Walt yawned as he picked up his cell phone and glanced at the caller ID. Frowning when he saw it was Bruce, he answered, "What's wrong?"

Bruce's voice was shaken as he replied, "Johnny's been kidnapped."

Straightening immediately, Walt demanded, "Are you sure? What happened? Where are you?"

"I'm at the house," Bruce explained. "He's gone, his cane is here and nothing is out of place."

"Bruce, he could've just..."

"Forgotten his cane?"

Good point.

"Besides, we were going to meet for lunch right here. Now. He and Purdy had had a fight and he was all upset about it!"

"Okay, calm down," Walt stated firmly.

There was a pause where Bruce was probably trying to get control of himself, then, "Can you just get here?"

Already on his feet, knowing that Bruce was not the kind of man to panic where there was no reason for it, Walt promised, "On our way. I'll bring forensics and we'll go over the whole place."

"Thanks, Walt."

Feeling awkward now, Walt said, "Don't worry, Bruce, we're going to find him."

"Just...get here. Please."

"On our way," Walt repeated, hearing the emotion in the other man's voice. He hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket, waving to Wilson. "Get the entire forensics team to Johnny Smith's house, asap."

Startled, Wilson asked, "What's wrong?"

Walt answered, grim and somewhat resigned, "Johnny's been kidnapped again."

Maybe they should just put a damn Lojack on the man.

* * * *

It wasn't the first time that Johnny's house had been filled with police, but Bruce felt the difference in that Johnny himself wasn't present. Walt had shown up only twenty minutes after he'd made the call, which Bruce was grateful for, and was now calmly and methodically organizing the forensics people. Bruce was just sitting on the couch, watching everyone do their job and get set up for whatever needed to be done and feeling damned superfluous.

"Bruce."

Jumping in surprise at Walt's voice, Bruce looked over at the other man with, "What?"

"Tell me exactly what Johnny said to you over the phone," Walt ordered, sitting beside him.

Casting his mind back to the conversation, Bruce replied, "He called me just before an appointment, so I couldn't really talk. Said that Purdy had just been here and I knew from his voice that he was really upset."

"How upset?"

Pausing at the interruption, Bruce answered, "Really upset. Probably like, through the roof."

Walt nodded, motioning for him to go on.

"Anyhow. I told him that I'd find someone else to take my appointment, but he said not to worry, that it'd keep until I got there. I promised that I'd be over for lunch and he said that was fine." Bruce stopped, wondering how much he should reveal about the end of the conversation. It wasn't like he wanted to out Johnny to the entire town.

"Sarah told me this morning," Walt informed him softly.

Bruce nodded slowly and lowered his voice as he finished, "I told him that I loved him, he said the same to me and we hung up. End of story."

Lips pursed, Walt said, "I'll tell you the truth, Bruce. This was a professional job. They took out the camera, knew the security codes, and grabbed Johnny before he could even struggle. The only mistake was in not taking the cane, but that might not even have been a mistake, it could've been a message. We're going to have to call the Feds in on this."

"What're..." Bruce took a deep breath, forcing down the panic at Walt's blunt assessment. "What do you think happened? I mean..."

"Why?"

"Yeah."

Gripping Bruce's shoulder, Walt answered, "I wish I knew, Bruce, I really do. All we can do is pray that Johnny's okay."

* * * *

Cold. Bitter cold that went all the way through to his bones. Teeth chattering violently in response. He was naked and in a small metal room, his bare feet sticking to the metal floor, but not long enough to really warm up. There were no windows and no relief to the steady light that never went away. There were no vents that he could see, but cold air was blowing in from somewhere. No bed, no chair, nothing in the room except for himself.

Johnny didn't know how long it had been since he'd been kidnapped, but he thought it might be about a day or two. It was impossible to tell without a clock or outside light to judge. They kept waking him up at different periods with loud blasts of noise, throwing off his internal clock and keeping him numb in more than one sense of the word.

He'd tried demanding answers when he'd first woken, but all that had gotten him was a further reduction in the temperature. Huddled in on himself, Johnny stumbled in exhaustion and went down painfully on one knee, whimpering at the pain now in both legs as the damaged leg gave out altogether and sent him sprawling.

The floor seared itself into his flesh and Johnny shuddered at the full-body contact. Trying to think warm thoughts, comforting thoughts, he pictured Bruce, pretending that the other man was there to hold him and comfort him through the bizarre and horrible torture. The worst thing was, being as well read as he was, Johnny knew that it could only get worse, that this was relatively painless in the long view of things.

It wasn't until the raucous noise screamed through him that Johnny realized he'd fallen asleep. Groaning, he exclaimed tiredly, "What do you want!? Just tell me what you want!"

There was no answer, not that he'd really expected one, and Johnny slowly got to his feet. His skin was covered in goose-flesh and rubbing his hands over himself didn't help at all. Something sweet and familiar filled his nostrils and Johnny knew that he was being gassed again. He didn't bother to hold his breath, just sat down before he fell down, and let it take him.

