Disclaimer: I assume you are familiar with the characters and who created them. I take no credit. I make no claim.

Notes: This is my first slash story. Deepest thanks to my betas. It was very educational.

Part one:

"Awake? Your eyes are open, let's try to focus shall we? Pay attention. This will be important later. No, I'm not going to get caught. You'll never have to testify. But I do need you to confirm that I'm responsible; and besides, there's a debt to be settled.

"The bomb is in a trash can at the edge of a playground. It's by a short stone wall. Parents sometimes sit there waiting for their little ones. Lucky thing that it's raining today. There may be no one there at all. The blast won't be big enough to damage the school, but whether there are kids running down the path, we'll have to wait and find out on the news."

She set a radio down on the floor, plugged it in and flicked it on. She adjusted the dial to a local station that prided itself in providing up-to-the-minute information, then checked her watch. "It's 2:12 p.m.," she said, drawing a device from her pocket and deliberately depressing a switch. "The bomb just went off."

That said, she turned, ascending a flight of wooden steps to a door that she closed quietly behind her, leaving Blair Sandburg screaming into a thick gag.

Ellison growled in frustration as a Honda Civic stole the parking spot he'd been waiting for. The little red vehicle scooted past him while he was still trying to put his old Ford truck into gear. Swearing under his breath, he circled the visitor's lot yet again. The place was crawling with students...mind you, that wasn't entirely unexpected considering it was a university, but Jim couldn't get used to the swarms of young degree seekers. Finally pulling into a spot, he dug through his pockets and found he didn't have any change for the meter. //I better make this quick,// he decided, knowing that the campus cops at Rainier were absolute fascists about parking violations.

Blair hadn't come home last night. He wasn't worried about that so much as he was that Sandburg hadn't checked in this morning. Ellison had first left a message at the university, then a little later had left one at the loft asking Blair how his evening had gone. He'd worked through lunch, expecting the anthropologist to breeze into the station as he usually did on Fridays. Another hour had dragged by, and then Simon had caught him staring angrily into his phone receiver as Sandburg's voice mail picked up yet again. Realizing that Ellison had reached an entirely unproductive level of agitation, the captain had suggested he just go check on the kid.

Approaching the anthropology building, he spotted Sandburg's ancient Volvo parked in the lot two blocks away, his eyes easily picking out the green car despite the distance. He took the front steps of the anthropology building two at a time, preparing to chastise the younger man for not checking his messages. He was surprised to find Sandburg's office dark and locked.

"You looking for Blair?"

Jim turned to see a young blond man, keys in hand, letting himself into the office across the hall. Jim noted the short spiked hair, torn jeans, and small round glasses--due to his prolonged exposure to Sandburg, he found it easy to identify graduate students, especially in their natural environment.

"Yeah," Jim responded. "He was supposed to meet me downtown for lunch."

"Oh, hey, you're the roommate!" the man enthused, grinning and nodding knowingly. "Jonathan Hames," he introduced himself, offering his hand. "Blair and I are both TAs for the Anth 100 class this term. He talks about you all the time."

"Have you seen him?"

"Not today. A couple of his students were floating around this morning looking pretty pissed. It seems you're not the only one he stood up. He dropped by the campus pub last night, but didn't hang around long. Missed a great band."

"If you see him, could you tell him to call me?"

"Done," the student replied, disappearing into his office.

//Studying, hey Chief?// Jim thought, then shrugged and decided it wouldn't hurt to drop by the pub. He could exercise his detective skills and maybe even pick up a quick bite to eat.

The pub was teaming with students, and the pounding music quickly killed Jim's appetite. He chatted briefly with a waitress who directed him toward the man behind the bar. The man griped about getting stuck with split shifts and how busy it had been the night before, then had no problem remembering Sandburg once he shut up long enough to listen to Jim's description. The bartender couldn't recall what the anthropologist had been drinking, but indicated Blair had definitely been well into the giggling side of plastered when he left.

"He was beginning to attract attention to himself before a brunette dragged him out of here," the bartender offered with a grin. Jim nodded without comment, then thanked the man and turned to go.

//Blair left with a woman,// Jim shook his head, //that always means trouble.// Still he wondered if he was overreacting. It was possible that Sandburg just had a little bit too much to drink and was sleeping off the hangover somewhere. Either way, Ellison knew he was out of leads and had to get back to work. He was walking back to the truck, eyes picking up the tell-tale white flash of a ticket under one windshield wiper, when his cell phone rang.

"Ellison," Jim answered.

"Is this Blair's roommate?"

"Yes. Who's this?" Jim responded. The voice seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"Ronny," the caller answered, as though this fact should have been self- evident. Jim didn't recognize the name, but then he didn't keep close track of the women continuously leaving messages at the loft trying to catch the ever elusive Sandburg.

"Listen," the woman continued, "Blair's been puking his lungs out in my bathroom since he got up this morning."

And Ellison did listen, his sensitive ears picking up a muffled, painful mewling sound that no one else could have heard. //Oh, hell,// he thought to himself. //That's got to be Sandburg dry heaving. Damn.//

"I think it's food poisoning," Ronny said, emphasizing the point with a snap of her chewing gum. "He insists it's not. But I have to get to work, and I can't leave him in my bathroom. You have to come get him."

