Disclaimer: Yeah, so kiss kiss, bang bang belongs to a bunch of people, none of whom are me.

Warnings: bad language, references to drug use and other criminal activity

Summary: For this prompt:
Harry/Perry. Harry gets drugged with some extremely addictive stuff by a bad guy, and Perry takes it upon himself to help Harry go through the process of detoxing.
How their relationship is (established, not established) prior to the drugging incident is up to you, as long as it ends with a worn out Harry and Perry cuddling at the end of the detox.

Author's Notes: So, yeah, I took this on even though I know very little about drugs and detoxing. Sheltered life? In that respect, yes. Anyway, I did some rudimentary research and have tried to make this as realistic as possible. If there are any glaring inaccuracies, please point them out.

Some preliminary references:
Photophobia (literally "fear of light") is a symptom of many things (I've experienced it many times with migraines, Harry will experience it here as a side effect of drugs) in which light causes the sufferer physical pain.
Perry will reference Patty Hearst and Timothy Leary. If you don't know who they are, please google them after reading, but for now suffice it to say that Patty Hearst is synonymous with Stockholm Syndrome and Timothy Leary is synonymous with LSD.

Additional disclaimer: The writer does not endorse or condone the use of illegal drugs or the abuse of prescription drugs. Just say no, kids!

Perry was awakened from the fitful doze he had finally managed to fall into by the sound of the doorbell. He jolted out of his bed and ran down the stairs to the front door. Without bothering to look through the peephole, he unlocked the door and jerked it open.

"Harry!" he called. And sure enough, there was his assistant and housemate, sitting on the doormat. "Harry?" he repeated as the smaller man remained huddled in front of the door, rocking back and forth.

"I'm so cold. I didn't think it got cold in LA, but I'm so cold." Perry had never heard Harry's voice sound so small and so very young. "I just want to go home."

"Harry," Perry said a third time, crouching down, "you are home."

"Just wanna go home... Home..."

Perry reached out to touch his assistant's trembling shoulder, but Harry recoiled as soon as he made contact. "Har-"

"Hey, you this guy's brother or something?" A man's voice called from the street. There was a taxi stopped, motor still running, half pulled into their driveway. The driver stood by the open door of the cab, looking irritatedly at Perry. "I need my fare."

With another concerned glance at Harry, Perry grabbed his wallet from the side table just inside the door, then went over to the taxi. "Where did you pick him up?"

"He hailed me from some alley off Sunset in Hollywood. 25 dollars," the cabbie put in, pointing to the meter. "He was so strung out, I wanted to take him to the police, but he started crying and begging me to take him to Perry and promising that Perry would give me a big tip. He could barely tell me the address," the man grumbled.

"OK, thank you. Here's your fare." Perry handed him a twenty and a five. Then, he handed him a hundred. "This Benjy apologizes most sincerely for any inconvenience you may have experienced tonight. And this Benjy," he handed the driver another hundred, giving the man also his most serious and beseeching look, "asks you to forget that man," he pointed to Harry, "the name Perry, and the address of this house."

"Well, dear me. I seem to have gotten lost," the cabbie drawled, slipping the bills into his pocket. "I'd better get back to base. Good night, sir."

"Drive safely." Perry watched the taxi drive off and then he rushed back to Harry, who was still rocking himself on the porch. "Chief," he called softly.

It seemed to register. "Perry?" He looked up at his boss, hopefully.

"No, you moron, it's the fucking Easter Bunny." His sarcasm sounded weak in his own ears.

But Harry smiled, kind of. "It is Perry. Thank God. Perry, I want to go home."

"You are home, idiot." With each unkind epithet, Harry seemed to relax a bit. "Now stand up so we can get you inside."

"I'm cold, Perry."

"That's because you're sitting on concrete, shitwit. Now let's get inside."

"Shitwit," Harry actually laughed. "That one's my favorite." He held up his hand for Perry to help him up.

"I'll get you a T-shirt for your birthday," the P.I. promised as he helped his assistant up and into the house. Dozens of questions circled in his brain, demanding access to his voice, but they were all going to have to wait.

Still, one question would not leave him alone.

Harry, where the fuck have you been?

--One week ago--

"You want me to go undercover?" Harry asked his boss, disbelief radiating from his entire body. "You want me to go Undercover?"

"No," Perry answered, "I don't want you to go undercover, but it's, unfortunately, the best option remaining to us."

"Why?"

