's tracker right?" he said. "Not a lot of blood there. Either he didn't fight or he wasn't in a position to fight."

He looked at the apparatus and didn't like the mental images it was giving him. Greg or Jim in that thing... no, that didn't bear thinking about.

Catherine looked around. "You sound like you have an idea of who it was who took them. Care to clue us in?"

"I told Greg that I'd seen Lecter. In the hall, at the sale. I was right, I wasn't just hallucinating." Will stayed crouched, staying at their suspect-cum-victim. "Son of a bitch."

"Lecter? Jesus... Lecter's got them?" Catherine replied and that shook even her ‘been there done that' attitude.

Nick paused, feeling a chill. "What's he likely to do with them?"

"Bait me. He doesn't want them. This was just a convenient opportunity for him, a little bit of fun." Will sounded flat when he said that, looking at the bloody gouges where the man's balls had been. "It depends on how they act towards him."

There was a pause as Nick knew everyone from his house was thinking the same thing. Jim could find a way to get under the skin of and irritate the hell out of a saint. It was, as he often said, one of his talents perfected over the years.

"Shit," Warrick said. They all knew Lecter's cases, it was required study. They knew the gruesome details and knew he just didn't have limits the way others did. The terror of Lecter was he could think the unthinkable and had no inhibitions about putting thought into action.

Catherine looked grim and resolute. "Okay, talking about it's not going to help, evidence will. Sara, take the adjoining room. Warrick, you and I are taking this room. Nick, stay with Will and target any evidence he thinks is significant and rush the stuff back to the lab and him home. He should be resting and we'll need him rested."

"Sure," Nick replied moving to shadow the Criminal Empath. How the man was moving after three tazer hits he didn't know.

Other than stiffly. Tensely. "Process the case to close your other victims. Process the room to explain what happened to our suspect and to close the case. He left nothing. There might be a fingerprint on the chip, and you can turn it in for a cash reward, but it won't tell me where he went." Will stood, an uneasy motion as he backed away from the body. "Don't move anything. I just want to look around for a moment."

This had to be the weirdest case ever. He hesitated and then backed off with Will, trying to see what he seemed to be looking for. If he was right and he was trying to bait Will, surely he'd want to hook him in somehow.

But, how? They were working a whole new kind of case now, a whole new missing person's case, and he was probably right. This guy was a professional, and a ghost. Will slipped his hands into his pockets, staring around the dungeon's space. "What're you trying to tell me, Hannibal? What's the fucking trick this time?"

Okay, maybe this wasn't good. Will shouldn't be getting worked up like this not after some serious jolts of electricity. "Hey... hey easy Will," Nick said approaching him. He hesitated to touch him even if he remembered Greg talking about how important that was. "Think it might be an idea if I took you home. Come at it fresh."

"No, no, *this* is as fresh as it gets. It's..." Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and his mouth twisted down. "Dammit, I can smell his cologne. Taste, scent, we've had sight, no touch, no sound, can't track him, can't track Greg, your Owner isn't chipped..."

"Yeah and neither are you," Nick pointed out. If they'd known that they might've found him earlier. "Look, if it's bait then he's going to find a way to get the message to you, right? He wants you to play the game."

"I'm not chipped because I dug it out of my arm because the damn thing has bothered me for *years* now. Yes, yes, he'll find a way in but if I can see what he's planning the game's going to wrap up that much sooner. Sound, sound... Does this city have a symphony?"

"Well, yeah. It's not completely devoid of culture," Sara said from the other side of the room. "What's that got to do with it?"

"For Lecter? Everything. He's not going to sit in a room masturbating, or staring at a wall. He's going to take his show on the road, once he knows the bait is secured. He's going to see the sights and hear the sounds and taste the really good food, and woo high officials so he can savor the irony."

"As soon as this evidence hits CODIS you are going to have a task force out here," Catherine pointed out. "He's bound to know that as well. We'll have man power to stake places out then."

"Yeah, but what would attract him, " Nick asked. "How would he go about choosing? I mean if he looks at the TV, or paper... or if he gets it off of Jim... there's some very different possibles there."

"If you passed him in the street, would you know it's him?" Will asked, turning to look at Nick.

"No, but you could do an artist's impression of him," Nick responded. How Greg had managed to deal with him, he didn't know.

He was prickly, and is eyes were sharp, narrowed as he looked at Nick. "Artist's impressions exist. Old photos of when he was a contractor for the FBI exist. Hell, I have some in my bags back at the house, but it's not going to *help*. He doesn't exude evil. He could walk right past you and you'd never know it."

"But you would," Catherine said astutely. "Nick, take him home. He's got what he can from here. Will, you're going back. Think, work on ideas or whatever the hell you do but you need to get your head together. "

"Beautiful advice from the woman who didn't want to re-set Greg. *I'm* used to running hot, but he isn't, so I don't need you lecturing me about me getting my head together. I've been living as Hannibal's shadow for so long that if I walked out of here and you let me drive, I probably *could* find him."

"Maybe you could, but the point is what would you do when you found him?" Catherine replied defiantly. "It's no good if you run off and throw yourself into his trap. Tonight has taught us *that* doesn't always work."

"Uh..." Nick could see this spiraling out of control. Catherine had been incredibly on edge since Jim had been taken and right now if he put Lecter and her in a room, he'd reckon it would be too close to call. "Okay, time out." He put his hand on Wills shoulder.

"Get the *hell* off of me." It was a snarl, and he jerked his shoulder back and stepped away from Nick, towards Catherine. "I could distract him. If this turns into a confrontational situation, a lot of people are going to die. He does not go down quietly. I had to stab him in the chest and *then* shoot him to just immobilize him, and *that* was sheer dumb luck on my part."

He was starting to see what the reset was all about.

"I get that Will, we all do," Catherine replied "But right now you are in the crime scene making a damn scene of your own. I need you out, I need the evidence because however near super human he might be, there's a faint possibility he might've screwed up and left some sort of clue. I can't just say, oh hey he said there wouldn't be any so we won't look. So if you are done getting the scent or whatever it is , get the *hell* out of my crime scene and go clear your head. And to make sure you don't just start wandering the streets, Nick stay with him. And for god's sake make a call and get him chipped again. We don't want to lose both of them."

He could see Will's face screw up, another retort or who knew what ready for her, and then he pivoted and stomped towards the door, leaving Nick to scamper after him. "If they can keep their damned mouths shut, nothing is going to happen to them." It was his parting shot as he started up the stairs, reaching into the inside of his jacket for a pack of cigarettes.

Nick sighed and followed. He should be processing, he should be tracking evidence, looking for that key but here he was chasing around after Will. He respected the guy, he didn't know how he did what he was doing but he was starting to get Greg's quiet assertion that he was very close to snapping.

"Hey, hey man... slow up," Nick said as they made it out the door. Not even the half crazy guy contaminated a scene by smoking. "We're all worried okay? All a little strung out. Nobody wanted anything to happen to them."

"I *had* the guy. I had the guy, and he managed to waltz out of there, *with* Greg, with a couple of squads of cops watching the place." Will kept walking, heading away from the house, into the back yard, digging into his pocket for a lighter. "Fuck."

"There were a fair amount of people being carried out publicly trussed up from that place, and no signal." Nick said. "Though they should've been watching the tracker rather than frisking suspects. Catherine tore strips out of them."

He followed him easily. "Greg... Greg seems like an adaptable guy. And Jim, Jim's tougher than old boots."

"Jim Brass has been held captive by a man who gets off on shoving bigger and bigger things up his victim's asses. The more extreme, the better. I caught his eye in the club by shoving a beer bottle up Greg's ass." Will tapped out a cigarette, and his hands were shaking as he pocketed the pack to light the first one.

That shocked him. He'd been in Vegas a while and that shocked him. "You did *what?*" He did that to Greg who seemed so worried and careful about Will. "Surely that... why did you do that?"

"What the hell do you * think* we do, Nick Stokes? This is how you catch their eyes. You bait a trap, but apparently no one was watching the fucking trap for us so it all fell apart. I have a high fatality in cases I work because I go into the moment with *their* mindset on their territory, and I can't stop myself. It's me or them and I'm damn well not going to let them take another victim."

"You really need to chill man," he said. God, Greg letting someone do that because it was his *job*. He was mentally starting to go over some of the things Greg had said with a whole new appreciation. "I get that... I get what you're saying, but you gotta hear yourself here. You're all over."

Will took a long drag off the cigarette, and the tip glowed red while he tilted his head back to look up at the sky. "You have no idea. The thing of it is that we're supposed to be reset. It's supposed to make all of these horrible things we do fade. It's how Greg copes. I've never been reset. Jack didn't trust the idea of wet-wiring someone. I'd already been doing this for years when they came out with the wet wiring. I'm fifty three years old. I've been doing this since I was twenty five. Like, like I can just turn this off myself. I think like them, all the time. It's there, and you have no idea how much I want to throw you down on the ground and cut patterns on your skin."

"Well..." There was a long pause while Nick tried to think of way to react to that. What would Greg say? "I don't look good in paisley."

It was worth it to watch Will's mouth turn down, a twist of a smile when he turned to look at Nick. "No, you wouldn't. But you'd look good in bruises."

"Uh-huh. I think I'll pass," Nick replied trying not to step back. "Greg and I talked. He really wants to help you. We get him back and he will. "

"Jack said my base personality has corrupted. I don't think there's anything left when you strip all of this away. It might be better if you let me go in after Lecter." He looked away again, took another deep puff. "I used to read. I used to do entomology, actually. It seems like a faint memory."

"Greg seems to think there's something worth working with there, and I haven't known him long, but so far everything he's said has been on the money," Nick replied trying to infuse Will with confidence. "Look, we'll be going after him, but this time it won't be just you okay? You're going to have back up. If the cops can't do it and the feds, then it'll be us."

"After what happened today, I'm not feeling any great love for the concept of trusting my backup." But Will seemed less tense, even if his hands were still shaking. He turned away from Nick, and kept his eyes on the sky, and, well, that was just going to have to do.

The first thing Jim noticed when he woke up was that he wasn't naked, which had become enough of a novelty recently as to be surprising. The second thing was that he wasn't cold because he appeared to be wrapped around someone else.

Again that was an improvement, as was the noticeable lack of inserted objects, although it seemed the restraining part of things was still in effect. Chains apparently which allowed a lot more movement within a restricted area that he noted for the future.

Could be useful, even if he was restrained. But he still had to see what kind of shape and clothes he was in, had to re-evaluate the situation.

After all, now he was in the hands of a whole different sociopath.

And he appeared to be with a whole different type of victim as well. This "Greg" had a tracker and trackers meant Permanent Specialists. Somewhere his team must've borrowed an Empath pair to work the case. God only knew he'd tried to get Kepler and Millander and had been faintly relieved when they were unavailable. But he didn't know this one, and the poor bastard was now in it over his head.

They both were. And from the looks of it not only were they attached to the wall and floor but somehow to each other as well, because the moment he moved his arm testing his limits it tugged at the younger man and made him stir.

"Mmhmm." A sleepy dark eye opened and blinked trying to focus on him.

"This is pretty awkward." He threw a smile up at the guy, and wondered just where Catherine had gotten the guy from at such short notice.

To his credit he didn't panic, which considering what had been done to him just before the new psycho entered the scene, was pretty impressive.

"Uh, hey." Greg managed groggily as he steadied himself. "Uh, tell me you're Jim Brass, otherwise there is going to be a lot of disappointed people back at CSI."

"Yeah, got it in one." The steadying motion left a tug against Jim's upper arm, made him turn his head to really start investigating those chains. "I think you're missing your criminal Empath, kid."

"Yeah." Greg huffed a strained laugh. "Should've known you'd recognize what I was when he took out the tracker. That wasn't exactly what we planned."

"If it was, I'd say it was a pretty bad plan." Jim shifted, shrugged his shoulders, studying the kid's too-close face. He looked young, young but with old eyes, a certain crinkle around the corners of his eyes. "Where're you from?"

"Your... Catherine bought Will and I at the auctions. Think she maxed out your budget somehow. Congratulations, you own me." Greg even managed a smile. "Guess it's not the way to make an impression on my new Owner."

Not really, no, but hey. He'd been right. His team *had* found him. They just probably hadn't bargained for the other guy getting involved. A second psychopath and what really were the odds of that happening? "Will and you, huh? Is that the Will you and that bastard were talking about?"

"Yeah." Greg grimaced then. "Look... uh... okay, Will and I aren't a true pair. Will is... Will Graham, you might've heard of him. I'm just a PV from New York and they sold us as a package deal. From things Will's said I'm pretty sure, 99% sure that the guy who has us now is Hannibal Lecter."

He said it in a rush, as if that would make the bad news easier to take.

It didn't. It didn't make it a damn bit easier to take, and Jim closed his eyes for a second. Yeah. Yeah, he wasn't cut out for that shit, wasn't made for a life of just *rolling* with the idea of being held captive. He was going to try to survive, but that was it. "I used to dream about dying in the line of duty. Taking a bullet. Then I worked out and ended up made an Owner. I should have guessed that my nice quick death would go with that."

He was surprised to feel a warm hand touch him then. "We can get through this," Greg murmured. "We're bait. I'm good at being bait and I think I can distract him."

What the hell? The kid was trying to comfort *him*?

And just who was the guy trying to bait? Jim wasn't half as sure as Greg was that the guy was Lecter, but a good chunk of him wanted him to *not* be, for their own sakes. "You're gonna distract him how? I've kind of worked out that the less attention these guys pay you, the better."

"He only needs one of us as bait, the other is a... spare," Greg answered, trying to get comfortable. "If he gets bored, that's a problem. It makes sense to give him an option. He's after Will I think. They have a powerful obsessive connection -- as close to the unplanned as Lecter gets. He wants him."

"If he wants him, why did he take *us*? Skipping a step is simpler." It wasn't hard to get comfortable, if he forgot about the chains. They were on a bed, in a well-furnished room. Not that they could go anywhere, but they were at least not chained down in a cellar any longer.

"It's not as simple as that," Greg said and looked at him. "Lecter... Lecter wants him to come to him. It a more profound exercise of power than taking him. It makes it a game with something at stake more than Will's own safety, because he knows Will would die if he could be sure to take him with him, and he doesn't want him dead. He wants him to be *his*."

So, by buying them, Catherine had accidentally both found and doomed him. Both him and Greg, Jim guessed, closing his eyes. "So, we just need to stay out of the line of fire. And Will will find him?"

"Yes. The problem will be getting us out of here alive," Greg replied. "I can. I've got a fix on Will's persona, I can mimic enough if I need to, but when it comes down to it, the break point will come down to us. " Again, the hand stroked at him. "You okay? I haven't even asked how much the other guy hurt you."

The kid was really freakishly solicitous and way too comfortable crossing personal lines, petting at his arm and asking him how he was doing. "I'm, I'm probably messed up pretty bad. But if we get a chance to run for it, I can. How's that for an answer?"

"A damn good one," Greg replied with a smile that he could hear. "Your guys have been frantic. Seriously. I had to study some about you Jim, and ask them about you. You're not just the Owner to them."

Nah, they were pretty closely knit. They were more comfortable than a lot of working units, more like a home than just a working house. "Yeah. I knew they'd find a way to find me."

"Sorry it got screwed up," Greg replied in a quiet voice. "I guess our back up wasn't backing us up that well."

"Hey, sometimes that happens." And Toby had been going on about how Will was dead, and if he was, well, Jim could guess that he and Greg were fucked. It was better that Lecter didn't know about that little fact. "You okay?"