"Ronny--"

"Look, I offered to lend him enough cash for a cab to the hospital, but he won't go," Ronny cut him off, obviously interpreting Ellison's gruffness as a refusal. "I'm going to be late for work."

Jim winced at the whiny tones, then winced at the thought of Blair with this woman. //Whatever you were drinking, Chief, it sure sounds like you're regretting it now.// "Ronny, I'm on my way. Just give me your address."

Ten minutes later, Jim pulled into the gravel driveway of a small isolated house near a train yard. Stepping down from the truck, he fixed a strained smile on his face and prepared to retrieve his sick guide from the clutches of 'Ronny'. His cell phone rang before he could reach the front step. He snapped it open and identified himself.

"We just had a bomb go off in a playground," Simon barked at him, not wasting a moment on pleasantries.

"What?" Jim exclaimed, though he'd heard his captain clearly. "Where?"

"Pine Crest Elementary," Simon answered. "On the corner of Clarence and Richmond. Taggart's already on his way to the scene, and I want you on this one."

"Yes, sir."

"You locate Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, I'm just picking him up now," Jim answered, feeling no need to mention Blair's reported condition.

"Good. I want you applying your special skills to this one," Simon said, then hung up without another word.

Tucking his cell phone back in his pocket, Jim realized that 'anxious to get to work' Ronny hadn't yet picked up on his arrival. Turning back towards the house, his senses sent up a warning flare. The place was empty, several days of mail filling the box mounted next to the front door. On instinct, he turned away from the house, scanning the street. Two sharp cracks sounded from the direction of the train yard. The impacts felt like bites, and Jim looked down to see two tranquilizer darts pinning his shirt to his skin. He had just enough time to realize he'd made a terrible mistake before he crumpled to the ground.

The screaming was entirely unproductive (and being honest with himself, it had been semi-hysterical screaming--not heroic shouts of outrage--but in this situation, he considered screaming to be a justified form of self-expression). The gag ran deep, and Blair could tell he wasn't producing enough sound to penetrate the closed door let alone summon a rescue. The effort did nothing but leave him starved for oxygen and heaving air through his nose.

//The Switchman set a bomb off in a playground!//

He let his head fall back against the cement floor, then threw his weight against the restraints, grunting with frustration. He was flat on his back, fear-sweat sticking his bare skin to the cold floor. His arms were spread crucifixion style; ropes bound his wrists firmly down, then looped around his forearms and upper arms before meeting across his chest. His ankles were chained, but he was left with some freedom of movement there, for all the good it did him.

He tried to force his way through the big fuzzy blot in his memory. He was in a basement. There were two small rectangular windows set near the top of one wall, but both had been covered with black paint. He suspected the cold floor he was resting on was new--that is, he doubted the house had been built with metal rings spread in this particular pattern on the floor. Straining his neck he could see at least two more rings embedded in the cement, loose chains strung through them. A second pair of rings dangled down from the rafters overhead. He didn't want to think about what they were for.

In addition to the door at the top of the stairs, there was a second door at floor level. He suspected it opened to the outside, or more likely to a garage. //All the better to conceal the arrival of unconscious guests from nosy neighbours.// The door was rigged with three dead bolts, one with a latch that could be tripped from inside the room, the other two reversed such that a key would be required to open them.

The radio announcer asked if he was looking forward to the coming weekend, then finally confirmed it was Friday, 2:23 p.m. His frivolous chatter continued to fill the airwaves until he promised music and turned up the advertisements. There was no word about the bomb yet.

//I remember Thursday. Jim and I were at the station in the morning, then court in the afternoon. There was no hint that anything was wrong...that she was loose again. I went to the university and studied in the library. Thursday--pub night. Jonathan tried to convince me to go...something about the band miking a digeridoo through a distortion pedal...said I had to hear it to believe it. Did I go?//

Blair couldn't remember leaving the library. He couldn't remember anything that would explain how he'd ended up stripped naked on a cold cement floor. //It's a tactic,// he told himself, twisting his hips and drawing his knees up as much as he could. It didn't offer much coverage.

How many articles on kidnappers and psychos had he read since he started working with Jim? He'd even started reading forensics journals searching for new ways for Jim to use his senses at crime scenes.

//Happy thoughts.// Blair moaned softly, recalling the first forensic journal he'd picked up. By chance it had fallen open on graphic photos of a dismemberment. He'd snapped the book shut, staring at the featureless dark green cover thinking it ought to have a big red warning label stamped across it. After a few deep breaths, he'd carefully opened the book to the index at the back and scanned through the topics, amazed at the information that could be gleaned from a few fibers or a chip of paint.

He'd read about kidnappings where nudity had been used as a method to debilitate the victim. It wasn't uncommon. The kidnapper wasn't interested in assaulting the victim, only humiliating and terrorizing them, leaving them unable to even think about trying to escape. //And that's the bright, optimistic side. That's just great. Let's completely ignore the obviously phallic-shaped gag. Jim, I need you.//

Simon paced the edge of the crime scene, chomping on his cigar. The media were out in force, crowding against the yellow police tape, assaulting those investigating the bombing with bright lights and a continuous barrage of questions. Parents were everywhere, some shell- shocked, others belligerent. The mayor had called demanding that Banks personally take charge of the case, yelling even louder when Simon pointed out that he was already at the scene doing just that. But what really had him fuming was the notable absence of the detective he wanted on point. //Perfect time for him to be off chasing after Sandburg....//

He dialed Ellison's number once again, then stared at his phone thoroughly pissed at the polite recording telling him to try again later. Swearing under his breath, he hung up only to have his cell phone immediately ring.