"Were you listening at all, moron? The clients' representative said the case was in…" He held his hand out, palm up, in Harry's direction.

"West Hollywood."

"And we are investigating…"

"Gay bars and clubs."

"Where…"

"Um, there are a lot of pink, fruity cocktails and men wearing make-up?"

"No, dumbass, where almost everybody fucking knows who Gay Perry is."

"Right. Are you famous or infamous?"

"Not that it's at all important at this particular moment, but both, I'll have you know. Now, tell me what you remember from the clients' request."

"Um… We, or I, go undercover in the club scene and find out whatever we can about some new party drug that's going around."

"Good." Perry nodded in a rare show of approval. "Anything else?"

"Yeah – a question."

"Shoot."

"Actually, two questions. One: why is it such a problem? And two: why not go to the police?" Harry looked genuinely puzzled.

"I'll answer question two first. The clients are a group of club and bar owners. They don't necessarily follow the letter of the law in all their business practices. They're also not going to call the police on this one because it's very bad publicity."

"Okaaay. What about question one? I don't see why party drugs at dance clubs are a problem. It happens all the time, right?"

"The problems this time, Chief, are that the drug in question seems to be new, seems to originate in West Hollywood – they haven't seen it anywhere else – and some of the shadier establishments seem to have it on their menu."

"Shit. I thought that guy said these things were like Quaaludes. My friend Ritchie's dad used to take that shit all the time and he once told me how he nearly died when he took them with alcohol."

"Well, whatever this new variety is, it apparently dissolves in alcohol like Quaaludes and has most of the same effects, but does not have as deadly an interaction with alcohol."

"Well then, what's the biggie? Quaaludes used to be legal."

"The 'biggie' as you put it, is that it is about three times as addictive as ordinary Quaaludes or quinazolinone class drugs." Perry ignored Harry's bewildered look as he tried to process the five syllable word. "And, like I said, some of the less mainstream establishments are serving the drug in a cocktail they call a Siren."

"Like a police siren?" Harry continued to look confused.

"Yes, because that's just what people like in a club. Idiot. A siren was a beautiful woman in Greek mythology, who sang men to their deaths."

"Whatever. So, what am I supposed to do?"

"Well, your cover is that you are a recently divorced man who has finally decided to accept your sexuality and come out of the closet."

"Shit. I was afraid it'd be something like that. What else?" Harry asked mock fearfully.

"You want to enjoy your gay lifestyle, but you're nervous about your first time. Don't look at me like that! It makes you a perfect candidate for some 'helpful' person to offer you a Siren."

"Perry, I've barely even smoked pot. I—"

"You are under no circumstances to take the drug! And don't drink anything you haven't seen the bartender make." Perry grabbed Harry's chin and looked straight into his eyes. "I'm serious Harry. This could be dangerous for you. Your only job is to quietly find the joints that serve Sirens and quietly tell me so that I can quietly go to the police and have this all quietly cleaned up."

"Quiet, right. You know that's not my strong suit—" they shared a smile, "—but I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Chief."

-- --

Perry could still remember the full, bright smile Harry had beamed at that rare show of confidence in his abilities. Perry had been remembering that smile – and worrying about its owner – constantly for the last four days – from the moment Harry had disappeared from a West Hollywood nightclub, to the moment he had reappeared on their porch.

He looked at the man now huddled on their sofa, wrapped in an afghan. Harry had not said anything since he had been brought inside, but at odd moments he would hum snatches of a tune that Perry did not recognize. It was incongruously cheerful.

"Harry?" Perry called out, moving closer to the sofa. "Do you want a glass of water? Are you hungry?" Harry looked weak and from the raspy hints in his voice, was probably dehydrated. "Chief?"

"It's dark in here," Harry complained with a shudder. "It's too dark." Perry had not bothered to turn on a light. The ambient light creeping in between the blinds and through the curtains had been enough to see by. "Please, it's too dark." Panic was beginning to tinge Harry's voice.

"Relax, Chief, I'll get the lights." Perry went over to the wall and flipped the switch. "There."

But Harry was hiding his face in the afghan. "Too bright. Hurts," he whimpered.

Shit. Perry swiftly slid the dimmer down until only a soft glow filled the living room. Photophobia. I was afraid of that. He moved back to the sofa, and reached out to his housemate, but again, Harry cringed away from his touch. "It's okay Harry, it's me, Perry." He continued to make soothing noises as he took Harry's chin in his hand and looked into his eyes. It was hard to tell in the low light, but the pupils might have been over dilated. Perry could also feel soft tremors shaking the smaller man's body. He moved his hands to one of Harry's and he softly pressed a fingernail into the index finger. He increased the pressure until it ought to be starting to hurt, but Harry did not seem to feel it at all.