"Fine," the younger man replied and if he hadn't seen what'd been done he might've believed it. "Didn't really hurt that much. I was in the right zone."

"That's a hell of a zone." Jim closed his eyes, and murmured, "I wonder where our host is."

"Hopefully out," Greg replied. "At least there's clothes." He seemed to take his eye closing as code for 'shut up' because he fell silent after that, not even really moving much.

"Mmm. Hey, what's this plan you mentioned? Don't mind me, I'm just kind of worn out." If he kept the kid talking, he could at least keep morale high. Ish.

"I'll do my thing if Lecter needs distracting," Greg said. "I was trying to let you rest some. You've had a helluva an ordeal."

He pulled at the restraints trying to work out how they were actually attached to the bed frame itself. Actually chained there.

"Yeah well still alive," Jim answered, but Greg could hear some signs of strain in his tone, though he was pretty sure it was only audible to someone with his training. "We're pretty solidly attached."

"Maybe the both of us together can do something," Greg suggested. "I mean, the two of us might get the end of the frame off?"

"We can try giving it a shove," Jim decided, squirming down a little and waiting for Greg to move with him. "What've we got to lose?"

"If I start quoting films and say 'Nothing but our freedom!' you hit me right?" Greg replied. "One two three, then... one, two...three!"

"You're right, I'll hit you," Jim confirmed, mock grimly as he shoved both feet against the bar when Greg declared 'three.'

The bed shook, but the frame of the bed was solid and immovable.

"That's... going to be a big problem," Greg replied. "Can you see where the locks are? We might do better trying to pick it or smash it."

'I'll try for picking it." Jim stared at the end of the bed, and twisted to look at Greg.

Greg nodded. "Where your wrists go, mine follow," he reminded him. They were both being very together and clinical about this. Jim knew he was brittle around the edges but it was all he could do to stay in control.

He had to be brittle, or something was going to snap and he hadn't given that other bastard the pleasure of that. He definitely wasn't going to give this guy that privilege.

"Right. We can work around that. We just need something to pick it with." He twisted, looking for the nearest object that'd work like a tool. Just something to see if they could bump the lock, force the tumblers up.

And then the door creaked open slowly.

Greg froze and immediately tried to arrange himself so he was blocking whatever Jim was doing from view. He had to admit, the kid had good instincts.

It probably wasn't going to help, but Jim appreciated it. "And what are you two up to? Fully appreciating my hospitality?" There was a smile on the man's face.

"It's certainly a step up from our previous accommodations," Greg replied and Jim blinked. That was uncanny. He didn't even sound like the same person -- was that the mimicking he was talking about or just some technique?

"How very droll of you." The man stepped closer into the room. He was pretty poised, hands slightly to his sides as if he were ready to strike, but there was no wariness in his posture. Yeah, he was comfortable with what he was doing. Fuck. "I took it upon myself to see to your injuries while you were unconscious."

That was not something Jim wanted to think too hard on. Lecter poking around his ass, while he was asleep. It made him want to shudder.

"You know, as you've been such a good host so far, you think you could see your way to calling us a cab to go home in?" Jim asked.

"I'm afraid if I do that, I won't get what I want." His voice was strange, almost hypnotic. Jim was sure he wasn't from America, but he was affecting an almost mocking drawling American accent.

"You want Will, don't you?" Greg said, studying the man intently. Jim noticed he seemed to shift again, coming across then as someone a whole lot edgier, sharp and with a lot of the mannerisms that Lecter himself seemed to be displaying. "You know he wants to kill you."

Strangely the way Greg said that made the act sound more like an endearment than a crime.

"And yet here I am, and Will and I have met many times since my escape." Lecter smiled, but he was focusing on Greg instead of Jim now. "Are you trying to analyze me, boy? Because you're wasting your time."

Greg actually chuckled and the sound shocked Jim. "You know, that's almost exactly what Will said to me when we started working together. Are you like him or is he like you?"

Jim had no idea what Greg thought he was doing because he was only meant to be attracting attention if it looked like they were in danger.

Lecter reached out, cupping Greg's chin sharply, fingers rough on his skin. "Will has never met a Victim Empath before you. I know what you're doing."

"Wish I did," Jim said before he could stop himself.

Greg just looked up at Lecter then. "It still interests you. You're bored waiting for your game to start, for your dance to begin."

"And why would I want to play with a pale mockery? The fear in your eyes is all wrong. How about I get you a mirror and you can work on that?" He didn't let go of Greg's chin, though.

"How about you let him go?" Jim suggested, starting to get an uncomfortable feeling about where this was going. This was Lecter and even he could tell Lecter was interested despite himself. "That sounds like a much better idea."

"You're just a case, just a job for Will, Owner *Brass*, but he'll feel personally responsible for this one." Lecter stepped back, letting his fingers linger along Greg's jaw line for a moment. "Like a child whose goldfish dies."

Ouch. That had to smart a little. Greg seemed to have some self-esteem issues going on there and that sort of comment wasn't going to help. He could see a shadow pass over Greg's face and hurt in his eyes and perhaps that was what Lecter was after because he was watching him intently again.

"He'll know who to blame for anything that happens to either of us." Jim said. "They all will."

"You'd be amazed how emotional involvement clouds a man's judgment, or perhaps not. Unless you slept through all the cases you supposedly solved, Owner Brass." He turned his attention to Jim, now, moving back as if to keep himself from doing anything. "I came up to ask if you wanted anything to.... eat."

He hadn't eaten properly in over a week. The mere thought of food was enough to get his mouth filled with saliva. "Wouldn't say no," he admitted. He felt a little like he was juggling dynamite in this conversation. Greg was looking at him in a way he thought meant 'be careful' or possibly 'holy crap, no!' but he'd said the words.

And it was true.

"All right. You two can continue to attempt to pick the locks on your restraints, and I'll be back with food."

Jim didn't relax until Lecter had left the room, and Greg didn't even seem to lose his tension even then. He just kept looking where the other man had gone and looking very worried.

"We're fucked," Jim murmured, shifting a little, accidentally pulling at Greg's arms with the motion.

"Yeah," Greg replied slowly. "I... thought we'd get some time before he got bored. I underestimated the level he must've been at to get him actually into Vegas at all. He hates this sort of place." He looked across at Jim. "What he brings us to eat might or might not be... edible. I had to pull up something to interest him quickly."

"And that something was what? A little bit of playacting like this Will Graham guy?" Jim didn't accuse, but he was curious. Curious about the thing that just might keep them alive a little longer

"A bit. I didn't want to hit it spot on first time," Greg said in a low voice. "He... crafted Will. That was the interest. It hooked at him even if he knew what I was doing, it still intrigued him. As much as Will is tangled up with him, he is tangled with Will." He exhaled. "I didn't like the way he focused on you. With Lecter saying he looked you over like a slab of meat is way too literal to be funny."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot of fat on this pork roast. I probably wouldn't taste good." But his stomach still flip-flopped, and his nerves spiked high for a moment. "He crafted Will. I remember from the cases that he fucked the guy over. I think I even met him once. Back in Jersey."

"You did? Who... Will? Not Lecter?" Greg asked.

Like anyone could forget a meeting with Lecter. The man was magnetic in some ways. Sharp and bright and scary as fucking hell. "Nah. Graham. He had grey hair then. Wiry, sort of strung-out seeming. He had an FBI guy hanging over his shoulder the whole time."

"Yeah. Yeah, his Control," Greg said and gave a snort. "Only from what I gather he didn't do any Controlling worth a damn. Will's been running hot for *years*."

"Yeah, he did seem kind of on edge." And still was. That had to be a hell of a way to live, and it sort of answered how it was that Will could run into Lecter and they could both survive it over and over.

"He's close to a meltdown," Greg said replied. "Please tell me you have *some* idea of how the system is meant to work? Because I sure as hell freaked out most of your 'family'. And Will. "

"No, I understand some of it. I understand how Keppler and Millander are *supposed* to work, because Frank, their controller, has done a lot of bitching. I know you guys are used to working as a team, or at least you are." But it was him and Greg, no criminal Empath, no trained barely leashed killer.

"At least you know," Greg said. "Because you'll be the one with the reset button at the end of the day. Will badly needs it, and needs rebuilding after this."

He seemed optimistic that they might make it that far. Either that or he was an exceptional actor.

"Hey, when we get out of here, you can get all the time down for resetting that you want. I don't know anything about rebuilding, but you want to do that, that's fine, too." Jim shifted one arm. "I'm willing to bet that we won't be able to get these locks open."

"I'm half willing to bet there's a *reason* we won't be able to do so," Greg replied. "I just need to think of... something. Anything. I need to learn him and he's one of the most straightforward and complex subjects I've ever attempted."

"What exactly do you think you can do that *might* get us out of here? Because I'd like a heads up so I don't ruin your plan."

Greg looked abashed. "I don't know," he admitted. "We don't usually run into the real, but...if you learn what reactions they expect and want and plan for, and then you can twist a sucker punch move in there somewhere. Or just find a weak spot and work on it. Somehow I think that might be difficult. It's, uh, plan is a little over ambitious a word."

"Right." Jim felt his mouth twist a little. "Or we could just outlast the guy, maybe? Until they find us."

"That's probably Plan A," Greg said and his shoulders slumped. "You're right, we're fucked."

"Hey, I've got another person that I'm stuck with who's sane." It was better and worse off than he'd been just a few hours before. "Just hang in and we should be all right."

Greg might not like the way Lecter had looked at him but he was more worried about the way he'd looked at Greg. He knew what he was, and what he could do, but when it came down to it, Greg was young, and more scared than he'd liked to admit. And carefully avoiding talking about what had happened to him before.

Funnily enough all of those things applied to him as well. Except the young bit. But then he couldn't have everything -- or, as his current circumstances proved, he couldn't have anything at all.

The last thing Greg remembered was eating the food, which had been pretty identifiable. Anything he couldn't identify, he'd left and so had Jim and then somehow things went blank and he was waking up again. Frankly, being knocked out on a regular basis wasn't helping him out.

He listened before he opened his eyes, feeling no weight or restraints or heat of someone next to him. Something had changed so he stirred carefully, opening his eyes to sneak a look around.

Different room. Still the same look to the walls, so either Lecter had rented out multiple hotel suites, or he was renting a house. Or he'd killed the occupants and was squatting on the land until someone found out. But he wasn't tied down.

He was willing to bet it was a house. And he was willing to bet Lecter wasn't careless about leaving him unattended. Either he was watching or there was something going on.

He felt stiff and sore -- Toby the psycho had made him scream and he could still feel the effects of it even now. He wanted to know what had happened to Jim.

But if Lecter had done this, that meant he had intrigued him so he was going to have to use some of those Will based traits he had. He slid the persona on like a new set of clothes and then allowed the precepts to dominate him. That was the trick, that was the secret. A VP was only as good as their ability to let go of their individuality and allow it to be subsumed.

Obviously his own sense of self worth was pretty crap because he was *good* at it. His movements became like Will's, he could taste the feel of the other man in his head, sharp and brittle interspersed with drifting clouds of fuzziness.

He wished he'd had more time to build the structure in his head, and there was no way he was going to get the look. Will looked like he only shaved when someone reminded him, only ate when someone reminded him. There was a carelessness of his sense of self about the man, as if everything else was more important than tending to his basic needs. That was something to remember, to try to add to the structure of personality as he sat up warily, studying the room.

He couldn't fake that, not without lots of makeup and preparation at least but he could give an impression. He could do what Will did when he entered a new room; catalogue everywhere, eyes sharp, studying. Look for the way out, the way in, all of that. He got up and prowled, stopping in the same way that Will did when a thought overwhelmed him, scanning and looking every centimeter until he found it, the point where he was sure he was being watched.

The urge to walk up to what had to be a peep hole, and stick his finger into it, was overwhelming. But he didn't. He just looked at it and waved slightly.

Will would've acknowledged him. Known Lecter was there, didn't need to peer or check, just known because they were bound together. So he did that and then let himself drift into internal thoughts.

The connection, he had to understand why they were like this with each other. It was key. It was important, to who both of them were, for Lecter to come after Will like this when he was sold on, for Lecter to go to these lengths to get a hold of him again. But it didn't make *sense*.

One of the first things that any Empath in any designation learned was that in a moment of time, any action, any feeling had its root in internal logic. It might be a structure of the world at odds with the rest of the world, but it existed and in the end, that was someone's reality. Lecter and Will had some sort of shared reality that they lived in, that no one else could touch, and here he was trying to muscle in.

Trying and maybe failing. Half of the internal processes could be found in taking the postures, the physical actions, so the best thing Greg could do was try and try, and work slowly to see if he could worm his way in.

And now that he'd noted that Lecter was there, he'd probably be coming in.

He had to be ready for what he would do. Right now he was intriguing. He wouldn't be that interesting for a long time and compared to Will, not so much but if he could get in, try and get into his head and dig at a weak spot things might work out. Maybe

Maybe it would work.

He waited, tense and on edge, until the door cracked open, a slow motion. "You're just full of surprises."

Greg looked over and met the man's strange eyes unflinchingly. He wasn't Will, but he was close enough and he silently thanked Will.

"Really?" he said calmly.

"For a poor mockery, you do a better job than I had guessed. You haven't known Will long at all. I bet that you have all sorts of things you're still trying to piece together, cobbling this persona together..." Lecter stepped into the room, face composed as he closed the door behind him.

"Or perhaps Will is more fragmented than you remember," Greg said borrowing that way of talking that Will had. The sharp edges and moments of reining himself in. Would Will try something?

Would Will lunge at him? Would Will stalk closer -- yes, yes he would, because for all he liked his personal space, when he was running hot he didn't seem to respect anyone else's the way he wanted his respected. "How long ago do you think I saw him last?"

He moved forward as if drawn there. "If you are talking when you saw him or you saw each other... You saw him recently. You've been watching him. He saw you watching him at the auctions. But you were together where the sun lies slow and heavy over Italian villas and colors are warm and terracotta. And you plucked him like a sun-warmed peach..."

"Low hanging fruit," Lecter corrected softly. "Did he tell you this, or are you guessing?"

"A little of each," Greg said feeling for the connection between them. There was a moment where things kicked in.

Where it just started to fit, when he could almost feel the attraction *from* Lecter, if not to him. "I could do to you what I've done to him. I could remold you."

"You could," he acknowledged. "But I find that interesting. Why is remolding what you want to do?"

He was face to face with the serial killer now, within reach. Would Will try and reach? "What did you enjoy about plucking the fruit?"

"Will is mine." He reached out before Greg could make that decision, fingers against the edge of Greg's jaw. "You're playing at being Will Graham. If you're going to play act, you should have experienced it."

He reacted without thinking. His hand went up to grip at the wrist, but he exerted no pressure to get him to stop. It was a moment that was pure Will -- defensive yet permissive all tangled up together. "You've made him what he is..." he agreed softly.

"And if not for him, I never would have been caught. I never would have spent years imprisoned." And if it wasn't for those big cases, for Lecter, Will probably wouldn't have become *the* Criminal Empath.

"He's not all yours... is that why you want him?" He kept his questions smooth and easy because he knew he was going to pay for it at some point.

Lecter was going to take a chunk out of him, he was sure of it. "I think I've played this game before, with another Criminal Empath. Late Criminal Empath. Tell me, boy, do you sleep with all of your co-workers?"

Greg looked at him. "Some. Yes." He had to edge away from coming across too much on Will's mode as a questioner. More on his own side as a victim. He was a starter or a dessert rather than the main course and no one wanted anything too demanding then. "If they've wanted me."