"Banks," he answered bluntly, hoping it would be Ellison on the line.

"Missed your anthropologist yet?" a female voice asked.

"What? Who is this?"

"The Switchman."

Banks almost dropped his cigar. Two years previously, the Switchman had blasted holes in structures all over the city, deliberately targeting and tormenting his best detective. Her background included a dangerous mix of military training and mental illness. Her father had served with Ellison during his special forces days. Simon hoped he was hearing things. He hoped it was a hoax. The Switchman had been caught and convicted. He'd personally attended the sentencing and watched her being led away in chains--she was supposed to be locked up in a little cage somewhere.

Simon signaled urgently to Taggart, the bomb squad captain. When he had the man's attention, he covered the mouthpiece on his phone. "I need a trace on this line, now."

Taggart immediately got out his own cell phone and dialed the central precinct.

"You can stop searching for Sandburg," the Switchman continued. "He's with me."

"What?" Simon felt a distinct sinking sensation. The odds that this was a hoax had just dropped considerably.

"Don't believe Blair's keeping me company? Just ask Ellison--oops, you can't, can you?" she taunted. "He's already involved in the game."

"I want to speak with Sandburg."

"Why? He's not your concern. It's not his life I'm ransoming...I have plans for it," she responded. "You just worry about all the sticks of C-4 I've scattered throughout the city. I want three million dollars by 6 p.m. today. I don't care how you get it. Rob a bank, tap the city treasury, drop by a few insurance companies, maybe remind them how much I cost them last time and ask for donations...I really don't care."

"That's not enough time," Simon insisted, catching a nod from Taggart indicating the trace was on.

"There will be no negotiations. Feel free to beg, just know that it will have no effect. I will call again at five o'clock with the bank account you'll transfer the funds to. At that point, you have one hour to comply; if you don't, six o'clock will arrive with a bang, and you'll have a new deadline."

"Wait one minute. Now, you listen to me--"

"No. You'll get the money, and Ellison will meet my other conditions-- or the city loses a building. Have fun trying to guess which one. Tick, tick, tick," she said, then left Simon shouting at the dial tone.

"Goddamn it!" Simon snapped his cell phone shut, then watched as Taggart exchanged a few more words with dispatch and shook his head. The trace had failed.

"Rafe! Brown!" Simon yelled out across the scene.

"Who was it?" Taggart asked.

"Our bomber," Simon said, holding the rest of his answer until the two detectives joined them. "I just got a call from Veronica Serris, the Switchman."

"What?" Brown exclaimed. "The nut-job that went after Ellison? I thought she was locked away."

"So did I," Simon responded. "I want to know how and when she got out. She's planted more bombs, and she's got Sandburg. It sounds like she's already dragged Jim into some kind of twisted game. I can't get a hold of Ellison. I'm not ruling him out by any means. I trust he'll do whatever he can to keep those bombs from going off, but we need to track her down, and fast.

"Rafe, Brown, you're on that. If you can't get a line on her, try and trace Sandburg. Start at the university," Simon instructed the detectives. "Taggart, leave your team to sift through the scene. I need you to come up with a list of probable targets and prepare teams to search and respond. We've got a six o'clock deadline. I'll pursue meeting her demands. Let's go."

Over the course of the last two hours, Blair's already low opinion of reporters had dropped a few more notches. Initial reports of the bombing had been horrific for the sheer lack of information and the amount of uninformed theorizing. Early on, the emphasis had been on the number of ambulances dispatched to the scene, the heat of the flames, and the debris shot into the yards of adjoining houses. The reporter could offer no word on the number of injuries but vividly described the flood of panicked parents rushing to the school searching for their children.

Finally the news had settled down into an accounting of minor injuries and estimates of property damages. In the meantime, Sandburg had been forced to listen to it all and put up with the abhorrent selection of music. He'd endured annoying 80s pop, stared at the ceiling, worked on breathing regularly, slowly skinned his wrists against the ropes, and gained not even a millimeter of freedom.

He'd spent two hours of waiting for whatever would happen next, trying to prepare for it. Yet when the lock on the door rattled and the Switchman descended the steps into the room, his heart rate immediately skyrocketed. Blair rolled his eyes shut, took a deep breath and opened them again to find her leaning over him reaching towards his face. He tried to turn his head away, only to have her clamp one hand down on his jaw, holding him steady as the fingers of her other hand worked the buckle on the gag open.

She yanked it out, and Sandburg swallowed convulsively, his eyes deliberately avoiding the offending object. The roof of his mouth was raw, and despite the saliva collecting at the back of throat, his mouth felt terribly dry.

"Water?" she asked, placing the straw of a water bottle between his lips and squeezing a stream of the liquid into him before he could answer. Blair swallowed rapidly, worrying the water might have been spiked with something only after she'd withdrawn the straw and the danger of choking had past.

Questions ricocheted around his mind...some he wanted answers to, others he didn't. Only one found its way to his ragged voice. "Why?"