Johnny prayed that he didn't wake up somewhere worse.

* * * *

Two weeks with nothing except a media blitz for the missing psychic. A week with no news, no ransom, no message, no sign that Johnny was alive or dead. Bruce felt like a zombie, knew that his emotions were going to get the better of him really damn fast if things kept on like they were. It just wasn't fucking fair! After everything they'd been through, for things to go like this had to be against some kind of natural order of the universe!

"Bruce?"

Sarah's voice startled him out of his thoughts and he looked over at her. "Yeah?"

"I made some breakfast, you want some?" she offered, smiling painfully.

Shaking his head, Bruce answered, "No, thanks Sarah. I'm good."

Joining him at the window, she gripped his shoulder and pointed out, "Starving yourself isn't going to find him any sooner. And when they find him, he's going to need you to be there for him. You need to keep up your strength."

Everything she'd just said was true, except for the 'when' part; it was more like 'if' at this point. "I tried to eat something earlier, but I threw up."

Brushing her fingers across his cheek, Sarah said, "I'll make you some toast and some ginger ale."

"You can make that stuff?" he joked weakly.

She smiled again, more easily this time, and replied, "It's magic. All mothers know how to make ginger ale."

As she turned and walked out of the study, Bruce sighed and looked out of the window.

And how weird is it that Sarah's the one doing the comforting? Ex's aren't supposed to do that, never mind do it so well. Guess it helps when you're married and have a kid.

His cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket, mildly surprised that he'd forgotten he'd left if on. No ID on the face, so he answered with a frown, "Hello?"

"Smith is waiting for you."

Stiffening at the distorted voice, Bruce demanded, "Where is he?"

"You've got to follow the trail we've left."

"There is no fucking trail!" Bruce snapped. He looked around for Walt, or one of the FBI agents, and finding none, started moving towards the door.

"Easy now, no call for that kind of language," the voice cautioned. "And don't go looking for help. Stay right where you are."

Inhaling sharply, realizing that he was being watched, Bruce asked, "What do you want?"

"We know you're not psychic, so we'll make this easy for you. Go to the edge of the street where it connects with Mills Road, alone, and someone will be waiting there for you."

"What happens then?" Bruce asked.

"You'll find out when you get there."

The phone disconnected and Bruce stared at it for a little while before coming to his senses and shoving it in his pocket. He rushed out of the study only to meet up with Sarah, who was coming back with a plate of toast and a glass of ginger ale, as promised.

"Whoa, hey there, everything all right?" she exclaimed, barely stopping in time.

Bruce nodded. "Fine. I just, I need some air, you know? I'll be back in a few minutes."

She frowned, but agreed, "All right. I'll leave this in the kitchen for you."

"Thanks," Bruce said. He paused, then smiled and said, "Thanks for everything, Sarah, you've been great."

Surprised but pleased, she smiled back. "Thanks, Bruce."

He brushed a quick kiss over her cheek, then left.

* * * *

It was easy enough to avoid the agents camped out in the living room and wandering the front yard. Not so easy to get through the reporters that were waiting determinedly at the front gate. Walt, however, had put the fear of God into all of them about bothering Bruce by locking up three of the bigger studio reporters, one right after the other, and charging them with harassment. Charges that he promised would stick. The rest of them believed him enough to give Bruce a curious look as he left, but not follow him down the street.

Holding Johnny's cane in his hand, having snagged it discreetly from the bedroom before leaving, Bruce walked casually down the street, feeling the cameras and eyes on him as he moved away from the house. He turned the corner onto Mills Road and there was a black SUV waiting. Mouth dry with fear, Bruce closed the distance and gazed cautiously in the passenger side window.

There was no one inside. Sighing, both in relief and aggravation, Bruce walked around to the driver's side and opened the door. Climbing inside, he looked in the back seat and his heart dropped. Johnny was there, stretched out on the long seat, either unconscious or asleep or... No! Bruce nearly passed out from relief upon seeing Johnny's chest move in a slow, up and down rhythm.

Scrambling into the back, Bruce cupped Johnny's face and whispered, "Johnny? Angel? Wake up, please wake up."

When there was no response, Bruce started patting his lover down, checking for broken bones. Finding none, he shook Johnny lightly and repeated in a louder voice, "John! Wake up, man! You need to wake up!"

Still no response.

Figuring that drugs were involved, Bruce pulled out his phone and called Walt.

* * * *

Walt was getting more and more anxious as he looked around and couldn't find Bruce anyhow. Running into Sarah, he demanded, "Have you seen Bruce? He's gone."

"Yeah, he went for a walk," she answered, frowning.

"How long ago?"