"Do you crave to be hurt? Or do you think you can make those men and women believe that they're not as bad as they spend their lives acting. Do you think you can bring them back to their humanity?"

Damn, he was good. Lecter could definitely get under someone's skin and keep pushing a needle deeper. "Sometimes it is difficult to tell," he replied with a brutal honesty about himself. "Sometimes it is difficult to tell if I am responding or not. Much the same with Will."

That was a tactical error. He'd subconsciously linked Will with the responding. To someone like Lecter that was like a beacon.

"And you think if he comes to save you, you can... what? Fix him? Re-set him and magically make everything better?" Lecter was smiling now, mouth twisted for mockery.

"I can help," he answered. "And even if I couldn't, he would be my partner." He put enough intimacy into his words to give just a little hint that he could be very close to Will in ways that perhaps Lecter could not. Every word had messages within messages. He was telling Lecter that if he could fall for Will then perhaps he could do the same with him.

"And why do you feel a need to be partnered with people like that? Perhaps you take your victimhood too far." His fingers shifted, caressing the edge of Greg's jaw gently.

"Can you answer why you feel a need to shape and mold or why Will is compelled to seek you out?" Greg answered not flinching so much as looking down with his eyes and then calling up the Look, the one that had Will practically creaming his pants for him.

If he lived through this, he would have a lot of information on Lecter, maybe enough to find a chink in his armor.

"He took my personality a little too fiercely to heart when we worked together. He built the profile with my help, and no idea that all along, it was me he was creating in his mind. He both fears and is attracted to what he could become." The fingers didn't stop, but curved, sliding to trace along the side of his neck. "Unlike most people in his life, I've never lied to him."

That was interesting. Greg found himself nodding because he had instinctively used the truth with Will, no matter how difficult it was. "A seed..." he said and blinked, a revelation unfurling. Will was Lecter's immortality, his heir, cherished and nurtured. A Child of his mind, not of his body and in a strange way bound tightly in familial ties to him.

Will had been remolded not as a reflection, but as a legacy, a whole family of lover, brother, son wrapped into one.

And it probably wasn't even a conscious action that had led to Will being in that state. Greg doubted that he'd ever sat down thought hard about what he was doing. But it was there, and he didn't want Will dead, or would could have and would have been dead already.

"A seed?" he repeated. Perhaps this was the way. It was the truth and it might protect Will somehow. "A seed of yourself. Do you know how much of Will is you? He is... you have created a son of your mind in him. A*family* where he is more than just a love, but he is your hope for generations. Because he wants to do it to others. He sees them and he has told me the things he wants to do." He paused a moment and murmured. "Implanting him with your seed, watching him grow, take teetering steps towards the Becoming, until he followed the call of nature and challenged you as all sons must... did you hate him or were you proud of him when he caught you?"

"Both." He smiled as he leaned in, baring his teeth just in front of Greg's face. "I had help in making him what he is. His dear friend Jack."

"I used to wonder why you didn't go after him," Greg answered as if they were just having a pleasant chat somehow. "But now I realize it was because he did a lot of your ground work for you and kept that part of you running live in his head all the time."

"I was a little busy in captivity." And then out of it, trying to stay out of it, and Will... had maintained his presence in his own head, clinging to the edge between sanity and madness, and Jesus that was a creepy smile Lecter had.

This was where Lecter was going to *do* something. "I think a lot of us know the details," Greg replied resisting the urge to back away.

Lecter seemed to sense that and gave feral bright smile, sharp and white.

"I think you're enjoying yourself too much," Greg replied quietly just waiting. "You want something you can't have right now and I'm the nearest thing you've got."

"A poor imitation, however intriguing. I should mail one of your balls to the house. Do you think that would get him here faster?"

"Some of my hair would probably do it," Greg said not rising to the challenge. It was like being staked out with a wild animal there sniffing at him.

"I could send him your foreskin. He'd recognize what it was. Or I could send Jim Brass's. Would you prefer that?"

Greg looked at him ,startled. "No. Not Jim." Jim had been through hell already and he was their Owner and he was the reason they'd been bought.

He could live without a foreskin. It'd hurt like fuck, but he could live without it. "That's so self sacrificing of you. You've trained yourself to think like that. Perhaps I should make your offer futile."

"No, please... he's been through enough okay?" And dammit he was doing exactly what Lecter wanted. Practically begging him to do something to him. It was like begging Will to do it harder, faster, more...

"I need to send something to them. Are you offering?" Lecter leaned in, still baring his teeth.

"What do you want?" Greg replied, letting the fear seep through. For a brief moment he couldn't help but think of Will's teeth marks on his shoulder. Had that come from Lecter as well?

Probably.

"Make your choice. But it needs to be fleshy. I think I'm being more than kind in allowing you to decide what you don't need."

There were times he wish he wasn't so rangy. Something from arm or leg then, which was fleshy and his core mind was freaking out that he was doing this at all. "Arm or... thigh," he replied and his voice shook a little.

"All right." He stepped back, and pulled the butterfly blade from his pocket like he was whipping out a credit card. "Lay back."

He did so, unable to stop shaking . He had a whole new appreciation for how Will had been manipulated. He'd found himself agreeing to this even when he knew how Lecter worked and what he might do. He thought of trying to overpower him, but he'd seen how he'd taken down Toby as if he was a toddler and the *speed* he moved. He didn't have to think about actions he just did them so they were immediate. He just did it, laid back, while Lecter moved over top of him, pulling his pants down until they were tangled around Greg's knees. He might've changed his mind. He might be going for one of his balls, and he was just going to lie there and let him do it. Fuck.

Fuck, it was bizarre, surreal, because Lecter was leaning over him and he was letting him. He tensed when Lecter lowered the blade, pressed it against the inside of his thigh for a moment.

He knew then that Lecter wasn't going to take from there, not where he expected, even requested it to be taken. That would defeat the purpose of this object lesson. He couldn't help it, he whimpered and it was in fear then, a small broken noise that was undoubtedly music to Lecter's ears.

Then he shifted, and in a quick motion, grasped Greg's dick. It was like he was watching his own body from the outside, and the pain registered in his body before the actual action did. He gave the shuddering gasp of shock, and then a yelping cry of pain that drew out as it continued. He wanted to move, he wanted to scrabble a way but there was a blade on his cock.

The wrong move, and he was a dickless wonder, no matter how bad it hurt. Hurt, and still hurt as soon as he stopped the cutting. "I think they'll know what to do after I send this to you."

He was still whimpering, feeling moisture trickle involuntarily from his eyes. He couldn't help it, he wanted to curl up and pass out. "How... how will they find you?"

"All of those little clues. A piece of fiber, a strip of fabric, a piece of your flesh..."

It hurt, it hurt and he had to put on the techniques he knew to drown it out. "What... what will you do when he finds you?"

"We'll see when the time comes. Perhaps I'll let what's left of you go." Lecter shifted, got off the bed, holding onto the strip of flesh.

He needed to stop the bleeding. He needed to find a way to stop things from happened, from being all torn up. It wouldn't take that long for Will to find them, he was sure of that but he had to somehow crack Lecter, give Will that opening and moment he'd need.

He needed to stop the bleeding, Greg decided, physically and emotionally. Lecter left, no taunts, as if he wasn't there, because his focus had shifted to Will.

In a moment, he'd try... he'd look for that way out, because Lecter wouldn't be concentrating on the peephole, he'd be making up whatever package it was. He'd go over the place top to bottom and look for something.

Just in a moment. When the bleeding stopped.

Sedation was almost a familiar sense. He was used to swimming up from the cotton wool haze of it, but it wasn't what he was used to being given, wasn't what Jack had always used on him.

But it was still the same in theory, and Will woke up as quickly as he could, sitting up even as he tried to force his head to clear. It never worked, but it was worth a shot.

It was less harsh, more fuzzy, and he preferred the headache to the feeling of cotton wool. He needed to think and be clear about it. He needed to wake up.

And it was hard to shake off, even once he was sitting upright, pushing sheets -- okay, somehow he'd ended up in a bed, so there were sheets, which made him wonder just how dressed he was.

"Hey, hey... it's okay," a female voice said. "You're in your room Will. " It was hard to place the voice, but he eventually tied it up to the dark haired young CSI woman.

"It'd be nice if I knew how I got here." His voice sounded fuzzy, and his tongue heavy. "What the hell hit me?"

"Al and a handy syringe," Sara replied. "Here, have some water. You started to lose it a bit, kept trying to get out and walk the streets, didn't seem to recognize anyone, punched your hand through a pane of glass. At that point, Catherine ordered sedation."

"Huh." Will looked at his knuckles, trying to will his eyes to focus. "I don't remember that."

"No, Nick said you were doing okay until he was driving you home and he thought you'd gone to sleep in the front seat. Then you started thrashing around like you were not quite with it or awake and..." Sara looked at him "Opened the door and was trying to get out as you were still driving. So he pulled over and called for help. He says you're one strong dude."

"Yeah, well. Goes with the territory." He stayed down at his hand, not at Sara, and only after that turned to look at her. "I could find him."

"Yeah, we know." Sara said. "But we thought that maybe you ought to be conscious and not sleepwalking when you did it. You get to eat some, clean up and then we'll let you back in. Results are coming in. Definitely Lecter. Got your old crew due in Vegas soon, the moment a hit registered on Lecter."

"My old crew?" The FBI was in the area, then, and wouldn't that be a fun way to work a case?

"Yeah. Look, you want me to fix something for you to eat or head downstairs while you get changed? We had a roast, there's some put back for you. Catherine'll be there as the Owner substitute before we head in," Sara said as she got up.

Will rubbed at his eyes with his fingers. "Yeah, I'll. I'll get dressed and come downstairs." Shave, maybe. Get himself together a little more.

"Great. I'll wait outside. If you're not out in ten minutes, I'll come in after you," she said, with a half smile even as she headed for the door.

Yeah, he was willing to bet that she'd come after him. Will watched, waiting until she was gone and the door closed behind her before he got to his feet.

They shouldn't have done that, but on the other hand, it had been a while since he'd done that. And each time he'd ended up going over the edge one way or another.

He just wanted this over. He wanted to find them, he wanted to find Lecter and get Greg back and Jim Brass who he didn't know, but he wanted them both back. Greg had trusted him and shown him that trust in that club and in all the touches that had become familiar since they had been purchased together.

It was Will's fault that he'd been taken. His responsibility, and he should have been able to get Greg back. They should have just let him *go*, because if he'd been in that state, he probably could have led them right to them.

Which admittedly might've ended up as a blood bath, but he would've found him. He knew Lecter. He knew he wouldn't leave them alone. There would be something from him, a summons of some description.

Shower and change. Food and work. He could manage that.

Simple things, easy work for him to do. Will headed for the bathroom first, forcing himself to concentrate on showering quickly, on finding a razor. He managed the shower well enough but the razor was giving him problems. He just wanted to look at it and he kept losing time. Fragments of minutes fluttering away from him.

He managed though. Just about.

It was mostly shaved, and that'd do. He wandered out of the bathroom, looking for clothes. Then he'd go downstairs and as long as he stayed focused, as long as he concentrated on clothes and going downstairs...

"Will are you... oh..." Sara paused having come in looking for him. "Uh sorry. It's been fifteen minutes and I uh...I'll be outside."

She beat a hasty retreat.

He needed to get a lock on the door. Or at least, some kind of lock that they didn't all have the key to, because even closed doors didn't do him any good. Will paused, and turned towards the dresser, digging around for a moment to get clothes out. He would find Lecter. He was going to need a weapon of some kind, he was going to find a way to end this somehow. Lecter would be just far enough away from people to make things interesting. He would find a means of giving some sort of ironic set to it all. A name, a hint a clue that only they would understand.

He pulled on some pants and a shirt, trying to look reasonably together.

If he didn't, they wouldn't let him work. He had that sense from them, and Catherine thought he was insane. If they knew he was falling apart, they wouldn't let him work. So, he took the stairs slowly, carefully, concentrating as he entered the ground floor.

He remembered the way Greg guided him. They'd only been together for a few days but he missed that feeling that he could trust someone to look out for him, to be there when he needed them. It had been a hundred small things, as well as his obvious trust in the live scene, and it wasn't fair for him to be Lecter's now.

The kitchen was crowded, the nightshift obviously mustering. As he entered, Warrick appeared to be playing mailman. "...your geek comic special Archie, three for you Sara. Nick... here's the bird magazine and looks like a few Texas stamps. Bills, bills for the House. One for you, parcel for Hodges.."

"About time!" came an unfamiliar voice.

"And a handful for Catherine... oh hey, and a parcel for Will..." Warrick looked up spotting him. "You expecting something?"

"No." There wasn't even anyone who knew he lived there. *He* hardly knew he lived there, unless it was something Jack had mailed him. Will reached for the parcel, eyeing Warrick.

No one could say that the forensics house was not cautious and wary, because all of them seemed to orientate on the package and Warrick put it down carefully.

"Will, you want to see if you recognize the handwriting?" Catherine said, looking over at him. "Looks like we might be starting shift here."

"The question might be better as 'do you want me to recognize it or not', because I don't, how about you?" But Will leaned, and sucked in what had to be a predictable breath when he saw the penmanship.

"Yeah, that's sounding a lot like recognition," Nick said. "Lecter?"

"Surprise. This'll be his calling card, then." Will leaned back, looking for a pair of gloves or something sterile.

"We should do this at the lab," Catherine said. "We won't get much off of the outside of the box except handwriting."

Will tilted his head up to look at her. "If we're going to do this in the lab, can we do it *quickly*?"

Catherine nodded curtly. "Okay, I'll do the assignments here. Looks like we have some trace in, so all of you guys, I want you running anything that we tease out from this package at the top of the list. Sara, the FBI are due in, I need you to collate the current files for them. Warrick, Nick and Will, you're going to go over every molecule of that package. One thing I ask is you let me know before you take off after anything, okay? Short and sweet. Lets' get to the lab, get this going. We've got some house mates to find."

"I want to *see* this package opened," Will cut in, even as Warrick turned to get some kind of back to put over the package. "It's a message to *me*. You can evidence it all you want, but that's not going to get you the subtleties."

"You'll open it together," Catherine said. "Okay? Nick, Warrick, you go together with Will. Now."

Will shoved his hands into his pockets, and eyed Nick and Warrick as Nick jerked his chin at him. "C'mon, man. We'll get into this as soon as we get to the office."

It itched at him. He needed to see it. The parcel was packaged up, and they were going. It seemed they did know how to move quickly when they needed to move, because despite his impatience, they were there and inside and to the lab fast enough to satisfy him.

Once again, they were sitting looking at the package, this time with gloves and evidence gathering equipment.

"Think you ought to do the honors."

Will leaned a little, and carefully picked up one of the scalpels he'd been given to cut the tape with. He didn't rush it, knowing that everything in the box would not only hold evidence, but it would hold a story, a message. There was plastic, saran wrap placed carefully around a plate, and a piece of stationary perched atop it.

"He's sent you something plated up?" Warrick asked. "Has he done anything like that before?"

"Take the letter," Nick encouraged. "We can dust the wrap."

"And what's it going to tell you? That he's touched it?" Will asked, reaching for the letter carefully, but not to read it. He wanted to study what was on the plate. It was all very delicately placed, but it had probably been shifted by them moving the box. Some kind of fried curl of flesh, and a crème sauce that looked like it had fouled in the heat. "DNA test everything on the plate. "

"You think he might've..." Nick said and then fell quiet. "Huh, is that a fiber?"