"Why?" she echoed back. "Because I'm a sociopath. I was diagnosed in 1993. The label doesn't help much, does it?" She patted his cheek. "Repeat after me: My name is Blair Sandburg. This message is for Captain Simon Banks. I am with the Switchman. She is responsible for the bomb triggered at 2:12 p.m. this afternoon at the Pine Crest Elementary School. There are other bombs in other public places. She has demands."

Blair kept his mouth shut, his eyes locked on hers.

"Say it."

He wondered if this was really worth pushing his luck over, but it was almost an involuntary response, fierce anger closing his throat.

"I was planning to wait another few hours before triggering the next explosion, but I could move the schedule up," Veronica suggested.

Blair broke his silence, reciting the message back word for word. He repeated the words again at her request, then she extended a tape recorder.

"Now tell it to the tape," she said, depressing the record switch. Sandburg tried to keep his voice even and wondered if Jim would be able to tell how hard his heart was pounding. Serris shut the tape off as soon he'd finished the scripted statement, allowing no time for Blair to whisper a message to his sentinel, not that he could have offered anything more than his regret.

"I'll add the rest myself. Wouldn't want to give away too much of the game--I want you to enjoy the suspense," she said. "But I'll let you in on this much. Bomb target #2 is the anthropology museum at Rainier, and this one will be a real blast."

Blair jerked against his bonds, his eyes flicking around the room desperately. He suppressed the urge to scream warnings at a tape player that was no longer recording.

"I thought you'd like that." Veronica smiled down on him. "Yes, I know about the special collection that just arrived from Thailand. It opens tonight. A nice little wine and cheese affair. A few speeches. You were supposed to go, weren't you? Half your department will be there." She read the shock and horror on his face and responded to it. "I know what you're thinking. After the trial, I wasn't dragged away ranting about retaliation--but you didn't expect me to let it go, did you?"

"You would destroy a museum," Blair found his voice. "You would kill all those people--just for revenge?"

"No, revenge is just a perk," Veronica chided, leaning over him. "I'm also after a few million dollars. I've decided I deserve compensation for my loss."

Blair let his head fall back, his eyes closing briefly. Talking to sociopaths was always a tricky business. He searched for the right words to get under her skin without spurring an immediate reaction. He needed an angle of approach.

"You're waiting for Jim, aren't you?" she asked. As he began to respond, she shoved the gag back into his mouth leaving him unable to answer. "I've been following Ellison's career closely. Gotta love the freedom of information act. That day on the bus...that was just the beginning for you, for the partnership, wasn't it?"

It was obviously a rhetorical question. Blair gave a muffled grunt as Serris dragged the strap on the gag tight and buckled it into place.

"I knew you were an amateur, but what a surprise to learn at the trial that I was punched out by a hyperactive, long-haired, tag-along anthropologist. Never thought you'd last a week with a hard-ass like Ellison, but here we are over two years later and doing so well." She smiled and stroked his cheek. "Ellison's been busting all the big cases, and there you are in the shadows every time."

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" Veronica asked.

Though startled by the abrupt change of topic, Blair nodded enthusiastically. While he felt no particular urge, he would take any chance at freedom he could get, any chance to relieve some of the cramping in his immobilized limbs.

"No, you don't," she told him, patting his leg. "Don't you remember? I took care of all your needs earlier. Mind you, you were still pretty much out of it then, and it has been a couple of hours. Do you want the catheter back?"

Blair squirmed against his bonds, trying to curl in on himself, shaking his head vehemently, his eyes wide with horror.

"I was trained as a medic in the military," she explained. "I've been keeping very good care of you."

Blair continued to shake his head vigorously, disputing this claim.

"I'm going to adjust the chains on your legs. You may consider this to be some kind of opportunity...it's not. You will not so much as twitch while I do this. If you struggle, I will chloroform you, make the adjustments, wait for you to wake, and kick you in the crotch." She paused to allow Blair time to digest the threat, then offered further clarification. "Consider this: the chloroform could leave you nauseated, and having your balls crammed halfway to your diaphragm could definitely make you puke. You are gagged...that means anything that comes up has to go back down again. You might have the control to swallow it all; if not, the stomach acid hits your lungs. That could kill you." Her cold blue eyes met his. "Not a twitch."

"Ellison is going to fail you in more ways than you can presently imagine," she informed him conversationally as she undid the bolt holding down the chain trailing from his left ankle. "Say he devoted himself to finding and freeing you. Imagine if he succeeded, how you would feel knowing that because he focused on you, your friends were reduced to cinders?"

On the edge of hyperventilating, Blair forced himself not to react as she used the chain to drag his foot upwards. She threaded the chain through a ring dangling from the ceiling then pulled it further, drawing his foot up and out until his back was forcibly arched, his butt lifted slightly from the floor. Next she went for the chain around his other ankle. Blair focused on a spot on the ceiling, deliberately not watching as she maneuvered him into an even more exposed position.

"As for what happens should he fail you..." Veronica continued. "The truth is, he already has, as you'll find out soon enough. As much as I will enjoy the wealth I will gain from this venture, shattering your partnership will bring me immense pleasure."