Those sons of bitches, Perry thought, though he did not yet know who they were. They've been drugging him! Bastards! Harry seemed to sense his boss's anger and he withdrew his hand and huddled in the afghan again. "Shush, shh… It's alright. I'm going to get you a drink of water."

There was no response as Perry strode into their kitchen. He pulled a glass out of the cupboard and took it to the sink. He filled it from the filtrating tap and set it down on the counter. Then, he leaned over the sink, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He stared abstractedly at the small pile of dirty dishes that filled the steel basin. He had not washed the dishes for a couple of days, but then again, he had not eaten much.

He had been afraid of this. Maybe it was not the scenario he had feared most, but it was fucking bad enough.

After Harry had disappeared, Perry had discreetly combed West Hollywood, searching for any traces. He had not dared to move too openly or to go to the police. Either of those courses of action might have gotten Harry killed if he had been taken by the bad guys. And, as Perry had investigated, all faint indications seemed to point to that possibility.

His mind moved back to the present and filled with the image of Harry as he was now. God damn it! Perry slammed his fists down on the rim of the sink, rattling the dishes inside. It seemed now that the bad guys had gotten to Harry. Gotten to him and drugged him with whatever shit it was they were peddling.

Now Perry was left with a big problem and a lot of questions. Who were the bad guys and why and where had they taken Harry? Did they know who Harry was? Would they be able to trace him here? Did they know Harry was gone and were they even now clearing out of their den?

How bad was Harry's condition?

The clients had said the drug was highly addictive, but even so, four days would not be long enough for true addiction to set in. Even at high doses, which it seemed likely they had given Harry, physical dependence was unlikely. But psychological dependence?

Perry sighed and picked up the glass of water. One fucking thing at a time.

"Harry, I brought you some water." Harry was right where Perry had left him. He was humming again and singing softly at odd moments. Alice in Wonderland? Perry was bewildered, but that would have to wait. "Come on, Chief, drink."

Harry obediently took the glass and emptied it in a matter of seconds. When he had finished, he lowered the glass and stared into it blankly.

"You want more?"

Harry shook his head. "I want my medicine."

Fuck. "What medicine, Harry? You're not taking anything now."

"They gave me pills. The Siren. It was dark and cold there. It hurt." Had those bastards injured Harry? Perry could not see any marks on his assistant's face. "They promised the Siren would sing it all away." Harry frowned. "I didn't want to take it, but they made me. But they didn't lie. It all moved kinda far away. It didn't hurt and I wasn't scared." Harry's face went blank for a moment, but then he frowned again. "But it's wearing off now. The pain and the fear and the dark and the cold are coming back." He began huddling into the afghan again and Perry had to grab the glass before it fell to the floor. He set it on the coffee table and turned back to the sofa.

"Harry, the people who gave you the Sirens -- who were they? Can you remember?"

Harry did not answer. Instead he began softly chanting "Siren'll sing it all away" over and over again.

Fuck, Patty Hearst meets Timothy Leary. "Hey, fuckhead. Hello! I'm talking to you." Perry snapped his fingers in front the other man's face.

Harry's gaze popped back to Perry and a scowl covered his features. "Fuck off, Perry. I want my medicine."

Well, that was not good, but it was better. At least he said "fuck." "No. I need you to tell me who gave you the medicine."

"The White Rabbit."

What the fuck? Quaaludes and similar drugs were hypnotics, not hallucinogens. "Were the Mad Hatter and the March Hare there, too?"

"Fuck off. He said to call him the White Rabbit." The brief moment of clarity began to slip away. "He kept chanting 'Siren will sing it all away.'" Harry repeated the phrase in a sing-song voice. "Perry." His eyes were so wide. "I'm so scared. There are voices and shadows and cold, hard hands in the dark. The Siren makes them nice and sings them away. Perry, I need the Siren. They're gonna come back."

"No, they're not. Look around you! You're home -- you're safe."

Harry reached his arms out of the afghan and gripped Perry's shirt. His tremors were so strong, they shook Perry as well. "They'll find me. They found me before and they'll fucking do it again."