"Looks like it." Another picture taken, and the fiber taken. "I'll get it to trace."

"Don't get bogged down in the evidence," Will advised as he laid the letter aside and carefully lifted the plate out by its edges. "That's flesh."

"I'll get it to DNA. Any idea what it is?" Warrick asked as he got some forceps to pick it out.

"Not the deep-fried pork rind it looks like," Will murmured. "A shaving or something."

"Not exactly."

"That can't be good," Nick said. "What're you getting from this Will? anything?"

"It'll make more sense when we know who it came from. The flesh, the..." Will gestured to what laid beneath the saran wrap. "I'd bet my eye teeth it's semen."

"Let me get my light," Nick said reaching for his kit and then dimming the lights. He flashed the lights over and it glowed.

"Tada," Will mumbled, watching the glow. "Test it. Test everything on that plate, and I'll..." Handle the stationary.

"We're on it." Nick said and he and Warrick managed to take things off to trace and DNA, leaving him with the letter.

They took the case, and left him, left his mind running while he carefully opened the letter. The contents, that was the hard thing to predict.

There was no mistaking Lecter's handwriting, and his flowing turn of phrase.

"My own dear Will,

I do hope you are remembering to eat. One of my guests was so concerned about your wellbeing I allowed them to assist in the preparation of provisions to keep you well. I know that they are looking forward to seeing you soon.

Your latest toy really is something isn't he? Very diverting and with enough intelligence to make him interesting in the short term at least. I find his efforts to ape his betters very amusing, and sometimes marginally successful. But he is some way from the Becoming, whereas I fortunately am not. Still, I confess to some nostalgia. I like to find a place that calls to the familiar, don't you? Though it is hard to find something perfectly aligned, I have never been a miser when it comes to lavishing attention on my friends.

Come to me Will, come and we will stand before each other and see where the future takes us."

He read it once, read it again, and then leaned in, holding the stationary close to his face before breathing. That smell. Fuck, that smell.

It was him, he could practically feel him there, touching him, murmuring in that voice in his ear. Pushing him beyond his limits into free-fall every time.

So close, so close. He read the letter again, let it wash over his mind. There were words in there that were not words, they were facts and concepts, and he just needed to let it click.

Lecter wanted him to find him, that much was obvious. He was pretty sure that this was the Lecter version of obvious -- he was impatient and wanting him there. Irritated no doubt by Vegas itself he would not tolerate something in the centre even if he might visit it. He might attend musicals, theatre events or Art exhibitions but he was telling him to cut to the chase and come to his current "home".

"Got anything?" Nick asked as he returned.

"It's his address." Will gestured vaguely to the letter, letting his eyes drift over it. Miser. Miser, that was a strange thing to say.

"His address?" Nick hurried over, peering at the letter. "Okay, address in code then. You understand this?"

"Not yet. I'm working on it." Will laid it down, and let his eyes drive, let them unfocus a little to try to see the letter as a holistic article.

"Okay. I'll uh... let you do your thing," Nick said even as he started to painstakingly process the packaging for any hint of trace.

Lecter was signposting for him. Nostalgia was a shared memory, a wistful memory of fond time. For him or for Lecter he wasn't sure. Lecter most likely, the universe revolved around him. So there was Florence or there were cases that they shared as 'intimate'. Which was it?

And words. He could use words, words that seemed out of place for the usual tone of Lecter's letters. Words like 'miser', nostalgia, falling to the familiar. "Name, Nick? Name street names."

"We could be here a long time, " Nick said. "How about we get street maps or something? You think there's a clue there?"

"I think he wouldn't have sent it unless he put a clue in there," Will agreed, setting the letter down. It was in there, in the words and in the tone of the letter, wrapped up and slipped away.

"I'll get some up here. You reckon you can find it?" The unspoken question was 'how long?' How long were Greg and Jim going to be there in the hands of the most notorious sociopath in recorded history.

"As long as no one sneaks up on me and sedates me while I'm looking, yeah." He kept the letter close, moved to notably not-let Nick take it as he stood there.

"Okay, I'll take the hint," Nick replied. "I'll get the street maps and names, and we'll take it from there yeah?"

He didn't wait for an acknowledgement -- obviously he wasn't completely giving all the time. All to the good, he needed peace and quiet to focus.

He needed to let go, to let it all slide, and it had admittedly been easier with Greg there, coaxing him. But Greg was there, too, in the lab, or a little piece of him, and Will dwelled on that sharp reality as he studied the letter again. Greg was with him, in a way, as was Lecter, and it was enough cacophony of presence to get him to let go.

Greg never knew what position he was going to be in when he woke up -- of course there was always the possibility he wouldn't wake up, but Lecter seemed to have sedation down to a fine art. Just enough at a time to put him out so he could do whatever he wanted to do.

He wasn't actually sure most of the time what that was and the idea he had been doing something to his body while he'd been out of it was horrifying if he dwelled on it.

This time though, he'd come around naked and tied. The most disturbing thing was it wasn't cruel, or harsh. There was a pillow for his head, the ties were wrapped around to secure but not cut in and he was arranged with another pillow under him to be on his knees.

All in all it was the sort of bondage he'd expect from a light seduction. To be truthful, the sort he might've day dreamed about Will. Just a little.

Just a little, just a little, because it was the same personality in a lot of ways, wasn't it? Would sex with Lecter be much like sex with Will?

"Ah, I see you're waking up..."

He had a feeling he was going to find out, whether he liked it or not. The thing with Lecter was there was nothing stopping him. Nothing preventing him sauntering from normal to the unthinkable in a heartbeat.

He tried to twist and look behind him. "You know, you seem really into this sedating thing."

"I hate to take a risk that could unduly jeopardize your continued existence." There was a twitch of his mouth, and okay, the guy cleaned up. He seemed like he was always cleaned up, but his clothes seemed specific to the general theme of seducing the victim.

Play along, play along, that was his job in a nutshell. "Is... Is Jim okay?" he asked tentatively. It was a logical question, one he was sure Will would've asked and he wanted to know. There was that niggling suspicion that Lecter might've just decided to go off and slit Jim's throat and next door he was hanging bleeding out or something.

"He is… resting right now." The pause made the hair at the back of his neck stand up, because he could be permanently resting.

"Oh god." What could he say or do to that? Nothing that would help. His dick was still hurting though it was obvious there had been some cleaning up done on that as well and all in all it was a little strange. Lecter had focused on what a pale imitation he was of Will, but now he was like this.

He was apparently a good enough imitation to want to fuck him, and that was what that position always led to. "Shhh, he's fine. Don't fret about him, Greg."

"Being tied up always makes me anxious," Greg replied and made a subtle show of testing his bonds. "Although, it's more comfortable than the other time I woke up in bondage.

"I had hoped so." He kept expecting distance and coldness, and then Lecter shifted, got closer and petted fingers almost gently over his hair. "I took the liberty of washing some of the gunk out of your hair. It's quite soft..."

It wasn't an unpleasant touch, but it unsettled him nonetheless. He'd been unconscious and Lecter had given him a hair wash and possibly a bath or shower. That did pretty much freak him out in a weird way. "Wha.. what do you want from me? I thought I was just an imitation?"

"I could work with you. It could take a lot of time, of course, but I wonder how far you're willing to take the game. Will, for example, doesn't need to be tied up, or sedated." Another lazy, slow stroke.

"Yeah well, you've been doing your thing with Will for decades," Greg said. So he wanted him to go with it. Okay, he could do that. They had training in that. If Will and he had been paired properly they would've spent time doing this sort of thing anyway.

They would, too, if he survived it, if Will was still alive. Lecter seemed pretty sure that he wasn't going to play that game if he didn't think Will *was* alive.

Lecter's hand stroked down his back, petting him like he was a great big cat. "This is true."

He couldn't help responding to that. It made him shiver and arch a little automatically and he tried to force the relaxation and just let himself fall into the zone. Let himself react and enjoy.

"How much of your life do you spend slutting it up, Greg?" It was an almost insidious, idle question.

"Not a slut..." he said, his words partially muffled. "Not a slut." He wanted to believe that but it was hard to say with conviction right now.

The hand stroked again, nice and slow. "Yes you are. You like it, don't you? You look forwards to the games you get to play in your line of work."

"I... can't stop them from happening," he replied and yes, it was part of the training, blending the pleasure of the reset memories with unpleasant things to get through them. "Can't fight them all."

"Yes you can. You can fight and twist, and get knotted up until you fight with yourself, until you can't enjoy anything anymore. That's what they all expect you to do. To hate your job but love it at the same time, to hate yourself but know you serve a higher cause."

"It didn't matter," Greg said. Lecter's voice was almost hypnotic. "Doesn't matter. It's never going to matter. All I needed was..."

He cut himself off and tried turning away. Aiden. Someone who cared. Being alone with himself was something he couldn't bear because he became who Lecter implied when he was alone.

"All you needed was love? Caring? Someone to look after you? They all want that. The people you're looking to for help don't know how to do it any better than you do." And that hand kept moving, kept soothing.

All he needed was for someone to need him. That had been enough. But he didn't want to admit that to Lecter. It would be giving him the silver bullet that would take him down. Instead he made a muffled noise and tried to pull away. "What do you know about love?"

"A great deal. I know the futility of it, I know the amazing depth of it, and I know how much it hurts to lose."

"You know love with fear. That's how it was shown to you, that's the secret you don't look at yourself," Greg said rashly. "You express your love, your desire by crafting a seduction of fear because that's all you know of it. Who was it... your father? Your mother who taught you that? Your first love?"

"Life, little would-be psychiatrist. Life taught me a great deal." He probably had never analyzed himself, but Will would know. Will would be able to explain it all to Greg if he ever wanted to know the answer to that question, more than the cryptic words. "You're just a little off in your interpretation."

"Really? Why don't you put me straight?" Greg replied. It was as much as he could manage in this position without being able to see the cues properly. Lecter seemed to want him to enjoy the experience, which either meant he was working on a mindfuck, or he was literally going to try and start gentle and work more and more twisted experiences into it.

"So you can what? Attribute who I am now to what happened? Perhaps it's better to see what I've become." He stroked down along Greg's back again, and his fingers lingered against the curve of Greg's ass.

"Perhaps," Greg replied. "Sometime it is good to know the roots of things."

Because it gave him something to uproot, to poke at. He tensed a little.

It wasn't going to *happen*, of course. He knew that Lecter wouldn't show his hand like that, wouldn't just *tell* Greg, but how exactly did a guy get into cannibalism as a delicacy? "Shhh, relax. I won't hurt you."

"Did you tell Will that?" Greg asked and he couldn't seem to keep the sharpness in his voice that he wanted. He didn't know how much was the residual drugs or just the fact that maybe, okay maybe he was a slut after all.

Maybe he was anyway. "When I stabbed him?" He could feel Lecter lean close against his back, felt his mouth press against his ear.

"Yes." He closed his eyes a moment and unbidden his ability to draw up arousal from any source chose then to join the party. He'd been running hot too long, too intensely and this was the first sign. Out of conscious control. It was enough to flush his skin with heat suddenly and make him ache.

Yeah, he could do it but he was definitely going to need a reset ASAP, he needed to turn off the ability to get off on his own torture. "Yes. Shock set in quickly, but not as quickly as I'd expected..."

"Are you going to kill him?" Greg asked and shifted uncomfortably aware that his body was traitorously racing toward full arousal. He felt his breathing start to pick up its pace and every touch was more than casual. It was burning.

What the hell was going on? He'd never lost control like this before, he was good at it.

"Will? No. No, that's unnecessary with what he's become. I hope I won't be forced to kill you, either." There was another kiss against his ear, trailing down his neck.

Okay, this was just weird. Did the guy have aphrodisiac saliva or something, because Greg found himself losing his focus completely and moaning before he herded his thoughts back together. "I don't, don't... oh god, I don't want to be killed..."

No, right now his body wanted to be fucked and unconsciously all of his little tricks to make himself "perfect" were coming out in response to that want and need. His strategies were being blown out of the water because he was a slut. How could he say otherwise when he was panting for the touch of a serial killer?

It was surreal and so completely out of his control, that if Lecter had untied him he probably wouldn't have run. "It is not your time, I don't think. We could discuss it another time."

"Anything you want..." Had he said that? Oh my god, was this what going into core personality meltdown felt like? He felt like rational Greg had been shoved to one side and one of his personas had taken over. A needy wanton vulnerable personality dredged up from his experiences of playing at being the Victim. Lecter was bound to notice. From reluctance to wantonness in a couple of heartbeats.

"Yes, yes, I think you will give me *anything* I want." And he felt kisses sliding down his back and maybe it wasn't going to be that bad.

He moaned and felt the pain of his dick trying to become erect against the injury from the impromptu circumcision melt away into blissful Pleasure. It felt too damn good and he was just completely out of control, moving enticingly, flashing Lecter the looks that had Will ready to pounce him. "Please..."

"Please. Please. What do you want? Tell me what you want?"

"I want... I need you to fuck me," Greg heard himself answer and it was the voice of the victim he'd been playing. These thoughts were locked away, disassociated and observing as he proved everything Lecter had said. Of all times for his mental discipline to fail. He didn't understand how this had happened. Aiden had once used him for days for a live reenactment. He hadn't lost it then. The drugs maybe? Something more than a sedative.

"Are you sure?" Yes, yes, that part of him was damn sure, damn well wanted to be fucked and feel it so he could really enjoy him.

"Please... yeah, please..." The mere anticipation hard him hard, and he was glad his new boss wasn't in here to see this, to see the way his newest purchase stuck his ass in the air for the guy who was threatening his life.

It would probably creep him the fuck out forever. Yeah, and he never had to wonder why people thought PVs and CEs were freaks of nature to act the way they did. There he was, begging to a level where he didn't have to go if he'd been in control of things. "You have a pretty body. Do you work on that, too?"

"Yes, some... please?" He was moving to try and show himself off to the most effective way to get what he wanted. Sharp jolts of pleasure were hitting him regularly and he was shivering and ridiculously sensitive to any sort of touch.

And it was like Lecter knew it, because none of the touches were enough to get him to get off, not enough to get satisfaction. But there were fingers prying at his ass, playing gently with him.

He melted into that, abandoned to the touch and feel of it, hearing himself whispering "more," and "Yes, god yes," alongside "Fuck me, please fuck me now," and a lot of incoherent noises.

Noises that he felt bone deep and couldn't shake off even when he felt lube being slowly worked into his ass. There was no way he could say he even protested what was happening.

How could he claim being raped when he was like this? He was burning now with desire, the coolness of the lube there and slick and wonderful and he *wanted*, he wanted so much he could just come there and then, but he wanted to feel it, to be made to feel and it didn't matter what Lecter did because everything felt so damn good

He really could cut him up and do everything Will had described in forbidden whispers and Greg would like it, wanted it, wanted it so bad...

"Do you still want me in you?"

"Yes! God yes!" He *was* a slut. He was worse than a slut; he couldn't even keep it together to save his life. Where was all that discipline he'd spent all that time learning? Gone. Completely gone.

Shattered and useless, fucking useless, when he needed it the most. "Good. Good, you'll enjoy this." Fingers were gone now, because they were past fingers, and he could feel Lecter pressing his dick up against him.

The stupid thing was he was enjoying it; his previous pains seemed buried and he was just eager to have the burn inside of him. He whimpered slightly and then exhale at the pressure pushing in.