Blair decided he'd spent enough time staring at the ceiling, and turned his head to stare down the length of one arm at the wall. He felt the touch of metal on the flat of his foot, followed quickly by a strip of tape to hold the object in place. Startled, he looked again at his raised and spread legs and beyond them to a black box secured to the ceiling. He'd noticed the box and the two dark wires trailing from it earlier, but had done his best to pretend it wasn't there. Veronica taped the second wire to his other foot then met his eyes. Her lips curled upwards, and she pulled something out from behind her back. "Look at this, Blair. It's another very special trigger." Before Blair could even discern the features of the object in her hand, he heard a sharp click.

Sandburg kicked involuntarily as he felt the current course down his legs, pain pooling in his knees before reaching further... He shrieked into the gag, then an instant later fell back, lungs struggling to replenish themselves as the pain receded, leaving a trail of pins and needles behind.

"Did you feel that?" she asked. "Never mind. It's obvious you did. The question is--was that muscle spasm in response to the current or in response to pain?"

Blair clenched his eyes shut, preparing himself for another blast of electricity. It didn't come. His eyes flashed open, blazing blue fury as Veronica grabbed one of his nipples, pinching it, digging her nails in. He shouted into the gag, unable to pull away, his hands clenched in frustration.

"Pain, eh?" Veronica smiled. "Good. That means the morphine has worn off. You were sluggish a lot longer than I expected."

Blair knew he'd been drugged earlier, but hadn't really wanted to hear about it. //What the fuck had she been doing with morphine?//

"Unhappy about that? Just imagine how much your arms would be hurting if I hadn't given you something to keep you relaxed," Veronica said. "You should be pleased I gave you the clean stuff. I robbed a clinic for you. Rohypnol, morphine, sterile needles, a few other things for my medicine cabinet... I could have just picked something up from the street...could have strung you along on any number of easily available illegal opium derivatives. The problem with street drugs is there's no quality control. This job required exact timing; with morphine I had complete control over the dosage and still I overshot a little."

"It's time we got started. You ready?" Veronica didn't wait for his answer. She stepped out of his frame of view for a moment, then returned with a camera in hand. She focused the lens on his face and snapped off a couple of shots. "You're not smiling," she chastised him, dropping down closer and refocusing the lens. She stepped back to take several full-length pictures, then moved again, kneeling between his legs for a few choice close-ups.

He kicked, trying to knock her away but he didn't have the range of motion to even make contact. The cuffs scraped at his ankles, the one on the left biting through the skin, blood welling beneath the edge of the metal.

"I'm going to send copies to the police station," she told him. "Not to Banks or anyone who would burn them for you, but maybe to the guys in Vice, or a few of the lowly uniforms who have the sense to know that a hippie-freak like you shouldn't be running around with a detective. It should put a stop to your observer activities pretty quick. Figure Ellison will stand behind you on this, or encourage you out the door?"

Blair focused on the blood slowly sliding down his left leg, barely paying attention to her words. Partway down his calf, the rivulet split in two, one arcing out of view almost immediately, the other reaching his knee before slipping around to trail down the back of his thigh.

"And it won't end there," the Switchman continued. "Just imagine me as a millionaire, living comfortably on an island somewhere, every few years tracking you down at whatever university you're working at and mailing copies to all your students."

He could no longer see the path taken by the blood, but could feel the warm wet trace and kept his mind there, letting the threats drift over him. Struggling wasn't helping him; he had to stay calm, he had to bide his time until he had a chance. Jim would come. He just had to hold onto that thought.

He jerked when she lightly touched his right leg just below the knee, her fingers slowly stroking down his inner thigh.

"Have you ever been sodomized, Blair?" she asked. Her hand traced a path from his inner thigh and under to his outer thigh, drifting down onto his ass before the fingers were abruptly drawn away. "I'm not one to get my hands dirty, but I've found someone who likes to chain people and put them into little cages. And I've got all the leverage I need to convince him to take a turn with you."

His heart pounding at the base of his throat, Blair felt the tears streaming down his face and could do nothing to stop them. Just as he thought the situation couldn't get any darker, Veronica dangled a blindfold in front of him.

"Sorry," she said, draping the cloth over his eyes. "I want to keep the lights on, maybe take more pictures, but I know your rapist would prefer it if you never saw his face."

She secured the blindfold with a tight knot, and swept her fingers along the side of his face, touching his tears. Then Blair felt the air shift as she stood. He heard her cross to the second door, unlock the three dead bolts, then step through the door leaving it open behind her.

She returned dragging something, her breath harsh with exertion. He heard a meaty thump and reflexively turned his head as though to look. He dragged the side of his face roughly against the cement trying to dislodge the blindfold. He needed to see what was happening, he needed to move. There was a second raw thump, closer now. //What the hell was she dragging, a body?//

"He's unconscious," the Switchman broke the silence. "Drugged actually, but it's all part of the game. He'll come around soon."

A limp weight was draped onto him, then lifted, heaved a few inches further up between his legs and dropped again. He couldn't believe this was happening. This couldn't be happening. The guy was big and fully clothed. Blair heard the Switchman gather up the chains, their cold lengths falling against him. He listened to the links clink against each other, wondering how he could be bound down any more thoroughly than he already was. It wasn't until she stepped over him to work on the other side that he realized that the extra chains weren't for him.

Blair screamed himself out of breath.

"He doesn't get to leave until I decide he's finished," the Switchman informed him. "But you'll find he has all the freedom of movement he needs to touch you as deeply as he wants."