"Ah, about ten minutes now? Why? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong, is that we don't know if Johnny's the only damn target!" Walt hissed. His phone rang, interrupting him before he could get up a good head of steam. Seeing it was Bruce relieved some of his anxiety, but he answered sharply, "Bruce, where the hell are you? You can't just disappear..."

"I've got him!" Bruce interrupted.

Walt blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Someone called me earlier and told me where to find Johnny, but they said to do it alone. I'm down the end of the street. It looks like he's been drugged, because I can't wake him, so we need an ambulance," Bruce explained.

"Don't move, I'll be right there!" Walt ordered.

"Don't worry, they'll have to pry me off of him."

Walt didn't spare any time to be glad Bruce didn't have a gun and free range of the perps who took Johnny. He hung up and called for an ambulance.

* * * *

"It's a very, very strange mix of drugs that I've never before encountered," Dr. Welsh admitted. "Individually, they aren't at all harmful, most are beneficial, like for lowering blood pressure or fighting infections. Why this particular cocktail was used, I have no idea."

"But he's going to be okay?" Bruce questioned anxiously.

Dr. Welsh shrugged, her dark eyes compassionate. "He should be, but again, I don't know what the cumulative effects will be. We're monitoring him, and all his vitals are stable, so we'll know if anything goes wrong. For now, it's just wait and see."

Bruce nodded, glancing over at the hospital bed that Johnny occupied. Even though they were roughly the same size, Johnny looked small in that bed; small and defenseless. Every protective instinct that Bruce had was up in arms and his entire body felt sore from being so tense.

The door opened and his head snapped over to look. Bruce relaxed when he saw it was Walt and Sarah.

"I'll be back on my rounds in a few hours to check on him. I suggest that you get some rest, Mr. Lewis. You look terrible," Dr. Welsh informed him softly.

Bruce half-smiled and answered, "That's because I feel terrible. I will, promise. Just as soon as Johnny wakes up."

She nodded and headed for the door, smiling at Walt and Sarah on her way out.

"So? What's the deal?" Walt questioned, glancing at Johnny.

Sighing, Bruce replied, "Wait and see."

Wincing, the cop said, "Sorry, Bruce."

"No, hey, I'm just glad to get him back!" Bruce exclaimed, crossing to stand beside the bed. His fingers brushed the golden hair back from Johnny's face as he continued, "He's in one piece and that's all that matters."

Sarah joined him there, slinging an arm around his waist and leaning against him. "Exactly! And he'll be up and about in no time."

As if her words summoned a response, Johnny shifted, frowning even though his eyes didn't open. Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, taking his lover's hand and urging, "C'mon, John, open your eyes for me, okay? Wake up, man, time to wake up."

After a few tense moments where Bruce was sure he could hear Sarah and Walt holding their breaths, Johnny did just that. Sighing and smiling in relief, Bruce greeted the dazed blue eyes, "Hey man, it's about time you rejoined the living."

Obviously confused, brow crinkled, Johnny cleared his throat and asked, "Bruce?"

"Yeah man, it's me," Bruce confirmed, smiling broadly now. "How do you feel?"

"Woozy, confused," Johnny answered, blinking to clear his eyes.

"Oh, hey, close your eyes, let me clean them out for you," Bruce ordered softly. Johnny did so, and Bruce reached for the water container and a small towel, dipping it in and wiping at Johnny's eyes.

When they opened again, he saw Sarah and Walt and smiled. "Hi, guys."

"Hey, Johnny," Sarah replied, stepping closer.

Walt smiled, also relieved, and said, "John."

Bruce rested his hand on Johnny's thigh, gripping it lightly, happy to have the other man conscious and himself. "We've been so worried, man. Do you know what happened?"

Johnny's eyes lingered a moment on Bruce's hand, a faintly uncomfortable expression surfacing, and answered, "Nothing. Last thing I remember is your Dad's funeral."

Feeling his jaw drop, Bruce exclaimed, "That was three months ago, John!"

"Three months?" Johnny echoed, dismayed.

Three months ago, and two months before they'd gotten together, which meant... Bruce removed his hand from Johnny's leg, suddenly realizing why the other man looked so uncomfortable. Shock and horror ripped through him as he demanded, "You don't remember anything after that? My mom coming to visit? Your trip to Boston? Nothing?"

"I went to Boston? Why?" Johnny asked, plainly surprised.

Bruce met Sarah's equally as dismayed gaze and then got to his feet abruptly and stalked outside the room. He couldn't be hearing this. He just couldn't be...there was no way that Johnny could forget about them!

A strong hand gripped his shoulder, startling him, and Walt ordered, "Easy there, take it easy."

But he couldn't even seem to breathe. His chest was tight and his heart pounding painfully.

"I need some help here!" Walt shouted.

Bruce collapsed into the other man's arms, sagging into them as his knees gave out. Everything that had happened, gone, vanished as though it had never been. Wiped clean from Johnny's memories. He didn't fight the darkness, not this time...he ignored Walt's demands to stay with him, he welcomed it.