Jesus, what did those assholes do to you? He had to get Harry calm again -- had to convince him that he was safe. "Chief." Perry kept his tone soft. "They won't find you here." He put his hands gently over the trembling ones that still gripped his shirt. "You're safe here."

Harry released Perry's shirt and jerked his hands back. "That's what the other man said, but it was a fucking lie."

"What other man?"

"He found me the first time I left the dark room. He told me I'd be safe and I could go home." Harry's eyes unfocused as he shifted into memory. "But he took me back and the White Rabbit told me I was very bad for running away and I had made him late..." Harry's gaze refocused and he scowled again. "Son of a bitch talked to me like I was a fucking child. Not even you talk to me like that." There was Harry! But the angry light soon faded. "They punished me, but then the Siren sang them away."

Perry felt sick. A small corner of his mind whispered that it did not want to know what had happened. "They're not here now, Harry." He sat down next to Harry and put a comforting arm around the smaller man's heaving shoulders. "No one's going to hurt you here. You're safe."

Perry's arm was violently thrown off. "No I'm not!" Harry's voice was filled with panic. "I need the Siren!" He turned towards Perry and pushed the larger man down onto the sofa. "I need the Siren." The tone had changed again, become softer. "You can get it for me, can't you Perry?" The tone was wheedling now.

"I'm not giving you anything, Chief. You don't need it."

"Come on, Perry. I know you can get me my medicine." Harry leaned on top of his boss and looked at him through lowered lashes. "You can get it for me, I know."

"No. I can't and I fucking won't."

Harry began to smile, but it only worried Perry more. It was not Harry Lockhart's wry smile. It was... seductive. "You can, Perry. Please?" He began worming his way down Perry's body, still smiling. "Pretty please." He put a hand to the waistband of Perry's sweats. "With a cherry on top."

When Harry began pulling the sweats down, Perry pushed him off. "What the fuck are you doing!?"

Harry knelt by the sofa. "Please, Perry." His voice was pleading now. "I'll do anything, but please just give me my medicine."

"No." Perry pushed and held Harry back when the smaller man moved again toward Perry's crotch. "No."

"You want it, don't you? And I want my Siren. Come on, it's fair."

"I don't want it." Not like this. "And you don't want it either." Perry pointed at himself. "Gay Perry." Then, he pointed to Harry. "Straight Harry. Remember?"

"I don't care! I need my medicine!" Harry clutched Perry's legs, his eyes wide and leaking tears. His tone was pure hysteria. "I need it!"

"OK!" Perry shouted, standing up abruptly.

"OK?" Harry stilled.

"I'll get you some medicine. Just sit and wait here."

Harry nodded, still crying. Perry kept an eye on him as he half-backed out of the room. Harry remained rooted on the floor in front of the sofa.

Perry groaned as he walked into their bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. He grabbed a nearly empty prescription bottle.

Seconal. Some drug-happy quack had prescribed it to Harry when he and Perry had first started living and working together. Harry had been having nightmares about the Dexter case. It had gotten so bad that Harry had become unable to sleep for fear of seeing the people he had killed. So the doctor had given him Seconal to help him sleep.

Perry hesitated. Is this right? Is this giving in?

But Harry needed some peace. He needed to sleep and get the Siren out of his system.

With a sigh, Perry opened the bottle, took out a pill, and took it back to the living room. Harry was right where he had left him.

"Here's your medicine, Harry."

"That's not a Siren." Harry frowned at the pill.

"No, but it's your medicine and it will help." Harry looked distrustfully at the capsule in his boss's hand. "Trust me, Chief."

"OK." Harry took the Seconal and swallowed it dry. "When will it work?"

"Soon," Perry promised. "Now, come sit with me until it kicks in." Perry sat on the sofa and patted the space next to him.

Harry obeyed. He sat close beside Perry and rested his head on the larger man's shoulder. He was still shaking. Perry put an arm around him and this time he did not fight it.

"It'll work? I'll be safe? They won't find me?"

"I won't let them, Chief." He wrapped his other arm around the trembling man, pulling him against his chest. "I won't fucking let them." He began rocking gently.

Harry began to still. He closed his eyes and released a long, breathy sigh. Not knowing what else to do, Perry continued rocking and moved a hand to stroke Harry's limp, sweaty hair.

"You're OK, Harry. You're safe."

A small sing-song voice came from the trembling lips. "Harry fell down, down, down the rabbit hole..."

"Shh," Perry soothed. He kept rocking and stroking Harry's hair until the exhausted man fell into quiet slumber.

~to be continued~