Stolen

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. I wish they did - oh, how I wish they did...

'How is he, sir?'
     Graham looked up from the clipboard he was scrutinising to find Scott beside him. The guard saluted.
     'How is the Doctor?'
     Graham frowned.
     'Well, he's recovering, but it's taking longer than he wants...'
     Scott nodded pensively.
     'Please pass on our good wishes.'
     Startled and a little suspicious – although admittedly the new security detail hadn't yet experienced the Doctor's usual tantrums and tirades, so couldn't really know what he was normally like: no doubt they'd learn soon enough – Graham nodded.
     'Soon's he's awake... Any information yet on how the... abduction happened?'
      'As far as we can tell, the kidnappers gained access to the complex before we were brought in. We found a makeshift bivouac at the northern perimeter, with Arcane Industry uniforms inside. They probably masqueraded as staff for some time before making a move: I gather everything was a bit disorganised after the explosion.' Scott frowned irritably. 'We haven't discovered why they did it though.'
     'Industrial sabotage, probably.' Graham sighed. 'Doctor Arcane is a brilliant man, and has a lot of enemies.'
     Scott nodded thoughtfully.
     'That's probably it then. Though if you do think of anything else – anything at all, even the tiniest detail – please let me know. We're making sure no-one but you and anyone you personally authorise can get within five hundred feet of the Doctor until the situation is resolved, but we don't know if they're still here. Most of the personnel records were lost, as you know, and it's taking a while to reassemble them and check everyone's references.'
     That fact was still giving Graham nightmares. He'd had little contact with most of the staff while Sunderland was running the show, and Arcane hadn't managed to describe the pair in any great detail: it was as though his memory was blocking out the entire experience. The fact that they might still be in the grounds, even now plotting something even more heinous, was enough to make Graham feel ill...
     That Scott was extraordinarily efficient was a comfort. The men he had guarding the Doctor's premises were handpicked and absolutely trustworthy, and Graham had gotten used to having to submit to their stringent security check every time he entered the building, even though they knew him by now. It was annoying, but he put up with it willingly, knowing that it guaranteed the Doctor's safety.

Arcane was also having nightmares, but his weren't so easily dealt with...
     It seemed that every time he closed his eyes he saw the cave again, felt himself choking in that oppressive dark silence. The imagination that had guided him to some of his more radical innovations now supplied details of the indignities his kidnappers had inflicted on him while he was unconscious – indignities that he knew, from the doctor's report, hadn't actually happened, but which could have so easily...
     He woke, gasping, instinctively reaching for Graham, Graham who had rescued him. And there was no doubt there. If Graham hadn't found Holland, hadn't begged for Arcane's life, hadn't made the connection and found him, Arcane would now be dead – naked, chained to a cave wall, starved, and irrevocably dead.
     He didn't like to admit it, but his assistant had saved his life.
     Again.
     How many times had it been now?
     ... Graham wasn't there.
     Arcane scrambled to sit upright, hyperventilating, whimpering in fear.
     Graham. Gone.
     Arcane froze, unable to scream, unable to move, seeing shapes moving in the shadows of the room, too terrified to make a sound.
     His heart faltered as the elevator started to ascend. Moments later it opened and Graham stepped out, eyes widening as he caught sight of Arcane.
     'Sir? It's OK, it's only me...'
     Arcane bit back a sob and slumped back against the pillows, dragging in painful gasps of air.
     'Graham...'
     His assistant sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder.
     'Yes sir. Just me.'
     'Where the hell did you go?' Arcane took refuge from his fear in bluster, glaring balefully at his assistant. Graham flinched.
     'Sorry sir. I'm trying to keep things running while you're laid up...'
     'Hm. Well, at least you're trying to be useful...'
     'Doing my best, sir. How're you feeling?'
     Arcane folded his arms across his chest and scowled.
     'Damnably weak.'
     'Well, you were starved, dehydrated and hypothermic when we found you. It's only been four days – it takes time to recover from that sort of ordeal.'
     'It's a waste of time, time I could more usefully spend in the lab.'
     Until you collapse and put your recovery back by a month... 'Sir, you must think of your health.'
     Arcane humphed.
     'But I'm bored.'
     'Can I get you something to read?'
     'I very much doubt Houma stocks the latest copy of Theoretical and Applied Genetics.'
     'Probably not, sir. But I can have a copy flown in for you.'
     Arcane considered the idea. That idiot of a doctor had advised him to rest for two weeks, and while he believed he'd be back to work well before then, it would be useful to spend some time catching up on global research.
     'Very well. Get the last two issues of the Journal of Neurochemistry and this month's Phytotherapy Research as well.'
     'Yes sir. I might be able to get them couriered in, that'd be faster.'
     'Thank you, Graham.' Arcane settled back against his pillows, a satisfied smile on his face. It would be interesting to see what lesser minds were engaged in just now...

