A/N: Thanks to frankie mcstein for help with brainstorming and working out tiny plot issues—and for helping me come up with this one's title.

And, yes, if you're wondering, I once again fudged everything drug-related and just based it on other fiction I've seen/read. (It's called not being a medical professional but being swamped with work and health issues and not bothering to do the research because you just want to write/post a fic. Totally okay, right?)

Standard disclaimers apply.

It was the calm before the storm.

Rick was sitting at the bar, La Mariana dim and quiet around him, typing away on his laptop. He needed to get orders placed with several suppliers, and he was hoping to finish before T.C. arrived. Christmas was rapidly approaching, and they still needed to finalize what specials they wanted to run for the holiday. And then it would be time to open the bar, and Rick knew his day would only get busier.

He was nearly finished filling out the online form when he heard a noise from the kitchen. That was weird. None of his staff were due in for another few hours, and—Rick checked his watch—it was a little earlier than T.C. was supposed to arrive. But the weird thing was Rick knew his friend always used the front door, and there was no reason for T.C. to have to come in through the back today.

Rick's gut was telling him something was wrong. Even though no further sounds had followed the first, he still got up quietly and padded around the bar. He kept a gun hidden in a safe by the register, and something told him he was going to need it.

He quickly reached under the counter and tapped the code to unlock the metal box, then checked the pistol was loaded before starting for the kitchen. He wasn't sure what he was about to find, and, although he hoped it wasn't anything serious, there was a little voice in the back of his head telling him he needed to be prepared.

The kitchen was dark and still when he pushed through the door, and Rick blinked. He couldn't make out anything at first, and, for a moment, he thought everything might be fine. But when he fully stepped into the room and the door swung shut behind him, something hard connected with the back of his head.

Stars exploded in Rick's vision as he stumbled forward, and he very nearly fell to his knees at the force of the blow. Somehow, he managed to keep his footing, and, even though the dim room was now swimming around him, he managed to turn and lift his weapon at the threat.

He just barely had the chance to make out a shadowy form before the man grabbed his right hand and slammed a fist into Rick's wrist. The move dislodged the pistol from Rick's grip and sent it clattering to the tile floor. But Rick didn't have a chance to go after it before more blows were raining down on him, and it was all he could do to try to block his opponent's fists as they came at him.

Rick shook his head, managing to shake away most of the fuzziness, and moved toward the threat. He knew he needed to get the guy on the defensive if he hoped to win the fight. He landed a glancing blow on the man's chin, but that was when things quickly got worse.

There was the sound of footsteps on the tile behind Rick, who didn't have a chance to turn toward the new threat before arms wrapped around him from behind in a chokehold.

He bucked against them instinctively, grabbing at the arm around his neck even as he threw his weight backward to try to dislodge the man's grip. His attempts were in vain, though, and the arms just tightened as he again tried to shake them. Whoever was behind him was almost a head taller than Rick was, and that worked to the man's advantage—and Rick's disadvantage.

And then his first opponent was coming at him again, and Rick gritted his teeth as he braced himself. When the other man was within reach, Rick used the guy holding him as support to lash out with his leg, using the leverage to get his feet higher. He managed to land a kick in the goon's stomach and was rewarded with a grunt of pain.

But the movement hadn't been enough to yank free from the arms pinning him against his second attacker, and Rick could feel his breath coming in shorter gasps now. His sight was starting to go blurry as well, and he knew he was running out of air. He swung his arms up behind his head, trying to reach the guy behind him, but he couldn't see and the other man was able to evade Rick's hands.

The arm around his neck tightened even more, and Rick coughed, choking on the lack of breath as the room began to fade out. He could see the shadowy figure of the first guy coming toward him again but couldn't do anything about it this time.

There was a prick in his right arm, followed by the rush of something cold flooding through his arm, and Rick blinked heavily as the feeling spread up his shoulder. Whatever they'd given him quickly combined with the oxygen deprivation, and Rick felt his legs growing weak.

He dropped heavily to the floor as the man who'd been holding him let him go, and Rick grunted as he hit the tile. Curiously, nothing hurt, which he belatedly attributed to whatever they'd just dosed him with.

It wasn't what he'd have expected from a drug; it felt more like he had just spent a whole night drinking rather than knocking him out completely. Which… he supposed made sense. If this was a kidnapping for some reason, they wouldn't want to have to carry his limp weight out. Better to keep him weak but on his feet rather than unconscious. But this was still going to make escaping much more difficult.

Shadows moved around him, and Rick felt someone pushing at him roughly, forcing him over onto his stomach. He tried to gather his strength to fight against the guy who was manhandling him, but he barely got his hands underneath him before someone grabbed his left wrist and roughly yanked his arm behind his body.

Rick's chest slammed to the floor again, and, this time, there was a knee in his back to hold him down. He struggled weakly, but he was no match for the much larger man who was pinning him to the floor.

The telltale sound of a zip tie being tightened accompanied the feeling of plastic closing around his wrists. Rick tried to pull his hands free, but it was no use.

He felt the weight leave his back as the goon stood, then hands closed around his arms and hauled him to his feet. Rick staggered a little as he tried to find his footing, his head spinning, everything around him weaving in and out of focus.