Then she slipped a band of cloth under him at the small of his back, drawing the ends up around him. To Blair's horror, he felt her shifting the chains holding the other man's wrists, positioning the man's hands between his legs before tying them down.

"Feel that?" she asked, as she completed the knot. "That's a nice big bow. He'll be able to undo it as soon as he comes around. In fact, he'll be able to pull off the blindfold he's wearing too. I just want to see what he does before he figures out what he has in his hands...before the drugs have really worn off."

The stairs creaked again, and Blair thought for a moment she was going to leave him; but she stopped partway up, settling in...waiting...watching....

Hip joints and ankles already aching from the awkward position, Sandburg did his best to hold himself perfectly still. He didn't want to do anything that could wake the behemoth whose chained hands lay heavily against the most sensitive parts of his anatomy. //Sensitive.// It was as though his sense of touch in that region had kicked into overdrive, input from the rest of his skin fading from his attention. Hence he felt the faint shiver pass through the hands on him, followed by the first twitch, then a succession of involuntary shifts before one set of fingers came completely to life and curled around his penis, reaching under it, brushing over his balls as though in search of an answer.

Blair moaned, his hips heaving upwards trying to dislodge the intrusion only to feel the grip on his penis tighten painfully, drawing a second more desperate moan from his throat. The other hand planted itself on his hip, restraining Blair's motions then applying even greater pressure as the man tried to push himself upright. Pain spiked up the full length of Sandburg's leg, the skin on his ankle again tearing against the cuff binding it. Throat convulsing in a stifled shout, Blair tried to force himself to breathe evenly, needing to find some kind of focus, to detach himself from what was happening...what was going to happen.

His tears soaked the blindfold, and he could make no sound to accompany them. His sinuses abruptly clogged, threatening to suffocate him. Instinctively he snuffled and swallowed. Both actions were painful with the gag in place but restored his airway--some of the salty slime sinking into his throat, the rest sliding across his face.

He realized the man on him was moaning too, the sounds more suggestive of a bad hangover than arousal. Blair hoped this would give him more time. The man had been drugged; perhaps regardless of whatever kink he had, he wouldn't be able to...perform...at least not for awhile.

For Jim, awareness returned in a series of sensory flashes, bolts of red and black blasting across his optic nerves. The black was so intense it was painful; and if this absence of colour hurt, he didn't want to think about what a splash of white would do to him. Eyes clenched tight, he tried to extend his other senses and found they were also swirling out of control. Amongst the assault, he found one strong unmistakable scent--Blair.

He waited for Sandburg's voice to cut in and make everything clearer or just explain what the hell was going on. His vision was off-line, powerful smells were flooding his sinuses, and whatever he had in his fingers felt alive. It was warm, soft, and pulsing...definitely skin and there were curls of coarse hair....

//Curls?// Jim jolted to another layer of awareness. Though the details were fuzzy, he knew he'd been searching for Blair, that Blair had been in trouble. The smell of blood reached him, first faint then overwhelming. He recognized the approaching zone-out as he teetered at the edge of it and snapped himself from it by sheer force of will. As he regained some semblance of control, the scent of blood nearly vanished while that of his guide remained strong.

He was definitely in close contact with someone, and from the intensity of the smell it had to be Sandburg. Though his vision was getting lighter, he still couldn't see anything. His eyes just wouldn't work for him, so he used touch, again focusing on the points where his fingers connected with bare skin, brushing into thick hair. The curls seemed short and very coarse, but he didn't know if that was real or a sensory scaling problem. He swore his ear had to be less than an inch from Sandburg's heart, the rapid pounding so loud it overwhelmed everything else.

He tried to push himself up, and a pained sound reverberated in the body beneath him. Sandburg was panicked and struggling, fresh fear adding an edge to the smell of sweat. Jim tried to call out to his partner, only to choke on the words, the vibrations in his throat too intense. Again, he forced himself to focus, replaying the sound of Blair's guiding voice in his mind, falling back onto breathing exercises now instinctive.

The geometry of his grip finally penetrated his fog-filled mind. Realizing what he had in his hands, he let go and backed off quickly only to be pulled up short. Suddenly self aware, he felt the metal cuffs tight on his wrists and the cloth across his face blotting out his vision. He brought his head down within reach of his trapped hands and, with a tug from his fingers, the blindfold slipped off. It was that easy. As he blinked against the light, he glimpsed his partner and tried his voice again.

"Blair?" His eyes found a point of focus, then expanded their field of view. Blair was naked--he'd known that, but found knowing and seeing were different things. His guide was also gagged, blindfolded and bound spread open in an absolutely horrifying fashion. Jim couldn't help but confirm that it was Blair's penis, lying limp against his abdomen bedded in the curls of his pubic hair, that he had palmed and squeezed earlier. As he croaked out his guide's name, he saw Sandburg freeze then jerk his head upwards as if trying to see through the blindfold.

"Sandburg!"

"Mm!" Blair's head fell back, and he seemed to almost collapse in relief, taking big sighing breaths, his nostrils flaring. Sandburg's heart actually skipped several beats before finding a new rhythm...still fast, but no longer pushing the body's physical limits.

"Isn't that cute? He thinks he's safe now."

The voice came from behind him, almost purring, simultaneously seductive and menacing. Hands still awkwardly bound before him, Jim turned to look over his shoulder. He recognized the Switchman, Veronica Serris, sitting on the stairs behind them. Her dark hair was now cut short. A set of keys dangled from her throat on a chain like some kind of twisted fetish.