Graham stepped out of the elevator to find Arcane in dressing gown sprawled on the bed, growling to himself as he flicked pages angrily.
     'Morons, all of them...' Arcane glanced up at his assistant. 'What do you want?'
     Graham lifted the tray he was carrying.
     'Lunch, sir.' He eyed the various journals lying across the bed, their pages covered with scrawlings in red, green and blue. 'Nothing useful then?'
     Arcane tossed the journal he was holding to one side in disgust. 'Half of them are on the wrong track and the other half are idiots. Am I the only truly great mind left on the planet?'
     'Why don't you write them a paper or two? Surely they'd welcome some crumbs from Doctor Arcane?'
     Arcane snorted.
     'None of them have the perspicacity to understand my work. It would be a waste of my time – and I have no time to waste.'
     'But sir, wouldn't it be a good thing to offer advice to those coming after you? To share a bit of your knowledge, your genius?'
     Arcane eyed his assistant narrowly.
     'You think they deserve it?'
     'Well, no – but it would be a generous thing to do, sir. And wouldn't it be great to have your genius more widely recognised?'
     Arcane frowned, then nodded slowly. 'True. I'll consider it.' He glanced at the tray. 'So what have you brought me today?'
     'Veal scallopini with avocado. Light but healthy. I think you'll like it, sir.'
     Arcane grinned. Graham was turning into a superlative cook. One of these days he'd have to invite the man to eat with him...

Arcane fidgeted irritably. Dr Rossiter had left half an hour ago, after advising him it was still too early for him to be up and about if he wanted to make a full recovery. Which was all very well, but what was he supposed to do while recuperating?
Although...
The papers that Graham had suggested he write... For the first time in years he actually had time to spare. Perhaps it might be a good idea to offer some of his knowledge to the world at large. Though nothing too innovative: it would be very foolish to allow anyone the chance to steal his ideas. He reached for the discarded copy of Theoretical and Applied Genetics and turned to one of the less irritating articles, by a young Russian geneticist who – now he thought about it – did show some promise. There were some subtle flaws in his reasoning though, errors that Arcane could easily correct. Reaching for a notebook and pen he began to draft the first paper he'd written in seven years.

When Graham arrived with dinner he was startled to find Arcane energised and animated, speaking into a handheld Dictaphone as he paced back and forth across the bedroom, dressing gown flaring out around him. The Doctor glanced at him and smiled, beckoning him into the room as he wound up his recitation, switched off the machine and beamed at his assistant.
     'Graham, despite the useless flotsam of thoughts that generally ferment in your brain, occasionally you do come up with a staggeringly good suggestion. I feel positively exhilarated.'
     'Oh... good, sir... what did I do?'
     Arcane carefully removed the tape from the machine and handed it to his assistant.
     'Get this typed up for me, then bring it to me to check.'
     'What is it, sir?'
     'A reply to Vitaly Egorov, with suggestions as to how he may improve on his theory of cloning recombinant DNA. And my first draft of an original paper on a potential cure for Von Hippel-Lindau syndrome.'
     Graham stared at the Doctor for a moment, then grinned to himself and nodded.
     'Right away, Doctor...'

