A/N: So I've opted for shorter chapters/uploads and, consequently, more frequent updates.

Hope you like...!

Elsewhere (Frank)

Frank clasped his hands together for a moment for getting back to work. The trembling had started close to an hour ago, and he couldn't seem to stop it. And if that wasn't enough of a distraction, he could feel himself sweating more than was appropriate at room temperature. Frank drove the discomfort to the back of his mind with some effort.

For the past few hours, with the drive in his lap and a soldering iron in one hand, he had been maneuvering wire after wire, soldering here and there, screwing and unscrewing, until—presto! Frank thought smugly. He set the tools down, and gave his creation a quick look over, careful to keep it out of the camera's view. Satisfied everything was in order, he flicked the power switch. From the almost square metal box that he had taken from the computer tower, a thin, bright red beam shot out. Frank had the device turned toward the wall, and almost immediately after turning it on, the spot on the wall it was concentrated on had started to blacken. Seeing tendrils of smoke rise up from the spot, Frank quickly shut it off, nodding to himself grimly. Now, for the real test… He eyed the metal around his ankle.

An hour later and Frank had successfully cut through one of the links in the chain that secured him to the floor. He was tempted to run about, savor the small victory, but thought better of it. Not out of the house yet, he reminded himself.

He moved to work on cutting through another link further down the chain; it wouldn't hurt to arm himself if he was going to fight his way out. It wasn't the best of escape plans, but he had to work with what he had, namely, nothing. He had no knowledge of the house's layout or the number of men that were here, but if he was quick, that may be enough to get out.

The sound of voices outside his door, however, told him he was off to a very slow start. If they catch him now with the links severed and the device, his escape would be over before it really began. Okay then. Quickly gearing into offense, Frank put the device aside and stationed himself by the door.

Before the door had completed its swing open, Frank was springing into action. The first man through he awarded with a blow to the back of the neck that threw him forwards and out for the count. The man's partner, seeing his downed colleague, charged at Frank. Frank used the man's momentum and simply sidestepped at the last moment, simultaneously shoving the charging body toward the dresser. He didn't wait to see the man collide with said furniture, seeing a third man run into the room. Before the man could get fully take in the chaos, Frank charged him. The two crashed back out into the hall, with Frank straddling the man's chest. The man, who was heavier and taller than Frank, was quick to recover. He shoved the youth off, pinned him to the ground, and raised a fist, intending to knock Frank out. The punch came and Frank blocked instinctively. The man drew back for another blow. Again Frank blocked with his forearm, but then quickly wrapped his arm around the man's, pinning the his left arm to Frank's right side. The man barely had a moment to tug at the arm in surprise when, with a grunt, Frank rolled his body hard to the right, and the man's weight followed. Their sideways momentum favored the Hardy, who was now sprawled on top of his opponent. Without hesitation, Frank pulled one knee up sharply. The man screamed, and Frank rolled off, hardly sympathetic when he saw the man clutching his groin. He then knelt and with a quick palm strike, put the man out of his misery.

Breathing hard, Frank hunched over to recover. The trembling in his hands had worsened. Straightening, he surveyed what lay immediately outside his bedroom prison. He was standing in what he decided must be the upstairs hallway of a house. Further along it, to his right there was a banister that ended with a flight of stairs going down. He crept along the wall to where it ended and the banister began, and peered over the rail. No one in sight. The stairs led straight down to the foyer and—there. The front door. Frank could hardly believe his luck; so his only real obstacle had been the shackle and three thugs? Doyle needs a refresher on Kidnapping 101, he thought, not too unhappily.

"Leaving are we?" a voice came from one of the foyer doorways. Yup. Great job jinxing things, Hardy. Frank didn't turn around immediately, already his body was readying itself; he would make a run for the front door. All or nothing.

He was about to act on this when he heard a buzzing to his left and he felt nearly all strength in his knees leave. Quickly, he put an arm out against the wall to keep himself from toppling senselessly to his knees. The cackling sound came again and Frank shut his eyes, trying to will away the rapidly resurfacing memories of his sessions with Doyle—not as conducive as they were conductive Doyle had joked once. Frank hadn't found it very funny then, and it wasn't funny now—especially not with his heart threatening to burrow out of his stomach.

He wrapped one arm around his torso to calm himself and, pushed away from the wall with his free arm, and kept it raised as he turned to face the new arrivals.

"Smart choice," said the sickeningly familiar voice, one that usually either came before or followed the cackling, sizzling, and stinging. That and the smell of burning… "Though, admittedly, it would have been much better if you'd been smart before making all this fuss, hmm?"

"What can I say," Frank replied, once certain he could keep his voice steady. "I'm a fussy guy." He eyed the men holding the taser guns warily, wishing they had been guns instead and purposefully ignoring the irony.

Doyle laughed. Actually laughed. "You," he said after following Frank's gaze. "Put it away, you're only scaring him. He's not going anywhere."

"Screw you, Doyle," Frank muttered, but couldn't help but be relieved a little as he watched the taser-wielding thugs oblige Doyle. "And seriously, either 'zap' is the new 'bang' in Crimes Illustrated or your electro/shock/zap-everything-that-moves fetish is very, very contagious." Oh, little brother, if you could only hear me now, he thought to himself. Attempting to laugh in the face of this... whatever this is.

There was indeed laughter, but Doyle's. Frank felt himself tensing.

"As curious as I am as to how you got that," Doyle gazed pointedly at the small length of chain still attached to Frank's right ankle. "done, Dr. Matheson will be here soon to see you. But first..."