Lecter was as comfortably big as the last guy had wished he was. The slow push in left him panting, writhing against his bonds, wishing he could move more with the push, or the slow burn of Lecter pulling out.

He was incorrigible, whimpering and needing and with each push there were spark inside of him, all the time while one part of his mind stood outside and watched what he was doing with horror. That part was drenched in self-loathing, but it remained intact even as the tides of passion swelled with growing intensity and fervor.

Yeah, Lecter knew what to do with his cock, which was more than he'd say for Toby. Lecter knew how to move, how to slam into Greg and it felt *so* damn good, and he was rocking back against him harder and harder.

He was pulling and tugging on the bonds not in a need to get away, but a means of bracing himself and he would've said he had no shame, except that one part of him was overwhelmed with shame and the other didn't care. He writhed, he thrust back hard, he moved with the man over him and he was rock hard and going to come even though it was going to hurt.

It was going to hurt, and he didn't care, didn't and couldn't stop, maybe wouldn't have stopped even if he had wanted to. The funniest thing was that he didn't want to, even though he was ashamed, and he *never* felt like that, except...

The realization hit him at roughly the same time as he came in a burst of blinding pain and pleasure. If it hadn't been so shocking he would've lost it in the white light explosion behind his eyes.

It was like a low grade version of the Reset. Lecter was hacking his wetwire chip and stimulating it with a low grade frequency. Fucking, fucking bastard! Making him believe he was a slut, a whore without shame, selling out for the next cock.

He knew it could be done; he had a reasonable level of encryption to stop it happening, but people got themselves wet wired to experience this sort of thing. They became addicts, wifi junkies , hitting their brains with unstable signal bursts and codes that were like a drug high without any of those residuals left in the blood for tests to pick up.

Lecter was smart enough to hack a police department encryption.

There was no question of that, and if Greg had spent enough time asleep for Lecter to undress and wash him at his leisure, he'd had time to experiment with his departmental encryption, and that made Greg's blood want to boil.

The problem was that knowing didn't help him, because when he heard the metallic sound of a knife drawn and he knew he was going to scream, the problem was he was more likely to be screaming in pleasure, begging for more, than he was with the pain.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

There was that point in a case when his eyes got crusty and tired, when his brains felt stiff, when he had too much adrenaline to be doing the deskwork part of the case that everyone else expected him to somehow do. It was like having brain damage, or ADD, because it wasn't quite on line with what he *wanted* to do, wasn't what his brain was straining to do. But he'd whittled it down, worked at it, and now he had a street.

Hyde.

Hyde because that's what Lecter was doing. Hyde because the word miser referred to Dollarhyde and for Lecter that was blatant. Hyde because they were Jekyll and Hyde of the same personality.

There were a lot of places with that sort of name in Vegas, but this one was in area called Blakesfield and that was the clincher. Blake. William Blake, the artist of the Red Dragon that was the symbol of Dollarhyde's Becoming.

There were no coincidences with Lecter.

It was all planning, and all he had to do was get himself pulled together and coherent enough to poke his head out and *find* someone to tell his find to, so they could get going already.

The problem was that he could hear a familiar voice out there in the corridor, apparently having an argument with Catherine. Jack had arrived.

"...I am used to dealing with Will, I know his quirks, his moods. I need your permission to use him," he was saying.

"And I'll tell you again, I don't make those sort of decisions without *asking* the person involved," Catherine replied.

"CSI Willows, I don't think you understand," and Will almost felt sorry for him because he knew already that you didn't patronize the second in command of the lab if you valued your body part. "He's a Criminal Empath. He needs a firm hand, direction and guidance."

"Director Crawford, I think you are forgetting that you are the one who tossed him out when it didn't suit you to have him around. He's ours now, and however you do it at the FBI is not how CSI Night shift does it. We take the family model seriously," she said sharply.

Yeah, as indicated by the fact that they'd *bought* someone just to find Jim. That was pretty out there, doing it for a *co-housee*, and not blood kin. "He is actually awake in here and can hear you out there in the hallway."

He heard Jack's low chuckle as he stepped into view. "I see Vegas hasn't sweetened your working style any Will. How're you doing?"

"Hey, did you know that the wet-wiring is actually supposed to be used to turn me *off* every once in a while?" He hunched over his scattered papers a little, glaring up at Jack. It was hard to feel bitter, like a dog who was once again meeting a master who'd decided to kick him out.

"People get addicted to the Reset. Burn out early." Jack replied as if it weren't a big deal and he was Right and the world was Wrong. "And you've always been stable enough. Always been unique Will."

Catherine was standing behind him, arms folded , practically rolling her eyes. "Yeah, that's not going to fly with him."

"I served you a dog for dinner when you got back from vacation, and you never thought 'hey, maybe this has gone too far'?" He'd thought it, and that was from *his* point of view. "Fuck you. Catherine, I have a lead."

"You have?" Catherine moved forward practically barging Jack out of the way. "Location?"

"Hey, I'm in on this too," Jack added. "What've you got?"

"It's Hyde Street, in the Blakesfield subdivision. I don't have an exact address, but if you just take me there I can *find* him. We can get them back." He concentrated on focusing on Catherine, not Jack. As long as he kept his attention on her, he was fine.

Catherine paused and he could see suddenly the desperation in her eyes that this could be it. It made her terse replies somewhat more explicable.

"Give me the reasoning. If I've got to authorize an operation, then I've got to justify it," she said.

He rubbed at his face, looking down at the sealed in an evidence bag letter. "The tone of his writing told me that it's a blatant hint. He wants me to come to him. He probably thinks that I'm going to slip the noose at some point in the fiasco, and he can get a hold of me without an unnecessary confrontation with law enforcement. So, he referenced 'miser' in his letter, which got me to thinking. It's very word association. Miser, dollar, Dollarhyde. Dollarhyde had this massive tattoo based on a Blake painting the red Dragon, so when I saw there was a Hyde Street in Blakesfield..."

"That's good enough," Jack replied. "We should send him in."

Catherine held up a hand. "Wait, wait... he wants you there and you're just going to walk right in? To a trap? I think we need more of a plan than that."

"You get your guys back." Will tilted his head slightly, peering at her. "I go in there prepared instead of half-cocked for once. But I'll be honest with you, I can keep this up for another couple of hours, tops, and then I'm gone. So we need to *go* now, or."

"He's expecting you to go in without back up?" Catherine asked. "We'll move, but Jim would never want someone killed for his sake."

Even if it was obvious that all of them were ready to risk their lives for him.

Hell, they were comfy risking *Greg's* life for him. "Yeah, well. I'm comfortable going in without backup if I have to. At least, I don't expect them to be there like I did when we staged our *last* attempt."

"Will, come on, you know that couldn't be helped," Jack replied and Catherine turned to Will.

"You'll get the back up. We got you re-chipped with a locator, which we will monitor and we'll have a full team on the perimeter monitoring where you are, ready to move. And you're going in with whatever protection we can give you," she said. "We'll be there are well, but we want to give the image you've slipped away from us and gone after him. Give us time to close in.

"That's fine." It was hard to not stare at Jack. "And actually, I meant *this* time, this case, with my Victim Empath. But this is a fantastic way to show a local law enforcement group that you really roll out the troops when they need help, seeing as you're admitting to things I'm not actually bringing up this time."

Catherine smirked a little at Jack's expression and Will had to wonder if even the few weeks apart had softened Jack's memory enough to forget what he was like under pressure, on the case.

"We just want to catch Lecter," he said.

"Well Director, that would be nice, but my priority is getting Jim and Greg out alive," Catherine drawled sardonically. "Okay, ten minutes to make calls Will, and we'll have a go. Get a coffee or something, some food -- Nicks got some in the break room. Tell them what's up and I'll break out the police back up, and I'm sure Director Crawford will be doing the same. I want you armed as well, as much as you can be."

"I'll get Nick to help me, seeing as he patted me down after I was sedated." He wasn't holding a grudge against them about *that*, no, because in hindsight it had saved them from exactly reenacting what Lecter wanted. He pushed the chair back, and got to his feet, arrowing past Jack as if he wasn't there.

He wasn't sure what he felt about Jack right now. On the one hand, decades of close association, dependence. He had needed him badly in his own way. On the other, discovering that Jack had not been treating him correctly, with no regard for his sanity. He was feeling pretty used right now, but that was in the background when Lecter came to town. Later, later it might spike to the fore, and he hoped for Jack's sake that when and if it did, Jack wasn't in town anymore.

Nick was easy to find. Nick was hovering in the break room, waiting. He probably hated that he'd been given Will-guarding duty, and Will could sympathize. "Hey."

"Hey Will," Nick looked at him. "Man, you look burned. Coffee? You finally taking a break?"

"Coffee, something to eat. Bread, something? We're hitting the ground running. Catherine said you might be able to help arm me, since all of my weapons are impounded at the house."

"You've got something?" Nick was staring at him frozen for a moment. "Jesus Will, how the hell did you manage that? Here uh... sit down, I've got some Danishes here and some take out we can warm up. I can do toast or something."

"Toast is good." Toast made a *really* shitty gun, too, Will mused as he sat down a little heavily, leaning his elbows on the table. His muscles were aching, and there was no reason for it to be like that except for tension, stress, maybe not enough food, he wasn't sure. Like he was burning himself out.

"So what's the deal? You said something about getting weapons?" Nick said as he threw some bread in their toaster. "You going in with a strike team?"

"Going in as a distraction so the strike team has time to close in. Lecter is expecting me to show up there half-cocked and mostly out of my mind." Which, sure, he might've been, but he was stretched thin and strung out, but *calm*. And as long as he stayed calm and stretched thin, he'd be all right.

"... Jesus Will," Nick said looking a little concerned. "What about back up? Greg got taken when you guys were sent in like that and you got zapped into oblivion."

"And the backup was waiting obliviously outside," Will reminded as he leaned his chin on his hands. "The backup will follow me in quickly, while I've got Lecter distracted."

Nick passed over the toast and spread. "We'll go to the weapons locker -- what do you want to take with you?"

"Couple of handguns." He had a holster for a standard issue Walther, and he was wearing it even though it was empty. "Maybe after this I can get my guns un-impounded. I have an old Bulldog, snub-nosed, and it's a good shot in a tight place."

"We can do that. Anything else?" Nick asked and for a moment he could imagine Greg doing this for him and wanted that. If he could make it beyond this meeting with Lecter.

If he could just survive. "Ammo?" Will's mouth quirked a little as he picked up a piece of toast and started to eat it mechanically.

Nick quirked an eyebrow at him. "I meant body armor or anything, tazer or something."

"It's hard to move in body armor. With Lecter, I'm less likely to knock him down with a Tazer than you'd think." He stopped for a moment, chewing hard.

"Yeah." Nick was looking at him. "You going to be okay? You've been going at this non-stop."

He sounded dubious that he even had a chance of being okay, as if this just proved the point.

"Doesn't really matter. Jack's here, and I'll be damned if I go to pieces and prove him right." He picked up the next piece, and chewed that as quickly as he could.

Sara put her head around the door. "Catherine says five minutes. guys," she informed them and she had a too bright look in her eyes. She looked trigger happy.

"Sh- okay, Will, better eat and run there. Let's get your stuff." Nick said and waited for him to move.

Will hovered long enough to stuff that last piece in his mouth, pushing the chair back as he chewed. "Sure, great. Let's go."

He didn't really care. He wanted to get to Greg, who he had failed to protect, who was bait for him, and who had given him in a few days more precious than Jack had managed in years. And if he lost his life in the process, as long as he could take Hannibal with him, it would be no great loss. None at all.

Blood loss made him dizzy and disorientated. He was tied only minimally this time but it didn't matter. He couldn't really move anyway after the evening and night's entertainment. He wasn't in a bedroom; he seemed to be in the living room this time, just there like a toy tossed to one side.

Like Lecter was bored with him, and he seemed to be. He was in the kitchen, and whatever he was making smelled... well, it smelled *good*, but that just made Greg feel stomach sick, because he hadn't seen Jim since they'd been separated.

He hurt with every tiny shift of movement. Lecter had carved patterns on him, and he'd kept fucking well having orgasms because Lecter had something punching his wet wired pleasure buttons all the time.

He was going to be incredibly screwed up over that even if Lecter knew exactly how deep to cut to not be fatal. He wanted desperately for whatever Lecter was cooking not to be Jim. Like, a house pet would be fantastic just because it *wouldn't* be Jim, and he knew that whatever it was, Lecter was going to feed it to him, and Greg was going to be sick if that was the case.

"Are you still awake in there? I thought you might appreciate a continental breakfast."

He might just be sick anyway because he had a thumping head and moving made him feel ill. Maybe if he could just *try*, really try he could get free, get out of here. All he managed was a harsh gasp as he shifted. Continental breakfast, what was that? Maybe some parts had nothing to do with meat.

Hopefully. "It's polite to answer when someone speaks to you."

He was on dangerous ground already. Politeness or lack of it was a trigger and he tried to moisten his mouth enough to say "'s awake," with a faint degree of success.

"Good. I hope you'll appreciate this Brioche." Brioche. That sounded distinctly meat-free, and Greg relaxed a little against the cushions of the sofa at that response.

"Sounds good." Of course he could've made it with some other bodily fluid, but Greg decided he could live with that. If he could get Lecter in a good mood maybe he could ask about Jim before he set off on his next round of entertainment.

Hopefully he'd survive that next round and he'd just... keep on surviving. He was seriously going to need to be reset if he got out of there. He was going to...

Going crazy, actually, because he swore he heard someone opening the front door.

If he'd heard it, there was no way that Lecter would miss it, and he tried hard, desperately hard to sit up to see what was happening. Police? Had they found them? A shot of adrenalin gave him strength and he shifted enough to try and see, though it left him panting and shaking.

The door creaked open, and then closed behind whoever it was. He twisted, peering and holy shit, it was Will. He could see Will scan the room, could see him sight Greg's weakened position, and he wasted no time in kneeling down beside Greg. Free, oh, god, he could be free soon...

But Lecter was there, he would know and...

And everything fell into place, in a flash of revelation. How Lecter had managed to toy with Will all this time. He'd broken Will's wetwire encryption a long time ago, and Will had *never* had a reset. He wouldn't recognize it, he wouldn't know, he didn't know and he would be a sitting duck for whatever Lecter wanted.

"Go..." he whispered "Go, please... it's the chip; he'll get you with that."

"Shhh." Will hissed it, cutting at the lightly twisted ropes around his wrists and ankles. "Run. Run, they're just outside."

Run? Run he couldn't even move. But Will couldn't see that, couldn't realize what Lecter had done and...

"Hello, Will, would you like some brioche?" Lecter's voice said from the doorway to the kitchen. "I'm sure there's enough for all of us."

Will froze, going stiff, and Greg thought he could see fear hit Will's eyes hard before he stood up. "I'm sure there is. It's been a while, Hannibal."

"Summers past," Hannibal said and he was smiling. "I see you found your stray pet. A most amusing distraction. He actually was interesting. I can see why you liked him."

Greg wanted to help, but he just didn't know how. He could work free if he was careful, but the tension in the air was thick and crackling with danger.

"He's not what you want." Will stepped a little closer, positioning himself between Lecter and Greg. "Is he?"

"Is this going to be like some clichéd tale of a man risking his life for a stray dog?" Lecter asked stepping closer to him as well. "Will, I thought you understood things better than that. Did you know he comes when he screams?"

A grimace hit Will's face, twisted his tense expression. "Hey, I'm a stray dog, too. Just doing my job here, Hannibal, so we might as well keep this between you and me."