One thought seemed to stick with him: T.C. was coming. His friend was already on his way for their meeting. Rick just had to stall these guys until he arrived.

It was really his only option at this point. A thought surfaced from somewhere in the back of his mind to remind him of the statistic that his chances of escaping from his captors would drop drastically if they got him in their vehicle. And he was under no illusions that this was anything other than a kidnapping. They'd been waiting for him; there was no doubt about it. What they wanted was another question entirely, but he was more worried about actually getting away than finding out why they had grabbed him.

The man holding his arm yanked him forward, and Rick nearly tripped again.

"So," Rick spoke up, frowning when his voice caught in his throat. "What, uh, what's the plan here, guys? Because, in case you didn't know, I'm no normal bar owner. I have friends." The rapid-fire speed he was throwing information at the other men surprised him. He didn't know what had been in the syringe, but it was taking effect all right.

"Shut up," the man holding his arm snapped.

But Rick wasn't inclined to obey that particular command. "I'm connected, you know," his words continued to tumble out. "Detective Katsumoto at HPD? Yeah, he'd come if I called him for help. And Magnum and Higgins? The best private investigators on the island? Yeah, we're tight. Tight. If they find out I've been taken, they'll totally tear this whole island apart looking for me. You know that movie, the one with Liam Neeson? Yeah, that's gonna go down right here if I go missing."

The other goon, the one not holding Rick but waving a particularly large handgun, turned around and glared at him. "Oh, would you just shut up?" he growled.

"Not happening," Rick offered quickly. "My friends always say I talk a lot, even though I don't think it's all that bad. I mean, sure, when I get nervous, maybe, but—"

A blow to the side of his head nearly dropped him to the floor again, and Rick heard himself yelp in surprise as pain suddenly blossomed through his skull. He shook his head, trying to clear the stars, even as he felt himself slumping against the grip on his right arm.

The feeling of something soft and scratchy being forced between his teeth startled him a little, and he blinked hard to try to clear his vision. He squinted against the blurry shadows moving around him, unable to fully process everything.

He stumbled as the hand on his arm pulled at him again, and he started to swallow—only to realize his mouth was full of some sort of thick cloth, keeping him from talking or yelling out. His sluggish thoughts wondered if it was one of the dishrags from his kitchen supplies, but he didn't have the concentration to fully consider the possibility; he was too busy trying to keep his footing as he was jerked along by the goon at his side.

Rick could hear murmuring as his two attackers conversed, but his mind was running so slowly that he couldn't process their actual words. He could barely process his own thoughts, much less keep himself upright, and he didn't seem to have the spare brainpower to listen to what was being said around him. As much as he wanted to come up with some daring plan to escape, he just… couldn't.

He nearly tripped twice, but the man holding onto him didn't so much as stop, and Rick was forced to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

And then they halted, the sudden stop causing Rick to teeter uncertainly on his feet. His surroundings were coming into a little more focus now, and he froze when he heard the shout carry through from the front of the house into the kitchen.

"Rick?"

T.C.

T.C. was there.

Rick felt his stomach clench in anticipation—and then drop as he was yanked sideways and pushed up against the wall just beside the door.

The man holding him pressed an arm against Rick's neck, hard enough to start to restrict Rick's breathing. Between the pressure on his throat and the cloth gag, he found himself struggling to take in enough air to stay conscious.

He knew he could probably work the rag out from where it was wedged between his teeth, but something told him these guys would not be happy with the move. And, until he knew T.C. was close enough to quickly jump in, Rick also knew he would be of no use fighting these two bigger guys on his own—not in his current state. And so he stayed still, doing his best to keep his eyes open and stay on his feet; he knew it would be a very bad idea to collapse right then.

"You here, man?"

T.C.'s voice was louder, moving closer, and Rick shifted, weighing the pros and cons of spitting out the rag and yelling for his buddy while he rushed the goon holding the gun. His head was still spinning, even worse now than it had been, and his stomach was threatening to give up his breakfast. But he had to do something…

As if the men had read Rick's thoughts, the gunman glared his way while the guy holding him shifted. A split second later, Rick felt the barrel of a pistol press into his side.

"Stay quiet," came the hissed threat.

Rick tamped down on the rolling of his stomach and tried to concentrate past the nausea. Once again, he found himself grateful for the hand holding him up as he had to close his eyes at the way the room suddenly wobbled in front of him.

And then T.C.'s voice came again, and Rick's head snapped up as he realized just how close his friend now was. T.C. sounded like he was just on the other side of the door, and Rick's gaze darted to where the second goon had moved to stand just inside the doorway.

The guy was holding his gun up, ready to shoot the minute T.C. stepped into the kitchen, and Rick knew he had to do something. He wouldn't be able to live with himself—if he even survived whatever came after—if he had to watch his friend get jumped and shot without Rick doing anything to try to stop it.

So Rick did the only thing he could think of. It was probably suicide, but he couldn't concentrate past the way his head was pounding and spinning and his insides were roiling. All he could think was that T.C. was getting closer and the other men were ready to shoot him when he came into view.