Dr. Matheson? To see me? What-?

Doyle gestured toward him again, and it frustrated Frank how little effort it seemed it took for the man to make his life hell. Does Doyle ever have to say anything? Frank thought as he was grabbed from behind, arms looping around his, pinning them to his sides. The movement had caught him off guard for a moment. He jerked his head back in an effort to head butt the man's face, but the man moved with motion and only tightened his hold on the youth. Frank grunted angrily and changed tactic. He leaned forward slightly, quickly moved his right leg back and around the man's legs so that his right thigh was level with backs of the man's knees, and then stood up abruptly. The man's eyes widened in surprise even as he fell backward over Frank's right leg, his own legs flying up to catch one of the other men in the chin.

Frank raised his fists and eyed the circle of men surrounding him, ready for a fight. The men didn't move immediately, nor did they plan to.

He was vaguely aware of someone's laughter, unfailingly familiar and nauseating, somewhere beyond the wall of muscle that seemed to have closed further in on him. He was caught by surprise again when firm hands clamped around his jaw, around his head, holding him steady. Then the pull forward.

He tried to latch onto his anger, turn it into some sort of adrenaline boost, but was too tired. And a little too panicked, if he were to be honest, meeting a solid body every which way that he tried to twist. The pulling was insistent and felt like it went on longer than the few seconds it took to drag him to kneel in front of Doyle.

Frank's head was angled upward to face his 'father.'

"You know," Doyle began. "I'm almost glad that you tried… tried to runaway, that is. I was having trouble, you see. I have spent the past hours trying to justify what I'm about to do to you. At first, I thought that maybe that would be going too far, but now? You've just proven to me how much you need this."

Even if he were able to, Frank was unsure know how to respond. Doyle's hands moved toward his face, and he noticed he held something in one of them.

Shit. Frank shut his eyes, and renewed his struggles. Suddenly, it all made sense. Doyle was going to… he was going to… "Doyle, please, don't. Please, stop." He tried to say, but the words were grunts and groans as far as the vices that held his head in place were concerned.

"I… I don't enjoy this you know…" Doyle said quietly. "I could have one of my men do this for me, but they won't be as gentle. So please open your eyes. I'll be quick, I promise."

Frank refused and Doyle was struggling to maintain his calm.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you insist on doing things the hard way," Doyle said with a small sigh.

Why hasn't he come? Why haven't they come? Why hasn't anyone come? The question was drilling itself a new home in Frank's head. Dad, Joe… I need you. I really, really need you. Right. Now. I don't know if I can do this. I don't know. I don't... I don't think... I just… I need you, Dad. PLEASE! The mental plea was suddenly a cacophony as fingers dug themselves, pressed themselves, against, into his eyes and forced his eyelids open. He gasped as the angle between the back of his head and spine shrank dramatically as his head was pulled back even further.

"Dad, please," The plea came out garbled to Frank's ears, but Doyle stopped and looked at him in surprise, thinking Frank had addressed him.

"I'm sorry, my boy. This has to be done…" Doyle breathed as he slowly pressed down on the spray. "It has to be this way... to make you right again."

Frank tugged and jerked and pulled even as the hissing and wetness invaded his senses.

And heartbeats later, through clenched teeth, Frank screamed.

(Doyle)

"Arthur," nodded Agent Matthews in the manner of his present cover, Dr. Matthews. He and Doyle shook hands in greeting. Doyle beckoned him inside and asked him to follow.

"Arthur, I came here to talk," the agent began slowly, paying little heed to the turns they were making through the manor.

"I know, Dale, but that's not the reason I called you here."

"Look, you need help."

Doyle abruptly turned on his heel to face the man, the beginnings of a snarl forming on his face.

"No, you look. I do need help, yes, but not the kind that you think. I need your help, Dale. Just bear with me here, I need you."

"For what? What exactly?"

"Follow me."

Matthews forced himself quiet until the next time Doyle stopped. They had gone down a few flights of stairs at some point in their trek and by the time they had stopped in a dimly lit corridor that welcomed them with a great deal of flickering and an eerie chill, Matthews was in loathe to admit he was curious about what Doyle had to show him.

"Here we are," Doyle muttered under his breath before fully facing Matthews with one of the gravest expression the agent had ever seen him wear. Not since his family…

"First, you have to promise me something, Dale," he said solemnly. "You have to promise me that you won't tell anyone of what has and or will happen behind this door."

"But I don't even know—"

"I need to know I can trust you not to tell, old friend."

"You know what, fine. Fine. I won't tell anyone. I promise. Need that in writing or do I get a friendly pass?"

"No, it doesn't work like that, but so long as I have your word," Doyle said with a small smile, missing the jibe. He turned back to the door, pulled out a key, and unlocked it. He swung the door open and gestured Matthews in.

Matthews stepped into the room and squinted into the gloom at the figure huddled against one wall of the room. He heard a switch flicked on behind him, and heard—rather than really saw—the lights comply. In the next instant, Matthews regretted not taking his eyes off of the figure. He felt it before he could think it; the shock sending his chest into a thudding frenzy.

"Doyle, what the hell—?"

A/N: Okay, yes, you can make a laser powerful enough to burn skin and paper using a DVD burner's laser diode—I looked it up ^_^ And while there was no mention of it being powerful enough to cut through metal (and it isn't, haha), I took the liberty of letting it be that and oversimplified the whole process—if only to give poor Frank a break.

Had my doubts about this one... Thought I could have written the laser part more believably, and the spraying Frank's eyes to be more climatic.