"And what do you want Will?" Hannibal said approaching and Greg felt it, felt the whispering stir of his wetwire chip picking up a signal. "I wanted you to come here, to me. To come to me of your own free will. I like to see you fall to the inevitable because we are inevitable, you and I..."

"No..." Greg managed. "No, Will, don't listen..."

But he felt the signal, even if it wasn't being sent straight to his chip, and Will sucked in a breath, held it, staring at Hannibal. "What, what I want doesn't matter. Let them go, and I'm here."

"Oh and I thought we could enjoy them together. Did you think this was an exchange?" Lecter gave a low chuckle. "I don't think I promised to let anyone go. I thought we might keep him. At least for a little while."

Greg worked frantically at the partially severed ropes at his wrists. He had to stop this from happening. Something from happening. If the other were outside where were they?

"I'm not... not going to be you." But he could see Will shiver, could see him shake his head sharply, trying to physically throw off the compulsions of his chip. "I'm not you. I am not going to become that to become you, I will not, I..." He made a jerking motion, pulled his gun and pulled the trigger.

Greg didn't know if he missed or if he hit him or took him down a little but Lecter was moving at that speed and then it was going badly wrong because he saw a device that looked like one of the reset remotes go flying and he lunged for it, unable to get it more crawling than anything. A table crashed and things were falling, and bouncing around him, a vase tipping and a shower of roses and water fall onto him and -- shit, the remote.

It sparked and there was an intense surge of feeling. Not of arousal but anger and darkness.

It was thick and choking, and Greg couldn't move through it, couldn't get the wherewithal to stand up or get to his feet, and he really needed to get the damn remote out of the water.

It was the gunshot that startled him to coherency.

He'd been acting over-sedated, overly controllable, and yeah, part of it had been to ignore the screams while he worked out a way to really shake off the haze, but gunshots were a warning sign that it was time for him to move his ass, whether or not he hurt physically or didn't really have all of his coordination going or not.

Lecter's main abuse of him had been by neglect so he was shaky with hunger and thirst but he had managed to work at the door, and now, he was just going to use brute force. He knew how to kick down a door... if he could stand up.

His limbs felt like lead and he was stiff as hell, but maybe Lecter had been working on body weight and not tolerance and he had a good tolerance to drugs. Burned them off quick so he hadn't been completely helpless.

There was a helluva racket downstairs and he straightened and made it to the door unsteadily. A couple of good kicks would snap the lock.

House doors, home doors, were one hundred percent shitty, layered cardboard that made particle board look grand, and it hurt his heel like hell, but a good snap of a kick did it. Better than busting the locks, it took out the hinges, right off the screws on the other side.

Just as well he was still solid even after days of near starvation. He looked hastily in the next door bedroom where Lecter must've had Greg. Nothing there but a tumble of bloodstained sheets. Poor kid. He shouldn't have done that.

He headed down the stair towards the noise, hearing roars of rage and then the smash of glass. Jim had been in bar fights that sounded like that.

"Feels good doesn't it Will? You've finally let go... well done!" Lecter's voice sounded feral but delighted and there was another crash as Jim looked to try and assess the situation.

"Fuck! Fuck, get out of my head!" He wasn't sure how much the guy had actually 'let go', or what was even going on, but he was holding a gun and hunched over a side table, and Lecter was standing with his back to the stairs. Greg was on the floor beside the sofa, struggling and Jesus he was a mess, but that was something to take care of later. "I'll, I'll shoot, I'll pull the trigger!"

"Shoot then and who will stop you doing what you want to do? You want to kill, don't you? You want to *taste* death, to lap at your pet's throat as his life pours away..." Lecter replied in creepiest goddamn voice Jim had ever heard. "You know I'm right, Will. You know what you need."

Jim decided all he needed was something heavy to hit the bastard over the head with. He was the wild card here; Lecter seemed to think he had everything under control one way or another but he didn't know about him. He glanced around and found a signed baseball bat and some golf clubs. After a bit of thought he chose the baseball bat.

And then he didn't even hesitate, no moral qualms about giving warning, like procedure said he should. Nothing. He just moved fast and swung with all his strength at the back of Lecter's head even as the sociopath laughed at Will.

It was a lot more effective than he could have hoped for, and it seemed to startle Will -- at least, he was guessing that was Will -- upright, lips curled back over his teeth as he brought the gun up hesitatingly. He was shaking his head like a dog in seizure, one shoulder jerking back, and okay, there was a gun pointed at him, and he was naked, but hopefully he could get the guy to not shoot him.

And then Lecter groaned from the floor. Will dropped the gun's angle sharply down and fired twice.

"Whoa... okay, hold up," Jim said, using a voice he'd employed before to talk down cracked out junkies. "He's down. Will? I've heard about you."

Where the hell was the guy's back up?

He held the gun down, still pointed at Lecter, the same way Jim used when he was trying to keep a live subject subdued. His teeth were gritted tightly. "Get, get out of here. Get Greg out of here. They're outside. Need a signal. I..." There was a head-shaking again, and he whined sharply. "Fuck!"

"Think the gunshots might've clued them in," Jim said dryly and moved to Greg, who was clothed but blood had obviously been seeping through. He was sprawled out as if he was trying to reach something and to his surprise made a noise when he touched him.

"...Jim... can't turn it off... tried... can't..."

"Kill me." Will's gun was still angled down, and the words distracted Jim from the act of picking up the bizarre remote control that Greg was clutching. "Please, please, if they come through that door, if they, I'll kill them all, I can't, this is too much, I'll kill myself first."

"Put him out," Greg whispered. "Knock him out."

Jim couldn't see how that would harm. He wasn't going to kill a guy who had come to their rescue but he didn't have to tell him that.

"Okay," he said to Will. "Gimme the gun. I'll get it done for you okay?" There he was naked, and demanding a gun off of a Criminal Empath gone way over the edge. As if his life hadn't been exciting enough. Will jerked his head again, lifting it, pointing it like he was trying to target Jim, but his fingers started to un-knot from it, and Jim lunged when he saw Will's finger leave the trigger.

He had the gun and he looked at Will. "You know, I'm really sorry I have to do this."

He looked him in the eye and for a moment, thought he'd found someone who put his experiences in the shade. Will looked like he was in hell. And he was just standing there, waiting to be killed. God.

He raised the gun muzzle and stepped close, and he still didn't move away. "Really sorry, Will."

And then he blindsided him with a punch with his full weight behind it, with enough force to crack his damn knuckles.

It worked like a charm, took him right down, and it left Jim swaying and his hand aching as Will collapsed into a pile on the carpet, partially atop Lecter, near Greg, and yeah, they were a mess. He started to put the gun down when he heard the cavalry come to the rescue, knocking down the front door.

He turned as they came in and started laughing, a low painful laugh, bitter and sharp. Naked, half drugged and surrounded by bodies he was still the last man standing, with the backup too late to be of any use to anyone.

Then and only then did he sit down and allow himself to hope it might be over.

Nick was grateful for the clause that made housemates count as family. It meant that they had been allowed to go in to the hospital. The Feds were half taking over the scene and they were meant to be off shift, though Catherine was handling the liaison with Jack and Warrick and Sara got sucked in by another murder case that was turning into a double.

None of them wanted Jim to come round alone, so he was on duty for that job and glad of it.

There were a lot of other places that were worse to be than waiting for Jim to come around. Not that he'd just waited, because then he would have been a shitty investigator. He'd read the clip-board at the bottom of Jim's bed, and he'd remembered the victims of the killer who'd initially taken Jim captive. The fact that he had internal damage was completely not a surprise. The fact that he had an infection was also less than surprising.

Jim had evidence collected from him as part of the process, and now there he was in defiance of the odds that said if you didn't get them back in 24 hours, then you didn't get them back at all.

He'd lost weight. The weight Catherine teased him about at breakfast when he reached for the extra whatever. He was paler than normal. And he hated the way seeing him like that made Nick feel. Jim wasn't the vulnerable one. He was the tough guy.

Jim was the guy who was standing when everyone else had given up, and he was the guy who worked a triple with only a little complaining while the rest of them were cross-eyed and whining. He was the head of their *home*, and not just a figurehead. He made sure everything got done somehow, that they had food in the place, that things didn't fall apart completely despite the latest case, and... there he was. Hospital bed.

His daughter hadn't even showed when they put out the call that he'd been abducted. He didn't understand that. Jim was a great guy, a good father-figure to them at least. Yeah, he'd busted all of them down a time or two. But he'd given Warrick a second chance, he'd gone the distance with all of them and he'd never told him how much he meant to him.

Nick hated the thought that he might be broken mentally.

It seemed pretty possible. He'd worked that scene, he'd gone over the items that had Jim's blood on it, that had other people's blood on it, and if that had been *him* having that shoved up his ass, if that had been *him*, cut up, Nick wasn't sure he'd be all right. So, he held his one-man vigil, hovering beside Jim's bed. Once Jim was awake and maybe once he was asleep again, Nick would see where Greg and Will were.

All he knew was that they'd been taken off in different directions. He was pretty sure they'd been talking surgery.

"You're not pretty enough to be a nurse," he heard a rough voice say and he'd managed to miss Jim opening his eyes.

"Nah. The hot one just ran off and told me to sit here and try my hardest to look pretty." That didn't *sound* mentally broken, but Nick was going to be careful until he saw more of Jim up and about and awake. Back at home, too. "How'm I doing?"

"Grow your hair some more and I'd take you home," Jim answered. "Jesus, I feel worse now I'm in hospital. What the hell's that all about?"

"You ran out of adrenaline. Also, you're hooked up to some pretty funky tubes, and I'm supposed to tell you to not try to stand up any time soon." Starting with the IV into his arm, and moving on down. "Cath's out fielding the FBI, or you know she'd be there."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed she was first in with the damn swat team. Either she's been moonlighting or... shit." Jim had attempted to move and it hadn't worked. "So, you've read my chart. They remove anything vital?"

"Some, uh..." Nick swallowed, and studied Jim's face. "I'm uh, not sure I should be the one to really try to explain it, because I could explain it all wrong, and get your hopes up, or explain it all wrong and give you a heart attack. Maybe when Al gets off shift."

Jim just looked at him. "Yeah, kind of what I thought. Jesus."

His expression seemed to war between emotions, not settling on one in particular until he said. "Tell me about Will and Greg."

Which was just as hard to explain as it was that he'd read about 'reconstructive surgery', and tissue excised, and yeah. One weird topic to another. "They're both in surgery. Apparently Lecter took some skin off of Greg. He circumcised him, too. We think that's what he mailed us with the letter that Will used to, uh, find you guys."

Jim cleared his throat. "He made himself a target, did it deliberately." He shook his head. "He didn't even know me."

Nick heard his voice go rough and noticed how Jim gripped at the sheet.

"He knew that we cared enough about you to pull something bizarre and last minute like buying two Professional Empaths to find you. He and Will spent a few hours in your room, trying to get a feel for you. Greg's a good guy." Nick wanted to touch Jim's hand, just reassure him that he was there, but maybe he'd gotten too much into that habit in the last couple of days with Will.

Jim did look at his hand and then looked up at him. "He ... I heard him screaming a lot," he said. "He just sedated me. I wasn't interesting to him."

"Yeah." Nick let his hand move, patted at Jim's fingers because it *was* what he wanted to do. "We're not just going to drop him. He went out on a limb for you. When I find out what room he's in, you can bet he's going to have visitors."

"Good." Jim exhaled. "Good. Greg was trying to tell me something about the chips? Why Will was going crazy?"

"Lecter had a control box. Apparently he'd over-ridden their wet-wiring. Will's actually shorted out, so they're in there re-wiring him, and he was dehydrated. Guy's been living on cigarettes and coffee, so I'm not really surprised." Nick patted at Jim's hand again, a little awkward about what Jim's line was going to turn out to be after everything that had happened. It was just good to have him back, to have him *alive*. "They need to be reset, and Catherine wouldn't. Couldn't, because they needed to work. Will's a burnout, and he didn't think he'd be able to do anything if he was reset. That Jack guy has never reset him."

"Greg said something about that, about him going to need it. The other guy, Toby, he did get to him before Lecter so-say rescued us," Jim answered

"Yeah. The uh, plan was that Will and Greg would find Toby, bait him, and backup would get the guy, and... and Will got tazered and, and here we are." Nick couldn't help but grimace a little as he told Jim that.

"Yeah, Greg told me that, too," Jim said again. "Greg wasn't sure if he was dead." He leaned back and exhaled. He sounded normal but there was just the faintest hint of a tremor or shake to his fingers, his breathing. "Anything happen back at the Graveyard?"

"Nah. Place was dead quiet without you there. We've had a few cases, nothing really earth shattering. Sara and Warrick are out working a Homicide." Nick pressed a little against his fingers. "You're gonna be okay, all right? We're going to make sure you come out of this okay. Now, do you need anything?"

"Last few weeks as a do-over?" Jim suggested. "Nah, I'm good Nick. Thanks for hanging around. All I want to know now is how the others are and what's happening with Lecter, if he's dead or not, so go out there and put those investigating skills to some use."

"Lecter's dead." Nick could at least assure him of that. "Do you want me to go around and see how Greg and Will are, then report back to you?"

"Yeah. Yeah that'd be good Nick," Jim said. "And if you see a doctor to come and tell me how screwed I am, please send 'em in."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that. Jim, I'm... I'm glad you're back. I'm sorry we didn't find you sooner. You get some rest and I'll find that doctor." And get an explanation *himself*, first, so that Jim couldn't play it down and do too much too soon. Nick started to stand up, and gave Jim's hand one last squeeze.

To his surprise Jim actually squeezed back, though he didn't say anything. Nick would put a bet on the fact that he was trying really hard to be normal.

He left the room, heading towards the nurses' station, to try and track down Greg and Will.

And a doctor. A doctor, but just in general, he needed information and Nick knew how to get it, smiling at the women. "Hey there."

"What can we do for you CSI Stokes?" One of the nurses replied automatically smiling back at him.

"I've got a couple of questions. I'm looking for my Housemates Will Graham and Greg Sanders, and I need to talk to a Doctor about Owner Jim Brass." And hopefully that second one before Jim fell asleep.

"Let me see, Greg Sanders was in the ICU. He's still there but less critical. Will Graham was in surgery and was in recovery about an hour ago so I would think he is in a secure ward right now," the nurse replied. "I'll just buzz the doctor on call."

"Thanks." Secure ward. Yeah, that sounded about right, that they'd lock him down whether he was chipped or not, and Nick was willing to bet that they weren't going to move Greg to the secure ward. Then again, Greg was messed up in different ways than Will.

It was a testament to the high profile of their patients that a doctor turned up quickly in response to the summons. After a brief conversation with the nurse he turned to Nick. "CSI Stokes, I believe you wanted to talk to me?"

"Owner Brass wants to talk to you about his injuries. I..." Nick cleared his throat. "As the house representative here right now, I need to have them explained to me, too. I gave his chart a scan, but..."

"We are currently waiting for the antibiotics to take effect," the doctor said. "Owner Brass has some internal damage from his ordeal that will require surgery. It is not life threatening at this point in time, but undoubtedly some of the stressful positions have caused a hernia in his large intestine that has tortionated. We also need to ensure all tears are sealed as well."

"But if all of that gets, I mean, if it goes well, he'll be all right? I mean, everything will function?" Nick wanted to know, because if he was then he could reassure Jim that he was going to be all right.

