Hi :) So I seem to be a roll uploading stuff at the moment, and this story needed to be written. Thanks to LBozzie for A) being awesome, B) getting me obsessed with the show and C) challenging me to write something feels-destroying. And yes, that is a technical term. (I had to change the ending in this story because the one I wrote actually made her scream and glare at me.) If you like Lab Rats, please go and read her stuff. Enjoy! Summer x

"Dang it!"

Donald Davenport hissed in annoyance and jerked his hand back as if it had just been shocked by a bolt of electricity.

As a matter of fact, it had. He had confined himself to the lab all day to try and fix his Nimbus 2000 simulator, but that specialised detection panel just would not go right. He desperately needed this ready for his next sale, which was coming up in a couple of days and he couldn't afford to miss it. He'd promised Bree that he'd make something that he could eventually donate to ill kids, and he had enjoyed reading Harry Potter with Chase so much it'd inspired him to make his latest invention. Except it wasn't working.

He threw his screwdriver onto his desk, deciding that he needed food before he continued with his battle with tiny inanimate metal objects, and made his way over to the lift doors. Maybe if he was lucky, Tasha might have left some bacon in the fridge for him. Sure, it was a few hours late for lunch, but he wasn't so good at being on time…

He was so engrossed in the idea of a meaty sandwich that he didn't even see the stun gun before it hit him in the chest and the world went black.

-0-

"Nope, I'm not coming to the party. I have work to do!" Chase stood in the living room, his hands held out in front of him in protest. Bree gave him a look that was a cross between amusement and exasperation; Adam just looked vaguely blank.

"This is the best party of the semester! Everyone will be there," she stood with her hands on her hips and her chin jutting out. "You cannot pass this up to do your-" She squinted at his textbook lying on the kitchen counter. "Textiles homework? Since when did you do textiles?"

"Yeah," Adam joined in with a goofy smile, "Since when did you need lessons in how to text?"

Chase ignored him.

"Look, I really to get good at this, and Mr Davenport doesn't have a knitting app, apparently. And cannot see the point in making one, because he's too busy getting his next sale ready."

"Oh, I get it. That new girl takes textiles, doesn't she?" Bree gave a wicked grin. "The really hot one?"

He grinned sheepishly at the floor by way of response.

"Ok, then," She slung her purse over her shoulder and made her way to the door. "We'll leave you to it. Make sure you pick up some… impressive sewing skills."

"See you later, little bro."

"Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"You need your shoes on. Actual shoes, slippers don't count."

"They don't?" Chase didn't even raise an eyebrow at his brother's tone of surprise. "No wonder I've been getting strange looks!" He grabbed a pair of trainers that were sitting by the sofa, shoved them on and sauntered out of the house.

Chase spent the next half an hour trying to understand knitting patterns. Who even wrote a book on this stuff, anyway? More to the point, what kind of girl chose to take classes in it? Maybe she was just crazy and maybe she wouldn't even look at him twice. Then again, his life was so crazy compared to normal people that maybe her being crazy would just let her fit right in. He spent the next five minutes just imagining his first date with her, until Eddie's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Uh, Shorty? I think we have a problem."

"What?" Chase grumbled, irritated, expecting to look up and see his home security system pulling stupid faces at him or something. Instead, the shock of what he saw hit him like a punch in the stomach and made his heart race so fast that for a second, everything felt like it couldn't quite be real. Except it was.

Mr Davenport was slumped in a chair, half conscious, with his hands tied behind his back and a massive bleeding gash over his forehead. His eyes were unfocused and there were bruises up and down his arms. And Douglas was holding a gun to his head.