"Serris," Jim said flatly, his face deliberately devoid of emotion. He knew she had to be responsible for the explosion earlier that afternoon, and it wouldn't be the only bomb she'd set. In fact, even now she kept turning some kind of remote triggering device over in her hands.

"Detective Ellison," Veronica responded, descending the stairs as she spoke. "It looks like I found your weak point."

Ellison devoted the barest fraction of his attention to tracking her movements, the rest he focused on his guide. The cuffs on Blair's ankles had torn through the skin, sending blood dripping down his legs. The ropes around his wrists were also stained with red. He had bruises shading from yellowish grey to purple, including dark half-moon fingernail marks surrounding one nipple. A gag filled Blair's mouth, and Jim could see Blair's eyelids fluttering against the dark cloth bound across them.

Rage poured through Jim's veins--how many hours? How many hours had Sandburg spent pinned like a specimen until he was as pale and cold as floor beneath him?

//I scrambled eggs for breakfast, enjoyed an extra long shower, and he was here. By midmorning I knew something was wrong, but what did I do? Left a message at the university, convinced Taggart to split his donut with me, distracted myself with a trip down to forensics to chat with Dan, and all the while he was here.//

Furious, Jim yanked against the bindings only to hear Blair grunt in reaction. Looking down he found he was held in part by a ribbon tied around Blair's waist then through the links of two long chains cuffed to his wrists. Undoing the bow with one swift motion, he immediately reached for the cloth tied across Blair's eyes.

"No." The Switchman spoke the word without inflection. Her finger tightened on the trigger she'd been toying with and it clicked.

Blair jerked beneath him, his jaws clamping around the gag, his scream muted. To his horror Jim recognized the sound from Veronica's phone call, the muffled noise in the background...//Sandburg screaming.//

"Serris!" Jim shouted, unable to contain his rage. He could feel the edge of the current, the hair on his arms prickling at the charge. Then it stopped and Blair went limp, his lungs struggling to restore a regular rhythm despite the gag hindering him. There was a fresh sheen of sweat on his skin, enough that his chest hair was flecked with fine beads.

"You don't touch him without my permission." Veronica's voice shook with anger. "Do you understand?" she demanded, aiming the trigger and waiting for a response.

"Yes."

"Good," she smiled, then continued as though she were generously granting a wish. "You can undo either the gag or the blindfold, but it's one or the other, not both."

After a moment, Jim stretched himself upwards, touching the gag lightly, doing his best to telegraph his intentions to Blair and give him the opportunity to respond.

"And there's a price," Veronica added, the glint of a new idea sparking in her eyes. Her time at the psychiatric hospital obviously hadn't helped her. She was as crazy as ever and inventing rules as she went along. He waited, as still as granite, for her to name the price.

"Actually, I'll give you a choice. You can either let Blair take two more jolts from my toy, or give him a nice deep-throated kiss."

Jim's eyes blazed with anger, but he held his tongue.

"Come on, Ellison. You're too noble to let him get zapped. Make the sacrifice: kiss him. And don't think you can get away with a chaste brushing of lips. Extract his tonsils with your tongue, or I'll punish him anyway." Her voice still wavered dangerously while her index finger tapped compulsively against the back of the device in her hand.

"Need a countdown to push you along?" she asked. "Five...four...."

Jim's unsteady fingers brushed the buckle on the gag, and Blair nodded slightly, agreeing with the choice and the conditions. Concentrating, the drugs still messing with his sense of touch, he managed to work the buckle loose. He pulled the gag out, the sound of it scraping against Blair's teeth unnaturally loud in his ears. Surprised by the length of the object, Jim looked closer and abruptly realized what he had in his hands. Furious, he tossed the monstrosity aside, suppressing the impulse to shout obscenities at their captor.

Blair drew a deep breath, then coughed convulsively, saliva spilling from the corner of his mouth and coursing down his cheek. Sandburg's fingers flexed upwards, his pinned hands stretching in a futile reach. Recognizing his partner's desire, Jim used his sleeve to gently to wipe away the drool and clean off the rest of Blair's face.

Carefully holding himself away from Blair's naked length, Jim leaned in so that only their lips touched. Blair's lips parted, and Jim responded automatically, his tongue probing inwards. It was his intention to perform the act as quickly and mechanically as possible but his senses betrayed him. The moment his tongue drifted into Blair's mouth, input from his taste buds spiked off the chart...Sandburg obviously hadn't seen a toothbrush since the previous morning.

Whatever drug he'd been given was still throwing Jim off; he couldn't seem to tone down the sensory assault. He proceeded anyway, extending his tongue to stroke the inside of Blair's cheek. He wanted his compliance to be obvious. He didn't want to give the mad woman any reason to hurt his guide again. Beneath the sour tang there was a faint trace of beer and something else, something....

Jim tried to isolate that one unique flavour from the others. Tumbling at the edge of a zone-out, the rough texture of Blair's tongue rubbing against the underside of his own snapped him out of it. Embarrassed, Jim withdrew and found he brought Blair's wet taste back into his own mouth.

"Thanks," Blair croaked, his teeth showing in a grateful expression that couldn't exactly be called a smile. His tongue flicked out to trace his dry lips. Jim wished he could see Blair's eyes...those expressive eyes that would tell him in an instant how well his partner was holding up.