Two days later Arcane had finally had enough of being restricted to bed; he showered, dressed, and made his way down to his private lab with a wonderful sense of coming home. Graham had obviously tidied up in readiness for his return – the place was spotless.
     His assistant had also, apparently, taken care of signing off the recent contracts and delivering the products to their respective new owners, if the pile of invoices – and the bank statement with the very healthy deposits on it – were anything to go by.
     Graham had his uses.
     Arcane rubbed his hands together, grinning widely. He'd had a flash of inspiration last night regarding an experimental gene-splicing process that hadn't worked as well as he'd wanted: it might be time to revisit the procedure and see if it could be refined. There was also that failed attempt at manipulating malignant neoplasm: he was sure the solution was within his grasp. If so, the military bioweapons boys might be interested. The ability to deliberately cause cancer in targeted individuals would certainly add to their arsenal.
     Or if they didn't want it, maybe one of the main cancer research organisations would.
     He shrugged into his trademark black lab coat, assembled the necessary materials, made sure the cameras were recording, and settled down to work.

It was a couple of hours before he realised there was something missing...
     It was quiet in the lab – too quiet. Arcane glanced over his shoulder a little nervously. Yes, he was alone. There was no irritating little twerp asking him stupid questions or bumbling about.
     Where the hell was Graham?
     He pressed the intercom: an unfamiliar voice answered, and Arcane frowned.
     'Who are you?'
     'Sergeant Scott, sir, new head of security. I assume you're Doctor Arcane?'
     'You assume correctly. Put out a call for Graham for me, would you, old chap?'
     'Certainly sir.'
     Releasing the button, Arcane stared pensively at the intercom for a moment. Scott, eh? The man sounded both efficient and properly respectful, and he vaguely remembered Graham saying that the new team were much more professional than the old security…
     He returned to his desk and added to the notes he was penning. It looked as though he had cracked the problem with the neoplasm, but he needed an initial subject for experimentation.
     Twenty minutes later he realised that Graham hadn't answered the call. Grumbling under his breath he hit the intercom again.
     'Scott? Did you page Graham?'
     'Yes sir. He hasn't responded?'
     'Obviously, since I'm speaking to you again.'
     'Do you want me to instigate a search, sir?'
     Arcane considered the idea for a few seconds, then nodded to himself.
     'Yes. Just in case the little twit has got himself into some kind of trouble. Keep me updated.'
     'Yes sir.'
     Arcane stood for a moment, frowning, the first faint tendrils of unease creeping through his mind.
     They still hadn't caught those intruders…

An hour later Arcane was pacing agitatedly back and forth across his lab. There'd been no word from Scott, and Graham hadn't returned, and he was beginning to feel distinctly... anxious. Not that he was worried about his assistant – no, of course not – but… Those two thugs…
     He suddenly felt trapped. And very alone. And angry for being put in this position. Snarling, he slapped the elevator call button. He'd be better off above ground.
     Before the elevator doors were fully open he stepped out – and immediately froze as the business end of a deadly looking assault rifle materialised an inch before his eyes.
     'What…'
     The rifle was snatched back and its holder snapped to attention, saluting crisply.
     'Sorry sir. Didn't realise you were out of recovery yet.'
     Arcane was still reeling. He swallowed hard and crossed his arms over his chest, attempting to regain some control of the situation.
     'While I cannot fault your enthusiasm and attention to duty, I am not exactly thrilled to have a gun shoved in my face!'
     'I know sir. Sorry sir. Won't happen again.'
     'It had better not!' He strode forward, halting as two of the three soldiers guarding the entrance stepped forward to keep pace on either side of him. 'What the hell…?'
     'We're your personal guards, sir. Where you go, we go.'
     'Oh bloody hell…' This could become very annoying very quickly. On the other hand… He flinched as the memory of those awful endless days alone in the cave clawed at his mind. 'Very well. Just don't get in my way.'
     Half way across the compound Arcane was brought up short by a human wall, who saluted him respectfully then smiled down at him.
     'Scott, sir. May I say that we are all pleased to see that you have recovered from your ordeal.'
     Arcane blinked, unused to having to look up at anyone in his employ. Scott grinned briefly then inclined his head.
     'We are still looking for your assistant, but it may be that you can help advise us. Where does Mr Graham usually work?'
     'At my side.' The words escaped before he could corral them, and Arcane cringed inside. But Scott just nodded.
     'I see. OK.' He frowned. 'And when he isn't at your side?'
     'He…' Arcane faltered. What did Graham do? Apart from ensuring his boss had everything he needed, fending off time-wasters, taking notes, making – admittedly often useless – suggestions, but even they were useful in a way, enabling Arcane to avoid invalid lines of research, repairing damaged lab equipment, preparing Arcane's workspace, cooking, seeing to Arcane's comfort… worshipping him… saving his bloody life…
     Arcane gritted his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment. He would not be weak in front of this stranger. He took a deep breath and glowered up at the head of security.
     'He is indispensable to me. He could be anywhere in the complex. He's unlikely to be in the swamp, but it's possible he may have gone into Houma. He would have reported to me first if he planned to go further afield.'
     Scott nodded decisively.
     'Thank you, sir – that gives us useful info. May I request that you return to your building now?'
     Arcane stared at him, speechless for the second time in recorded history.
     'You what?'
     Scott inclined his head.
     'For your safety, sir.'
     'For my...' Arcane frowned, then eyed the sergeant thoughtfully. The man was, it would seem, extraordinarily efficient. Fleetingly – if reluctantly – he acknowledged that Graham had really outdone himself here.
     'I need to know the moment you find Graham. Make sure you check the... the c... cave...' He bit his lip to fight down the shudder that the very thought of that bloody dungeon raised. Scott saluted crisply.
     'Of course sir. Leave it to us.'