He had to save his friend. It didn't matter what happened to Rick; he just had to warn T.C.

"Rick, if you're hiding around a corner to scare me, we're gonna have words!" T.C. called, his voice now just outside the kitchen door.

Rick saw the gunman adjusting his grip on the weapon as T.C.'s footsteps sounded loudly on the nearby tiles. He'd been steadily working at the gag, moving it free from his mouth, and now he gathered his strength and made his move. He knew he only had a small window of time, so he simultaneously spit out the rag, threw his weight downward to wrench himself out of the kidnapper's grip, and yelled at the top of his lungs, "T.C.! Gun!"

Searing pain exploded across his right side at the same time as the loud concussion of a gunshot rang in his ears. He barely even felt the impact of hitting the hard floor past the fire rushing through him.

There was the sound of chaos and yelling from somewhere above him, but Rick couldn't make himself focus. The assault on his senses was overwhelming, and he was struggling to even breathe.

And then, suddenly, the noises ceased.

Rick frowned, trying to make out what was happening even as dark shadows swam across his vision.

"Rick?"

The sudden quiet voice at his side made him jump, then groan as the abrupt movement sent more spirals of pain through him.

"Hey, hey, it's all right, man. It's just me."

Rick blinked hard, squinting up at the shadow next to him. "T… T.C.?" He could hear his voice rasping and winced at the implications.

Large hands shifted him, and Rick couldn't hold back the small yell of pain at the way the movement wrenched at his injury.

"Sorry," T.C. apologized, even as he continued to pull at Rick's arms.

No, wait, not pulling at his arms. The thought clicked in Rick's mind just as his hands fell free. The zip tie.

And then T.C. was helping him lie back and gently moving Rick's hands away from where the injured man had instinctively grabbed for his side.

"Shh, just lie still. You're okay. I got you."

Rick shook his head, struggling to keep his friend in sight. "How…"

Something soft slid under his head, but Rick barely had time to relax against it before T.C. was pulling at his shirt. He groaned and tried to bat away the hands pressing at his side.

"Hey, shh. It's just a graze. You're gonna be fine."

He certainly didn't feel like that was true.

"Ambulance is on the way," came a new voice, one that was soft and British and sounded like Jules.

Rick frowned. That made no sense. Why…?

"You hear that, buddy?" T.C. asked, his voice going fuzzy in Rick's ear. "Help's coming. Just hold on."

"How is he?" That sounded like Thomas.

Rick had no idea what was going on. He fought to focus, to take in everything around him. But, as much as he wanted to ask what happened, ask why he thought he heard the others all of a sudden, it was growing harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

He could hear his friends calling his name as the darkness that had been lurking around the edges of his consciousness rolled over him, but he didn't have the strength to make himself listen to the voices…

"So, it turns out," Thomas began, clearing his throat as he glanced at the others, "these guys wanted you for leverage."

Rick shifted against the pillows behind him, frowning in disapproval as he felt the tug of the IV against the back of his hand. "Leverage?" he repeated. "For what?"

"It would appear they wanted something from Icepick," Higgins continued the explanation. "They were planning to hold you hostage until he fulfilled their demands—something to do with their burgeoning interest in the local drug trade."

Rick blinked. "They… what?" Everything was still a little foggy, thanks to a combination of painkillers and the throbbing of his head and his side. He'd been told he couldn't have the really good stuff because of whatever the kidnappers had given him. Wincing, he rubbed at his temple, trying to alleviate the ache for the umpteenth time—and having no success for the umpteenth time. His side felt like muted fire was still running through it, and, even though he supposed he should be grateful he'd "only" been grazed, it still hurt. A lot.

"We can come back later if that's better," Jules offered quietly.

Shooting her a grateful look, Rick clenched his jaw and shook his head slightly. He was too curious to let them go without having heard the full story. "Thanks. I'm okay."

She glanced at Thomas again, and Rick caught the subtle lift of her eyebrow.

When Thomas picked up the story, his voice was noticeably lower. "Apparently these guys have been after Icepick since he got out of prison. And when he continued to refuse, they started resorting to threats. He got one this morning that they would hurt you if he didn't do as they'd asked, which is when he called us."

Rick frowned. "He did?"

"Yeah," Thomas replied with a nod. "When we couldn't get hold of you or T.C., we headed over to the bar to find you. We were just pulling up outside when we heard the shot."

A flicker crossed T.C.'s face. "I might've accidentally left my phone at the Island Hoppers office," he said apologetically.

Rick shook his head, trying to alleviate his friend's guilt. "It's okay; it all worked out," he offered quickly.

T.C. shot him a grateful smile, although one that also said he wasn't about to let himself off the hook so easily.

"Katsumoto just updated us," Thomas continued. "The kidnappers are already talking, and Icepick is willing to testify against them. Between that and the security footage, these guys are gonna pay for what they did."

Smiling gratefully, Rick leaned back against the pillows. His eyes were too heavy to keep open any longer, but he relaxed as he let them slide closed. His friends had everything covered; surely, it wouldn't hurt if he took a quick nap.

Fin.