"Don't thank him yet," Veronica interrupted.

Jim watched as Blair's expression shifted to a frown.

"He's just begun," Veronica continued. "I told you what he's going to do to you, Blair. Don't you remember?"

Abruptly Sandburg was twisting frantically beneath him, struggling against the restraints, drawing fresh blood from his already damaged wrists and ankles. Jim grabbed Blair at the waist, trying to still the thrashing. He could feel Sandburg literally shaking in his hands.

"He's going to fuck you up the ass," Veronica said, the words slow and deliberate and full of malice.

Jim reared back, severing all contact with Blair, his wrists jerking against the limits of the chains. "No fucking way!"

"Tick, tick, Blair," Veronica taunted. "Tell him you want him to do it."

"Oh, no...please, no," Blair begged.

"I won't," Jim reassured his partner, then fixed his icy blue eyes on Serris. "I won't."

"Ellison, you'll do it, or I'll blow all of Blair's little anthropology buddies away. You don't want me to do that, do you Blair?" Veronica added with false sweetness.

"No," Blair said, his horror clear in his voice.

"So what do you want Jim to do?" Veronica prompted. "Say it."

"Fuck me." He said the words so softly his lips barely moved, but Ellison heard them clearly.

"You're out of your mind," Jim turned on Serris, anger pouring off him.

"You'll do it, or the museum at Rainier University will be leveled before the hour is out."

"Forget it. You're fucking nuts. Even if your threats convinced me, essential parts of my anatomy would never cooperate. There's no way--"

"I thought of that," Veronica interrupted. "I've thought of everything. There's a shoebox next to you. Why don't you open it?" She phrased this as a polite request, but her finger rested on the button that triggered the tazer rigged to Blair's feet.

After a long second, Jim reached over and pulled the lid off the box. Surveying its contents, he closed his eyes and turned his head aside. The box contained condoms, lubricant, and a very large dildo.

"He's straight. He hasn't done this. He doesn't do this. You can't expect..." Jim struggled to keep the words even, appealing for reason in the face of insanity. "It won't fit. Not a first-timer."

"Make it fit," Veronica said. "We're on a deadline here. See the red mark near the base? That's how deep it has to go. You have forty minutes to have it or yourself in to the hilt. Your choice."

"You're insane," Jim said, his voice hauntingly quiet. "All this to fulfill some twisted revenge fantasy you worked up while in jail?"

"I am insane. That's why you have to do what I tell you to. And Jim, revenge fantasies are the very best kind. This is the thrill of a lifetime. Besides, I'm also requesting an obscene amount of money be transferred to an account in the Cayman Islands. Better pray that the money goes through, or your efforts will be for nothing." She paused to check her watch. "Now, I need to make a few phone calls--see how things are going. I expect you to make some progress before I return. Don't waste your time trying to free him. And don't even think about touching the blindfold." Serris quickly ascended the stairs, pausing in the doorway for one final look down at them before proceeding through, locking the door behind her.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked quietly, trying hard not to impose on Blair despite their awkward position and the ultimatum hanging over them.

"Muscle cramps, maybe a few bruises," Blair responded. "No permanent damage, man."

"No, I mean are you....?" Jim could see the tear streaks, now dry, on Blair's face. He reached out to touch them, then drew his hand away, not wanting to make such an intimate gesture under the circumstances.

"Am I clinging to my sanity?" Blair laughed without humour, displaying a flash of teeth. "By a thread, man. A thread." Sandburg turned his head. Though his eyes offered him only blackness, he could hear and feel where Jim was. "So how the hell are you?"

"Not great," Jim answered, again surveying his partner for signs of injury. //What the hell was wrong with the people at Conover?// That facility was built like a high-tech fortress, and yet somehow the criminally insane kept slipping out of it. "She set a trap and I walked straight into it. She pumped a couple of tranquilizer darts into me with a rifle. I'm sorry."

"Hey, I don't even know how she got me," Blair said, dismissing the apology. "Last thing I remember I was in the library at the U."

"You went to the pub. She must of slipped something into your drink..." Jim's words trailed off as his eyes found disturbing signs on Blair's outstretched arms. "Blair, there are needle marks."

"Morphine. She said she gave me morphine. Why would she do that?"

Torture was based on the controlled use of pain, physical and psychological. He knew from his days in covert ops there was no benefit to indiscriminately hurting the target. He shrugged, then realized Blair was still waiting for a response. "It would keep you disoriented," he hastily offered.

"Yeah, yeah, it did. I lost most of today. I slept through things...things she did. When I was awake, I felt so disconnected, I thought I was dreaming. I didn't know..." Blair let the sentence die, seeming unwilling to complete it. "So you're going to...? Are you...?" Sandburg stumbled on the words, but Jim knew what he was asking.

"I can't," Ellison answered, his voice thick with pain. "I can't rape you."

In the silence that followed, Jim's mind desperately searched for alternatives, his entire being seizing at the thought of what would happen if he couldn't find any other way out. But there was no other way out-- he knew it and he could tell Sandburg knew it, too.

"Don't rape me," Blair said finally. With a subtle shift, his position was suddenly deliberately open to approach rather than forced. "Make love to me."

Concluded in part two.