"Yes. Yes, the danger is at the moment that his intestine might perforate before we get to the surgery stage and he'll go in as an emergency case," the doctor replied seriously. "Otherwise he has been very lucky in terms of physical damage. There is no permanent muscle damage from the abuse and though he shows signs of physical abuse which is undoubtedly very painful, it is all recoverable. He'll have to take it easy though."

"Okay. When's he supposed to go in for surgery?" And then he'd let the Doctor get on his way.

"Tomorrow if his fever has dropped," the Doctor replied. "Is that everything?"

"Yeah. Except you're going to have to give this whole spiel again to Owner Brass, because he's awake now." Nick threw out a smile. "Thanks for your time, sir. My working house appreciates it."

"I'll go do that now," he promised and headed off towards Jim's room, leaving Nick to his own devices.

Which was really just a matter of deciding which Empath he wanted to see first. Except, if Greg was in ICU, then a little extra time could be a good thing. It wasn't as if Will would be more coherent in two hours or two minutes, but with Greg, he might just shake off a little more anesthesia. So, Nick decided he was sort of saving the best for last, as he headed to the elevator.

It took a little bit of detective work and throwing his weight around to get into the secure ward. It was weird, he'd spent more time with Will than with Greg but Will had unnerved him. He couldn't help that. Hell, he unnerved everyone except maybe Greg. He wanted to see if he was okay, that much was true, but he hadn't warmed to the guy in the same way he had to Greg.

There was really nothing to warm up to. He'd been a nervous breakdown in progress, not really human. Hell, he'd been tazered twice, and they'd *still* had to sedate him to get him down off a fit. But... but, he still needed to be checked in on, so Nick approached his bed a little cautiously, eyeing the man's still body.

They'd shaved his hair, which meant they must've installed another chip after all that. It made him look younger and, with his eyes closed like that, he looked oddly vulnerable. He glanced down and saw they hadn't taken chances. His wrists were in padded cuffs attached to the raised side bars of the cot. At least they had rehydrated him.

There was an IV in his arm, and it didn't look like he'd pulled at it. Nick looked around, and pulled a pretty bare stool up to Will's bed. Cuffed down, and re-chipped, ready for work again, Nick figured. It wasn't much of a *life*, and it wasn't much like the case examples they'd been given of the guy.

He guessed he could see why Greg had seemed so protective of the guy. He was a Permanent Specialist, he didn't get to opt out, he just got to endure. Greg had emphasized the importance of touch so if all he could do today was hold hands that was what he was going to do.

He'd expected the hesitant motions that Jim had given him. But Will turned his fingers, a calm motion, and squeezed lightly. "Surprise. Company."

He managed not to jump. "Hey Will, wasn't sure if you were awake or not," he said in a deliberately soothing voice. "How're you feeling?"

"Like someone kicked me in the head." He swallowed, shifted his fingers just a little. "Jim's got a hell of a punch."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think sometimes he thinks he could've been a contender, if you know what I mean," Nick answered keeping contact with the fingers. "Think some of that feeling might be down to surgery though."

"Yeah. I, I really need to be reset. So, if when Catherine is around, if you could..." He moved his fingers, like he was waving.

"I'll ask," Nick promised. "Might need to wait a little. Still feeling shaky?"

That had to be a massive understatement; the fact he was restrained was a hint at least things were more than shaky.

Will cocked an eyebrow at him. "Yeah. Yeah, looks, this, it's not rocket science. You take the code, and there's a whole new one, put it into the remote, and press the button, and I finally get to stop thinking for the first time in decades. This really isn't something that needs to be sat on for another couple of days because you're all uneasy with it. Hell, I've got a 30 percent chance of going into a coma, but I'm okay with that. This takes no consideration on your part."

"Will, you've just had brain surgery," Nick said. "I'm thinking they might have some sort of recovery time going on and you've not had it before. They won't want to take risks with you they don't have to. But like I said, I'll ask. You might be ready."

Will closed his eyes tightly, and pulled at the cuffs with one hand. "You have no idea what this is like. No idea. Do you think I care what the risks are?"

"No. But we do," Nick said. "We don't want to lose you okay?" He was surprised at how much he meant that. "You'll get the reset, I'll promise you that much. Maybe... maybe I can ask and see if they can give you something to take the edge off, y'know?"

Not that he was one hundred percent sure what the edge was, but Will seemed wound up and desperate. "Nothing but a bullet in my head is going to take the edge off right now. Jim should have shot me."

"It's gonna get better," Nick promised. "Lecter was messing with your chip ,man, it's not your fault."

"No, no, I've been like this for years. Without him doing anything to my chip. I creep you out, don't I? Because you know I'm a threat. I'm in the hospital and I'm cuffed *down*. I have, I have no freedom, no life..."

"You will," Nick tried to soothe. "Greg seems to think he can help you and Greg been pretty much right about things all along. He seems to know more about this than any of us. He did try and attack Crawford on your behalf you know. Even... the way he was."

Will swallowed, tilted his head down, chin against his chest. "I want to be reset. I want to be turned *off*."

Nick could help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man. "We'll do it okay? Just hang in there a little bit longer." He squeezed the other man's hand softly. "Can I get you some ice chips or something?"

There was quiet hesitation, and then he nodded slightly. "Yeah. Throat's dry."

Nick nodded. "Hold on." He got up and fetched some. For all his discomfort, and the weird intensity that the other man focused on him, he was very vulnerable and trapped and Nick had a lot of sympathy for that sort of situation. He returned with a cup of the ice chips and settled to feed them to Will one by one. Then he'd head up to see Greg.

He supposed that the act could have been a slow, intimate one, but it wasn't. Will's focus was elsewhere, god knew where, and he chewed a few and swallowed, and thanked Nick, like he was releasing him from his helpful task.

He waited for an awkward moment to see if it were real and then stood slowly. "I'm going on up to see Greg now okay? I'll talk to the others for you and I'll see you soon, Will, okay?"

"Okay." He closed his eyes. "Thanks. Let him know that I'm sorry."

"I don't think he blames you, but I'll tell him," Nick replied. "Later man."

With that he headed out again, looking to pass on the messages. Will was obviously in a lot of distress. He didn't think it was particularly normal for a guy to beg to be killed, to show that much of a lack of interest in his continued survival. Nick left the secured area, waving to the nurse, and tried to chart a course for the ICU.

Nick wanted to see Greg, he wanted him to be okay. He'd seen enough to know Greg had bad blood loss but he didn't know how much physical damage there was to go with that. He couldn't get over the fact he'd thought Greg was being a drama queen about telling him where things were if things went really horribly wrong. He knew Greg had seen that skepticism and just carried on. He hated the thought that that was Greg's last experience with him.

He was going to have to fix it. He'd just... have to get an update on Greg's status and apologies for his own reaction and hope he was all right. Because he *was* a good guy, and Jim was right. He needed to be told it.

He reached the ICU ward and discovered that Greg was no longer in the critical area and more in a holding area before he was sent back to an ordinary ward. The nurse on duty was very helpful. Apparently the worst of it had been the significant blood loss, and the transfusion had settled down his wildly erratic vital signs significantly so yes, he could have visitors even if he was apparently on strong drugs.

Nick had a little hope that he could at least carry on a half-coherent conversation with Greg, but if all he got to do was sit at his side and smile. Well, Nick would be all right with it.

He peered in around the door, surprise to find Greg lying on one side, facing the door, his eyes flicking open as he heard someone enter. "...Hey Nick."

"Hey Greg. How're you feeling?" He sidled up to Greg's bed, same as he'd done with Jim and Will, studying his face.

"Like something the cat dragged in, vomited on and then sat on," Greg managed. "Maybe a herd of cats. No wait... 's not a herd. What's a group of cats?"

"A mess? Gaggle?" Nick pulled his chair up closer, reaching a hand to gently touch Greg's shoulder. He seemed so much more vulnerable. Maybe it was the body positioning. "You okay mentally?"

Greg looked up at him with dark eyes and shook his head. "Nope. But not likely to do a repeat performance of B movie monster 'must-kill' impression." There was just a little slurring to Greg's voice as he spoke, just a hint that he was on drugs. "Are Will and Jim okay? I fuzzed out in bits at the end," Greg replied seeming grateful at least for his attention. "And... and you're doing great. I was really worried I was going to be alone."

"Nah. The only reason you're not with Will is because they've got him up in the secure ward right now. That and you just got out of ICU. Jim's... facing some more surgery, but the doctor's got a pretty good outlook, and Jim's been awake and lucid. Will's had his wetwire re-wired."

That seemed to make Greg more alert. "He has? Have they... have they tried a reset yet?" he asked. "How is he?"

"They haven't reset him yet." He wasn't going to repeat what Will had said to him, not when Greg was looking up at him like that, giving him eyes that looked so damn hopeful. "He's kind of a mess."

"I need to be there for the reset," Greg said immediately. "I need to be there to help him out of it. It takes careful handling and I don't think any of you guys know enough to do it for someone like Will."

"I..." Nick smiled as he exhaled. "I think we're all in over our heads, Greg. You're going to have to be reset, too. What do I need to know to help you? Seeing as I don't think I'm going to have to use your will."

"You're willing to do that with me?" Greg asked and he looked pathetically grateful. "It's...it won't be so bad with me, but this was pretty rough and dealing with Will is going to be a tough one too. Do you know anything about it?"

"Not enough to be useful. Hey, do you want some ice-chips or something, and you can tell me about?" Draw it out, keep the contact longer. If Greg was that grateful, then Nick wanted to stay. Greg was all about the physicality.

"Yeah, yeah, I think they left some here not long ago, I just couldn't be bothered to move," Greg replied. "I'm trying to think of a way of explaining what it's about... Uh, imagine a computer. It's got a core operating system right? That would be like your own personality. Well a Criminal Empath, or a Professional Victim has the equivalent of running programs when they are running hot. Lots of them. A bit from this a bit from that, and the longer it goes on, the more of a stress it puts on the core system. Even if you *try* and shut it all down, often there are those weird things running in the background. And they conflict with normal operations, y'know? So you do what you do for a computer. You reset it. Forces a close down of all non-core processes and brings it up with the core personality, uh, the main operating system only. That make sense?"

Yeah, it made sense, but he wasn't sure how that applied to a human being. Not that it stopped Nick from looking, sighting the ice-chips, and leaning up to grab them for Greg. They were a little past melty, but it would still feel good. "Yeah. But what does it do to *you*?"

"It's pretty much like a whole body orgasm," Greg replied quietly. "It floods the brain with what is a complete pleasure short circuit. I... I'll probably climax with it, maybe more than once, going on past performances I'll cry, maybe vomit and Aiden said, used to say, I'd cling like the world depended on me holding on for dear life. Then I'll pass out. It sort of fast forwards emotional reactions rather than suppressing it. When I come around again, the most important thing is that I feel safe and cared for because that is the push button to get the rest of me back. Within an hour of waking up I'll be absolutely fine."

It sounded hellish. It sounded unnatural, but that was why they were wet-wired, wasn't it? So they could live all that on fast forward, and be past it. "You'll be really okay after all of that? Even with what happened? I mean, that Toby guy had you, too, and Lecter..."

Lecter had deep fried Greg's foreskin. There really weren't words for that.

"I... I should be," Greg replied. He swallowed a bit. "I guess you know what Toby did and some of Lecter's but..." He stopped, his composure fragile.

"Yeah. We got it in a package, and whatever happened, he was manipulating your mind. I tried to tell Will that..." And Nick didn't want to think about what that sort of fast forward would be like for a guy who'd been running like that for decades, if Greg knew he was going to come, and cry and throw up and cling.

"He was clever..." Greg admitted. "I only just realized what he was doing he.... hacked mine. He seduced me, convincing me I was a slut because I was responding and I couldn't work out why. Then..." He voice was shaking a little. "Then he had me tied down and he cut patterns in me with a knife and fuck... I came over and over while I screamed. Because, because of what he did there...."

"It's okay." Nick squeezed his shoulder, and offered a couple of ice-chips to Greg's mouth. "You know, you've done this for years, Greg. You know how criminals work."

"Not like that, the chip has never been used against me..." he managed and then took the ice chips. "You sure you want to do this? Because I can do it alone."

"Like hell I'm going to let you do that alone. I remember the last time I tried to do stomach flu on my own." Nick dipped his fingers into the cup again, and offered Greg another wet ice-chip. "We're a family unit. So, what're your other injuries? I'm not going to let you over extend yourself."

"Some internal. Toby fisted me in front of Jim, helluva a way to make an impression," Greg said ruefully and he seemed more worried about the impression than the action. "Lecter took my foreskin, then ....well there was a lot of sex and cutting and things got a bit rough there. I'm better than I have a right to be I guess."

"You and Jim are both going to be on the same Jell-O and banana diet for a while," Nick guessed. "Hey, Sara makes a mean tomato soup. Just for reference. And the doctors here are real good."

"Jim was great," Greg said still slurring a little. "Totally nakedly blindsided Lecter. Thought Lecter was cooking him up for breakfast."

"Cracked his head in good. He's dead. Will pumping him full of lead just sped the brain bleed along." Nick offered that out, and Will hadn't even asked that one, had he? No, and he probably didn't want to know in the state of mind he was in. "They're autopsying him. The freakish thing is that they've got to find his will to see if his brain and all can be donated to science."

"I'm not sure I'll believe him dead even if I see the ashes," Greg replied with a shudder that made him wince. He reached to touch Nick then, looking at him again. "Do you think was he right? He said I wanted to sleep with all of you and I... I..."

"Hey. You know what? If you did want to sleep with all of us, that doesn't mean there's a damn thing wrong with you. That guy was fucked up, and people like that ruin what sex is for the rest of us, okay?" He grasped Greg's hand, squeezing tightly.

Greg smiled at him. "Thanks Nick. I'll pay you back somehow. You don't know how freaked I've been about doing this alone but I can take a break now, really rest."

"A good long rest. When you get out of here, I think you deserve a good couple of weeks at least to rest and just do nothing before even thinking of going to the lab." He patted Greg's hand again, smiling at him. It was so easy to want to respond warmly to Greg.

"Yeah, maybe I'll get to dust off my DNA and trace skills," Greg replied. "Go on. I'll be fine now I know you are coming back."

"Okay. I *am* coming back," Nick reiterated, shifting to stand up. "I'm going to go hunt down Catherine, and I'll be back in a few hours at most."

Greg nodded again "I'll be here," he said and he saw Greg close his eyes even as he turned to leave.

If this reset was going to help Greg then the least he could do was be there for him when it happened. He and Will had managed to lead them to Jim and get him out alive. In the end that was more than any of them had dared hope. Jim Brass was alive.

It was very disconcerting to wake up from a doze and find two of his housemates in his room. For a brief moment he was wondering if they'd over celebrated and he'd finally gone too far and invited the whole household into his bed or something.

And then he remembered he was in hospital and scheduled for surgery the following day and that Catherine and Nick just didn't seem to have a home to go to at the moment.

Or, if the house was still standing they weren't interested in being there. "I'm just saying. They both need to be reset, and leaving both of them not reset yet is... it's torture, Catherine."

"From what you've said, doing the reset is going to be bad for Greg, and downright dangerous for Will, and I don't know what the hell to do if something goes wrong," Catherine replied.

Jim would've traded a part of his lower intestine -- the bit that was being extracted anyway from what the doctor said -- to have a magic button to make it all go away right now. It was there, everything that happened and some of them didn't have state of the art technology embedded in their brains. He was going to have to live it.