For what felt like the thousandth time Graham tugged uselessly at the tape securing his hands and wrists to the tubular metal arms of the chair. All he succeeded in doing was pulling out a few more hairs, which stung ridiculously painfully. He whimpered, and big and ugly glanced over at him, grinning.
     'Might as well just stay still, you know. Even if you got free, you'd have to get past us.'
     Graham stopped struggling and closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted was this pair remembering he was here...
     They'd overpowered him easily, shoving a rag into his mouth to muffle his cries and a sack over his head so he couldn't see anything, then heaving him into the back of a van. They'd driven for half an hour – Graham had vaguely heard them leaving the complex, being allowed though security without any problem – before stopping. He'd then been bundled out and dragged down a flight of stairs into this room.
     Where smaller and uglier had proceeded to cut all his clothing away with an extremely sharp knife before pushing him down onto the cold metal chair and securing his arms and spread legs. Touching him – fondling him – all the way...
     Graham had been terrified. Especially when the hand, still holding the knife, had cupped and squeezed his genitals. He'd tried to close his thighs, but the tape holding his knees and ankles to the legs of the chair was far too strong. He was exposed and very, very vulnerable.
     Then they'd forced a weird gag into his mouth – a strange large circular thing with a hole through the middle that held his jaws wide apart and that buckled behind his head. Graham hadn't known what it was at first – until big and ugly had leered and stuck two fingers through it, pushing them in and out of his mouth suggestively.
     Graham had whimpered and nearly passed out with fear. Since then he'd tried to stay as quiet as possible.
     They hadn't told him anything. Nor asked him anything. They'd simply sat at a table on the other side of the low-ceilinged, stuffy room.
     Playing chess.
     Chess!
     He tried to swallow, but his mouth was horribly dry from being kept open by the o-ring gag, and his jaw muscles were aching like fuck.... nononono, don't use that word, not to describe... this...
     ... had Arcane missed him yet? And if he had – which wasn't likely – would he realise anything was wrong?...
     What did these bastards want?

Arcane was still pacing. There'd been no news, either good or bad. No sign of Graham. No word of Graham. Where the hell was the little twit?
     The intercom crackled. Arcane gasped, the sound startling him, then grabbed for the handset.
     'Sir, we think we may have a lead.'
     Arcane closed his eyes, suddenly weak with relief. When he spoke, his voice was less acerbic than he'd planned.
     'Well it's about bloody time!'
     'I know. I'm sorry it's taken so long, sir. May I come down there?'
     'Yes, yes, of course. Just get a move on, will you?'
     Moments later the elevator doors opened and Scott strode out, saluting Arcane then standing before him, frowning slightly.
     'It appears that this morning's sentry detail allowed a truck to leave the complex. Said truck contained two individuals who, whilst in Arcane Industries uniform, are not to be found on the employee database – as far as we have been able to resurrect it, at any rate.'
     'Well? And?'
     'They were supposed to go into Houma for supplies. They have not returned.'
     'But... passes out of the complex are for no more than two hours unless explicitly authorised by me.'
     'Exactly, sir. And we know you did not authorise it.'
     'Bloody hell! Who let it through? I'll have his...'
     Scott raised a hand.
     'Sir, you have more important things to worry about than discipline. Rest assured the men responsible will never work again. For anyone.'
     'Well at least you're on the ball...' Arcane folded his arms and bit his lower lip. 'So what now?'
     'I've sent a small task force into Houma to search for the van and the occupants.' He nodded confidently. 'We'll find Mr Graham, sir. Don't worry.'
     'You'd better...'