He cautiously opened an eye, still tired after all the sleeping and the pain in his gut which he had been dismissing as hunger and bruising starting up again even with the pain meds.

Yeah, he *knew* what it was, but he didn't want to think about it, or that the surgery was soon. "It's going to be emotionally bad for about an hour, and that's it. Done, the end. And Will, yeah, sure, that's dangerous for him, but he's cuffed to a hospital bed right now. He's not going to be able to function unless you do it. I dropped in to get him some ice-chips, and he kept asking me to kill him. Do you want to live with that?"

And neither of them had noticed he was awake yet.

"No. No... Jesus, I blew the whole recruitment budget on the pair of them without clearance Nick, and the only way I'm going to get out of that mess is because they did it...they finally got Lecter," Catherine said in a low voice. "I had no idea what I was getting in to. You know I usually spend a long time researching purchases. I just, I don't want them to suffer, but I don't want to completely screw them over. Crawford keeps offering to buy Will back... I... I don't know whether I should say yes or not if only because they at least know about Empath designations there."

"No." Jim interrupted. "No, you're not selling them on."

Nick twisted, and Jim watched him twist, watched him lean to get the glass of half-melted ice-chips, too. "Hey, Jim. Did we wake you up?"

"Yeah," Jim replied screwing up his eyes a little until he adjusted to the light. "You're not selling them. I made a promise to Will, so you do the reset as soon as is safe okay?"

"For Greg as well?" Catherine asked.

"Especially for Greg," Jim replied. "It's no junky fix for him; Lecter did a number on him. He spent most of an entire evening and night screaming and he took most of what the other guy did without a fuss. He needs it."

"You probably need it, too," Nick murmured, offering Jim the edge of his plastic cup. "Want something to drink? They're doing, uh, pretty good, once you take it all into consideration."

"Yeah. Got to get in before the Nil by mouth kicks in at midnight," Jim replied. "Maybe then they'll let me eat after the operation. Hey Cath, think I've lost that extra weight." He reached for the cup, trying to sit up.

"I think that's the last thing any of us are worried about." Catherine cleared her throat, while Nick steadied the cup for Jim. "I'm not going to sell them on, if you don't want me to."

"Consider it official," Jim replied. It was easier to pretend things were okay if he just tried to slip back into his normal role. "I'll back the purchase, and I want them. And I know more about them than you guys seem to."

Which to be fair was not unexpected. There were usually training sessions, and high level seminars which they wouldn't be at.

"Go for the reset. If it screws up with Will, then he'll be relieved either way. Guy wanted me to shoot him. I don't do that to my housemates, otherwise Hodges wouldn't still be with us."

"If you ever want to delegate that one..." Nick let that offer dangle out as he steadied the cup for him. "Dayshift is picking up some of our workload until we get this all straightened out. The Sheriff is pretty pleased, right Cath?"

"Practically had a political orgasm on camera," Catherine replied, dryly which was enough to make him snort and then wince at the laughter.

"A mental image I never want to see again. You guys went over my rooms when I was missing?" Jim asked. "That mean you found my porn stash?"

"I dunno. Catherine, did we find Jim's porn stash?" Nick twisted a little, even as he offered Jim an ice-chip. Hell, he didn't care if they had, he was *alive*.

"I think we found his fake porn stash," Catherine said with a smile. "Because there was a notable lack of guys in them."

"Yeah well, equal opportunity when it comes to that," Jim replied taking it. "So how are they? Nick, you are giving me a report on them right?"

"On what, the porn?"

Catherine laughed. "Yeah, want a quality report Nick." She slapped him lightly on the arm.

"I might be missing out and not knowing," Jim replied. It was too easy to do this, to divert things away from him, from everything that happens.

There was a lot that *had* happened, a lot for him to have to think about. And yeah, Greg and Will were going to have it all turned off like light switches. Well, Greg was, sort of. And Will... Hopefully the guy would survive. But Jim had it all in his head, the struggle, the weighing when to give in and how to give in without seeming inviting to that crazy bastard who'd kidnapped him the first time.

"There hasn't been any time. Plus, I think Sara took off with them. Otherwise, Greg and Will put your place back together."

"Well, that's something I guess," Jim replied. "No one's managed to burn the house down, Sara hasn't managed to give us food poisoning again or anything? Warrick learn how to cook properly?"

"Uh, actually dinner was pretty passable last night, what we ate." Nick gave Jim a slow smirk. "Oh, hey! Both Greg and Will can cook."

"Definitely keeping them then," Jim replied. Nick had relaxed some; he hated seeing the worry and anxiety there, he didn't deserve that. He'd been through enough. And Catherine looked like she'd had a rough ride as his second while he'd been out of the picture. He could only imagine the pressure from the Sheriff, the other Owners, from the House, and all. She looked tired.

"So when are you doing this reset?"

Catherine probably hadn't even thought of that, since she and Nick had been arguing over whether to do it at all when Jim had woken up. Catherine looked at Nick, and then nodded her head slightly. "While you're in surgery, I guess. Greg first."

"He wants to help us figure out how to do Will's. If you have any suggestions..."

"Kid managed to get inside Lecter's head, so I think I'd go with what he recommends rather than anything the feds say," Jim said starting to feel the strain of pretending he was okay. How the hell was he going to manage when they released him?

They all looked up to him, and... and sure, they knew he was a victim, yeah, but none of them were used to handling people *after* the fact. Victims were cases, and he was pretty sure he'd made some mistakes with handling Nick after he'd been kidnapped...

"I don't like the FBI, so you don't have to worry about me listening too closely to them. Don't worry about it, Jim. We have it under control. Just focus on your surgery and that you're going to be okay."

"Yeah. Right now it hurts like hell so it can't come soon enough," Jim answered. "You guys go on back, report to the others. You know they'll be waiting. I'm not going to do anything interesting in the next few hours."

"You should still have company." Nick would probably volunteer to stay, volunteer to sleep the night there.

The thought of someone that close while he was unable to move just wasn't comforting. "Nick..." He wasn't sure how to say it so he just said, "I'd rather be alone with pre-operation nerves."

Nick started to say something else, but then he just nodded. "All right. But don't be surprised if Greg wants to visit you after he's been reset, all right?"

Jim nodded. Having woken up chained to the guy, there were a few barriers that had been forcibly knocked down. "Yeah, I get that. I owe him that. Appreciate you guys coming in, a lot."

"Okay. We'll be back later." Catherine leaned in, and briefly hugged him. It was enough to make him cringe, enough to catch him off guard when Nick stood.

"It's good to have you back, Jim."

"Good to be back. Like you wouldn't believe," Jim answered finding his voice not altogether solid and confident. "Say good work to everyone. And you both as well."

"We'll pass that on," Nick promised. He seemed reluctant to leave, and Jim couldn't blame him. It had been hard to leave Nick in the Hospital.

He just needed a bit of space. He was the Owner and he wasn't meant to fall apart. He wasn't meant to be the one abducted, or hurt or vulnerable, but he had been and it was like some terrible dark secret he was holding on to even if it wasn't a secret. He raised a hand as a farewell when they finally did go and hated the fact that he was at once relieved that he didn't have to try anymore and hating being alone with his thoughts.

He wasn't sure how the hell he could be Owner to anyone like this. Maybe he wouldn't be.

Catherine lingered, closed the door behind her. Greg could see the way she was holding her purse close to her. The remote was probably in it.

"Good. Jim's doing okay, and he just went into surgery."

"Oh… oh good," Greg said. "He didn't really complain about anything when I was there." Considering what he had been through, he should've been complaining about everything.

"He's still not complaining." Catherine offered that and smiled at Greg as she got closer. "I talked about this with him."

"Yeah, what'd he say?" Greg asked automatically.

"That I need to reset you, and I need to reset Will. You're not going to be sold on. I know that both of you have other qualifications, so once you're both back and functioning, we can use your other qualifications in the House more often than we need to deal with serial killers." Catherine shifted the remote in her hands.

That was a profound relief at least. "Okay, so you're ready to do it now?" he asked. He had to run through mental exercises quickly to start the process rolling.

"We're ready to do it now. Are *you* ready to do it now? Nick said you'd need company through it."

"It doesn't seem like the kind of experience you want to go through alone." Nick pulled a chair up close beside where Catherine stood, close to the bed.

"I... give me a moment; I need to start doing some mental exercises." Greg said. "Uh, there are some bowls there and tissues. Nick, you might need to get a little closer if I get out of it, just so you know."

He set the mental exercises running. He'd have to talk Will through these, but it activated things in his head. Mental protocols that would ensure that he would come back from the reset.

"How close do you want me?" Nick moved, posture open as he grabbed a bowl and tissues. It was nice, that he was so helpful in his offering, when he really had no idea what it was like. All he had to do was get his mind back to that place, back to the night in the club, and him and Will. It was after that that things had gotten bad, that he had lost himself in the other victims.

"As close as you're comfortable with," Greg said. All it needed was a connected memory, and when the reset happened it would follow it like a burning fuse through every little tendril. There, he had the feel there, the connecting point. He was ready. "I'm ready when you guys are."

Nick shifted, leaning against the side of the bed. Catherine gave them both a look, and Greg couldn't guess what it was, but she nodded. "Okay. I'll just put your code in, and..." She turned the remote on, punching in the sequence.

He was watching and holding that first memory in his mind up to the point that the chip activated and then he wasn't aware of much. White hot pleasure, a pure and orgasmic lightning strike through his whole body. The memories of this that were so powerful that day to day life were pale shadows compared to this timeless instant of nirvana. It enveloped him for a period of time and there was nothing except that experience, no awareness of his body, of his self or anything except bliss, joy and pleasure exploding in his mind.

Then the drift down where bits of awareness crept in, hints that his body was shuddering violently, tears were streaming down his face and all sensory input was triggering surges in arousal.

He was half aware that there were hands petting at his hair, holding him close, and he was grateful for that as he started to sink into deeper awareness of his own body, of the rushing feeling of misery and breakdown.

He hated this bit. It was a little like being conscious through a seizure, aware than his body was just doing its own thing as the images in his mind burned away. The touch, god, the touch made him feel safe and he connected the name of Nick to it and immediately lost control again because he was climaxing again, and heaving with uncontrollable sobs and he had no idea how he was going to look him in the face ever again.

It hadn't been a problem, when it was his partner, the other half of his working pair, because they were intimate, they knew each other's highs and lows. There was no controlling it, no way for him to do anything but shudder through it, sobbing and shaking, muscles tensing and letting go so fast that he could feel them burn.

His back was on fire, all of the marks Lecter had made were just... marks now to him. It was working. It was working and he gave into it, until he really started to regain control.

And then he promptly threw up from the strain on his muscles and steadied his hiccupping breathing as he tried to see out of puffy swollen eyes.

Everything *hurt*, but it was a familiar kind of hurt, a sore, strained, physically raw feeling. He wanted a shower, or at least a sponge bath, and some water, for a start. His mouth tasted like something had died in it, and that something was hospital food.

He half didn't want to acknowledge anyone else there. It would mean facing up to the fact he knew they had witnessed him in a really bad way and that was more than kind of embarrassing. On the other hand, he was himself again and he couldn't bear a silence.

"How... how long was it?" he rasped out. Time sense was one of the first things to go.

It felt like a flash, like an eye blink of time, but he was pretty sure that it had been longer. "Over an hour. You've gotta be wiped, man." Nick's voice pitched soft, and he sounded exhausted himself.

"Pretty much," Greg admitted and then reached to find Nick's hand. "Thanks man. It makes it... a lot easier."

Just knowing there was someone there, safe and watching, letting him let go. It really did help.

"Yeah. Catherine left a little while ago. Went to check up on Will. There, uh. Was an incident." Nick gave Greg a smile, and squeezed Greg's hand. "I bet you want a toothbrush."

"I do, wait... wait, an incident?" Greg asked feeling a surge of worry. "What? What happened, how is he?"

"He tried to bite a male nurse's arm. So Catherine needed to approve a gag on top of the wrist restraints. I think she's ready to believe that he *needs* the reset, though." Nick pulled away a little, and grabbed a glass of water. "Uh, I think you need a change of sheets, too."

"Crap. Just... fuck." Greg knew he wasn't quite ready to get down there yet. God only knew how long it would take and he needed to be there for all of it. "I need to clean up; I need to get down there."

"You need to drink this," Nick cut in. "And yeah, you need to clean up and rest and get some food in you before you go down there. He's next, and you won't have to sit through that alone, either."

"Look, his is going to be a whole lot worse and more complicated," he replied but as he had difficulty even moving he had to concede the point. "He doesn't know the protocols, he'll need talking through. I think I'll do what Aiden used to do and lie in behind him so I can talk to him without him getting at me too much. As you now know, it's pretty harrowing."

"Harrowing isn't the word I'd use." Nick supervised that drink, and slowly started to extricate himself. He probably wanted to change his clothes, too. "Let's get you cleaned up, then we can see if the Doctors will approve for you to be down in the secure ward."

He nodded in agreement and then looked at Nick again. "Thanks Nick . Seriously, I won't forget this."

An army of nurses would no doubt strip wash him and change all the sheets in record time. He knew he'd have to be patient but Will was hurting and he hated to think he was letting that go on.

It was part of what he did. He was supposed to watch and care for his Criminal Empath, just as much as the Criminal Empath was supposed to do the same for him. Hopefully, hopefully when it was all done they could stabilize each other, become a working unit. Hopefully they wouldn't have any serial killers to go after for a while.

"Hey, it's not like you owe me a life debt. It's how we work in this house. You saved Jim's life."

"I'm thinking Jim did a good job of saving himself," Greg replied which was true enough. "He managed enough guessing at the guy's motives to keep him interested and not killing him which can be hard, and then managed to escape from Lecter and take him down, work out what I was talking about and take Will down too. All apparently while in need of major surgery."

Surgery that they only talked about in vague terms, circles around it, when Greg knew what Jim needed done, probably. Internal surgery, intestines and maybe worse. All he'd had to cope with was some stitches, and a warning to not move too much or strain, and that he needed to be supervised for a time. He had some tearing, yeah, but that was another case of the same, of being careful and here's some more drugs and he was in good shape, and how much had he contributed?

Not really enough, or it didn't feel like he had.

"You're a pretty impressive guy, too. You managed to keep Lecter from killing him."

"Distraction," Greg acknowledged that point. "Not the same as escape." The Reset didn't deal with logic. The facts were the facts however muted they were now. He tried to smile a little. "I'm okay now...why don't you clean up as well Nick and set that horde of nurses on me. I want to get there as soon as I can."

Although he also wanted to sleep for a week.

But, he had to have priorities. And if he wanted to sleep for a week, so would Will. Will would want to sleep, and if Greg was very lucky, they could sleep together, and it wouldn't be the Big Sleep, or even a comatose sleep. "Okay. I was going to offer to help, but if you want nurses..."

Greg blinked, for once completely blindsided by the offer. "Oh...Oh."

He looked at Nick properly then, not looking past him, not avoiding his eyes out of shame or embarrassment. Nick meant it, he really meant it and Greg just smiled, something happy touching him then. "I'd... I'd really like that."

"I figured you might enjoy a little less indignity after days of it." He liked the tiny warm feeling that was settling in his chest better, and Nick tipped his head briefly to the small bathroom in Greg's room. "Let me help you. Like I said, we're a close house. You have to be, if you want to keep doing this kind of stuff every day and stay sane."

Greg found himself agreeing with that wholeheartedly and as he accepted Nick's help and offer, he found himself thinking for the first time that maybe there was some hope for a future here after all.