Graham had no idea how long he'd been held captive, but his body was one vast ache from immobility, tension and strain, desperate to move to ease his cramping muscles, but entirely unable to do so – his mind automatically flickered to the Doctor's pain threshold experiments. He'd never been a part of them, but he could now imagine how the victims had felt... He tried hopelessly to swallow, gagging when his throat wouldn't cooperate.
     It attracted big and ugly's attention. He stretched, rose slowly to his feet and sauntered over to where Graham cringed in his chair. A calloused finger flicked at the gag, and Graham whimpered.
     'You're not as pretty as your boss. But beggars can't be choosers.' He unzipped his jeans casually, ignoring Graham's shaking head and incomprehensible pleas, and pulled out his cock, fisting himself to erection. Leering, he took Graham's head in his hands and pulled him forwards. 'Just pretend I'm Arcane.'
     Graham froze, eyes closing, hyperventilating as the stink of musk and stale sweat invaded his nostrils. Big and ugly was moving slowly, making the most of the threat... Graham felt the gag push against his mouth, then something hot, smooth and slick touch his tongue... croaking out a cry he yanked his head out of the thug's hands, and shoved backwards so hard he toppled the chair, walloping his head against the concrete floor.
     Unfortunately it didn't knock him out. Big and ugly hauled the chair back up and slapped his face hard, growling.
     'Little runt. Fuckin' hold still.'
     He didn't bother with finesse this time, clamping his hands on either side of Graham's face and simply shoving himself into the captive mouth, ignoring the man's desperate struggles. Graham tried to scream but his mouth was full of rigid flesh...
     Big and ugly halted, looking over his shoulder. Smaller and uglier had risen, gun in hand, at the sound of a door being kicked in.
     'Fuckit...' Big and ugly pulled out of Graham's mouth and moved behind him, zipping himself up, gun planted firmly against the captive's head while smaller and uglier pressed his own to the assistant's groin as Arcane Industry's new security team made their way quickly but cautiously down the stairs, assault rifles at the ready.
     The team leader took in the situation swiftly and aimed at big and ugly, who shook his head.
     'Ah ah. Put the guns down, slowly. Or Arcane loses his boyfriend.'
     Johnson, the ex-marine team leader, didn't move.
     'What do you want?'
     'I want you to put your gun down.'
     'Sorry. No way.'
     Smaller and uglier frowned at his colleague. This was not the way this was supposed to go.
     'We'll kill the runt if you don't.'
     Johnson shrugged.
     'An unfortunate consequence of the situation. He'll be dead – but so will you. Both of you.'
     Graham was ashen, hardly daring to breathe, two extremely cold, extremely deadly hunks of metal pointing at two very vulnerable parts of his anatomy. The thought of how ridiculous he must look did flash very briefly through his mind, to be quickly overridden by terror.
     Big and ugly was frowning. Graham could feel the gun at his head shifting very slightly, and tried to make himself not-there. Its carrier was trembling, and a trembling man was nervous. And a nervous man could easily fire a weapon accidentally...
     'I suggest you put your weapons down. Now.'
     'Not until you get Arcane here.'
     Graham blinked. What? Why would they want the Doctor here?
     Johnson eyed the trio with narrowed eyes. It had been impressed on the whole squad that Arcane must not be exposed to any danger. The man was far too valuable to be risked.
     But it was also rumoured that his assistant, the terrified naked man in the chair, was Arcane's lover, and his loss... would be catastrophic as far as the Doctor was concerned.
     He growled very quietly to himself. This needed careful handling, and he really needed those guns pointing somewhere other than at Graham.
     He stood up from his crouch, rifle held loosely at arm's length.
     'I'm putting the gun down.' He glanced at his men, indicating that they should lower their weapons, and lowered the rifle to the ground.
     Graham felt the pressure at his groin and on his head slacken a little as the trembling stopped, and risked a quick, shaky breath. Perhaps he wasn't going to die right away after all.
     'I'm getting out my radio.' Johnson reached to his hip, moving very slowly and deliberately, bringing the handset to his face and making contact with the complex. 'Sir? Johnson. We've located the captive.' A crackle of static followed by Scott's voice, faintly heard. 'Yes, he's uninjured. His captors are demanding Doctor Arcane come here.' He listened, frowning. 'I know sir, but they say they'll kill him if not.' Another few seconds of Scott's voice, and Johnson lowered the radio.
     'We're arranging to have Doctor Arcane brought here.' He frowned as Graham paled and shook his head. 'In the meantime, get that... thing out of Mr Graham's mouth.'
     'Oh, I dunno.' Big and ugly leered. 'I think it looks quite fetching.'
     Johnson scowled.
     'You aren't doing yourselves any favours.'
     Smaller and uglier glowered for a moment, then unbuckled the gag and yanked it of their captive's mouth. Graham yelped, then gingerly closed his mouth, whimpering as strained muscle complained. Johnson scrutinised him as closely as he could.
     'Have you been hurt, sir?'
     Graham tried to speak, but his mouth and throat were parched: he started coughing dryly, shaking his head. Johnson gestured sharply at big and ugly.
     'Get him some water.'
     Grumbling under his breath big and ugly, gun still at the ready, edged backwards to the table, grabbed a mug and filled it up at the sink. Returning, he held it to Graham's lips, tilting it, his eyes still fixed on Johnson.
     'How long 'til Arcane gets here?'

Scott saluted the Doctor and passed on Johnson's message, noting that Arcane paled as he listened, his eyes suddenly anxious. Interesting. The Doctor's body language didn't match what he was saying...
     'The stupid idiot! How could he let himself get caught? He knows how dangerous it can be...'
     'He'd have been taken by surprise, sir.'
     'Oh bloody hell... What now?'
     'I have to ask, sir, are you prepared to put yourself in danger in order to rescue him? We will, of course, minimise the risk – you'll be wearing full protective gear and FBI issue bullet-proof sunglasses – but we can't absolutely guarantee your safety.'
     Arcane lowered his head. Was he? Was Graham actually worth the risk? Unconsciously he began to pace, trying to imagine life without his assistant... He glanced at Scott.
     'You have some sort of plan, I presume?'
     'At the moment, sir, they have two guns trained on your... assistant, and it's safe to assume they are at least a little nervous.' He grimaced. 'Also not too bright, since they haven't hidden their identity and have left themselves with no way out. We need to keep things calm to avoid anyone getting hurt.'
     Arcane nodded pensively.
     'I see. Of course, the whole situation could be resolved with a blast of nerve gas.'
     Scott blinked.
     'Well, yes, it would sir. But we don't have any.'
     Arcane smirked.
     'I have. A formula I've been working on, increasing its effectiveness.'
     '... won't that hurt Mr Graham, sir?'
     'Temporarily. But if the idiot was stupid enough to get himself captured then he'll have to face the consequences.'
     Scott eyed the Doctor a little apprehensively. This was not, he thought, the way he'd expected Arcane to treat his lover. Maybe the rumours were exaggerated.
     'How fast does the gas work?'
     'It's instantaneous.'
     'And how is it delivered?'
     'Ah, that's the genius of it. It's contained in a small glass pellet that can be thrown or trodden on, making it supremely easy to use. None of that clumsy canister business.'
     'How long does the effect last and how long does it take to clear?
     Arcane frowned grumpily.
     'At the moment, it only lasts for about five minutes. I'm working on increasing that, but it's tricky getting the constituent proportions correct...'
     Scott held up a hand.
     'Five minutes is more than enough in this instance, sir. How soon 'til it's safe?'
     Unused to being interrupted, Arcane glowered, but they were talking about Graham's safety, after all, and there was no telling how patient the two thugs were...
     'It disperses within two minutes – less if the area has air-conditioning.'
     'And it has to be breathed in? Not absorbed by the skin?'
     'No – that's a different formulation, with more effective and longer-lasting results.' Which included death, but Arcane thought it might be best not to mention that right now. Scott nodded.
     'It sounds ideal sir. And with that, there's not really any need for you to accompany me.'
     'What? But...'
     Scott raised a hand.
     'You'd be safer here, sir.'
     Arcane folded his arms, expression mutinous.
     'Bugger that! Graham is my assistant and I am coming with you.'
     'I advise against it...'
     'Who is your boss?'
     'You are, sir.'
     'Then that's an end to it. Now I suggest we get a move on before someone decides the little twerp would be more effective as fishing bait than he is as a bumbling excuse for an assistant...'

Scott drove, zeroing in on the signal from the tracer fitted in all Arcane Industry radios. At his side, Arcane, fidgeting uncomfortably in the body armour Scott had insisted he wear under his clothing, was running over the plan. He held four nose plugs in his hand and glanced at the sergeant.
     'Filters – tiny, inconspicuous and very efficient. Insert them before we go in.'
     Scott nodded. Arcane frowned at him.
     'What about your men? Without the filters the gas will knock them out.'
     'When we reach Houma I'll radio Johnson, have them pull back and be ready to leave the building when we arrive. That should settle the kidnappers enough that they'll relax, which will make our job easier.' He glanced at Arcane. 'Are you sure you're OK with this, sir? You could stay outside while I go in.'
     Arcane growled quietly.
     'If they are who I think they are, I want to see them suffer.'
     'You think they're the same two who attacked you?'
     'Who else would they be?'
     'Very well, sir. But you will please obey any orders I might give while we're in the building.'
     'I suppose I could agree to that.'
     'It's in your best interests, sir.' He glanced at the tracker. 'We're almost there.'
     Arcane carefully lifted the glass pellet from its padded case and palmed it gently, then eased the nose-filters into place. As Scott drew to a halt and reached for his radio, the Doctor handed him his own pair. Scott nodded thanks then raised the handset.
     'We're outside. I want you to clear the building – we don't want any risk of gunfire... don't argue, Johnson. Just tell them we're here, you're leaving, then get out of there and leave the rest to us. I'll contact you in a few minutes with further orders.'
     He hitched the radio back on his belt and slipped in his filters as the armed squad filed out of the door. Johnson saluted.
     'All clear sir.'
     'Good.' He glanced at Arcane, who was looking pale and nervous but determined. 'Ready, sir?'
     'Let's get this over with.'

Big and ugly frowned at smaller and uglier as the armed squad retreated, shouldering their rifles and backing up the stairs.
     'What the hell is going on?'
     'I guess the good Doctor has arrived...'
     Graham was suddenly acutely conscious of his position – and his complete lack of clothing. He could feel himself reddening with embarrassment. The Doctor had never so much as seen him shirtless before, let alone naked. What was he going to think? Graham knew he was in fairly good shape – but he was so hairy... He closed his eyes. He'd always admired Arcane's smoothness, his elegant lack of body hair. It was somehow more... refined. Less animalistic...
     Unfortunately, envisaging the Doctor's body had its usual response – he felt his cock twitch and thicken... frantically he tried to think of the least erotic things he could, rat droppings, the smell of methane, swamp sludge, but it was only minimally successful. He heard Arcane grumbling as the Doctor came down the stairs and lowered his head in shame. To be seen in such a state! He'd probably be fired. If not mutated...
     Even the gun pressing more firmly against his neck couldn't stop his reaction to his beloved boss' voice and with a silent sob he gave in, cursing himself.
     'Graham? What the hell is going on?' Arcane sounded indignant. Graham cringed – then cringed more as the cold metal of a gun's muzzle pressed against his now fully erect cock.
     'Stop there, Arcane, or your boyfriend loses your little toy.'
     Graham cracked open an eye warily. Arcane and sergeant Scott had stopped a few paces from the foot of the stairs, and... there was something slightly odd about the Doctor's voice...
     'Breathe, Graham.'
     Eyes widening with sudden realisation the assistant took a deep breath. As he did so, Arcane dropped the nerve gas pellet on the ground and trod on it – and a second later both of Woodrue's thugs had crumpled to the floor, paralysed.
     'God, that is effective...' Scott sounded impressed.
     'Of course it is. It's my creation.'
     Graham felt the pressure in his lungs becoming painful: he couldn't hold his breath much longer. Then he felt the Doctor's hands on his arms, and a moment later the tape was ripped from him – tearing out a substantial amount of hair.
     Graham couldn't help it, he yelped with pain, breathing in a lungful of gas, instantly going limp as it took effect. Well, limp except for the one part of him he wished would go limp, anyway. Arcane huffed.
     'Idiot...'
     He moved to Graham's legs, ripping off tape and hair with little regard to his assistant's comfort, and Graham was glad he couldn't move or speak, or he'd be screaming. Arcane glanced at Scott, who had both thugs de-weaponed and bound to his satisfaction, then hoisted Graham over his shoulder with a grunt.
     Seconds later Graham, his head and stomach churning, found himself being carried up the stairs and out into sunlight, where Arcane dumped him unceremoniously on the ground by the car, then stepped back and scrutinised him closely.
     It took less than half a minute for the fresh air to clear the gas from Graham's lungs – then he dragged himself onto all fours, retching desperately. He'd been dreading this side effect.
     Mind you, there was a certain amusement value in watching the two kidnappers experience the same, except that Scott hadn't been so kind. With their hands bound tightly behind their backs and their ankles tied, they were forced to sit where they'd been dropped. Which meant that their vomit ended up all over themselves...
     'Disgusting.'
     Graham looked up nervously, but Arcane's eyes were on the two thugs. The assistant weakly moved a little further towards the car and hunched down with his knees up to his chin, hiding his persistent erection. Arcane crouched down beside him.
     'Feeling better, old chap?'
     Graham nodded feebly.
     'Yes sir. Thank you, sir.'
     Arcane patted him on the shoulder, then his voice hardened.
     'Yes, well, we'll have words about the idiocy of allowing oneself to be kidnapped later, shall we?'
     Graham bit back a sob and lowered his head. Though there was a measure of comfort in knowing things were back to normal. Something soft landed on him, and he looked upwards into Arcane's eyes – which were strangely fond, he realised with a shock.
     'Cover yourself up with that.' That turned out to be a blanket, which Graham gratefully unfolded and wrapped around himself. Arcane gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet, holding him steady until he had – mostly – regained his balance.
     'Into the car, Graham.'
     The assistant struggled obediently into the back seat, where he lay back, stinging eyes closed and stomach decidedly uneasy, just happy to be safely out of the nightmare of the last day. He could faintly hear Scott ordering his men to ensure that the unsavoury pair were transported securely back to the complex, then the sergeant and Arcane climbed into the car.
     The drove in silence for a short while, then Scott grinned at Arcane.
     'Very smooth, sir. Very professional.'
     'Of course. I'm professional in everything I do.'
     'Is Mr Graham OK?'
     'He will be. I think that's mostly shock. A bath, a meal and a good night's sleep and he'll be right as rain.'
     'That's a relief. Do you want me to allocate him a guard?'
     Arcane was silent for a moment, considering the suggestion, then sighed and nodded.
     'If it will prevent a recurrence of this unpleasant event, then I suppose I had better say yes.'
     Graham wriggled with pleasure in his cocoon of blanket. Doctor Arcane valued him enough to let him have a guard? Life didn't get any better.
     Well, actually, it could, but not this side of the next blue moon...

At the complex Arcane pulled the now exhausted Graham from the car and ushered him in the direction of his suite, calling instructions over his shoulder for the kidnappers to be shoved into the most uncomfortable cells they possessed and he'd decide what he wanted done with them tomorrow. Scott saluted and turned to Johnson, who stood beside him watching Arcane and his assistant bemusedly.
     'Odd couple, aren't they, sir?'
     'Hm.'
     'I mean, I'd have thought the Doctor would have picked someone a little more... refined. And better looking.'
     Scott leered.
     'He has other... assets... And he's very obviously... um... devoted to the Doctor.'
     Johnson frowned curiously.
     'Just what happened when you were in that cellar and we were outside?'
     Scott smirked, but kept his peace...