“So, who’s fronting for Sherwood’s food?” Greg asked, leaning back in his chair as they finished eating.

“Let him work off the debt in the kitchen,” Gina grumbled.

“Look, I’ll pay you guys back after this is all over,” Brad sighed. “With interest, if it helps.”

“Always relying on other people,” Gina murmured, and Brad frowned, but couldn’t come up with anything worthwhile to say. “I’m going upstairs,” she continued, dropping a few bills on the table, “see about getting the call traced, try to do something useful.”

And with that she headed upstairs. “What did you do to her, man?” Greg demanded.

“I let her husband almost kill himself saving my…Fenny,” Brad grumbled.

“Your Fenny?” Greg asked, a smile creeping into his voice.

“I don’t know what to call her anymore. I was hoping we would make it back to her being my girlfriend but since I didn’t save her, she probably wants nothing to do with me because I’m an asshole.”

“No arguments here,” Greg sighed. “Maybe if you’d stick up for this supposed love of your life, you wouldn’t get yourself and the people around you into so much shit.”

“Yeah, thanks for the encouraging thoughts, pal.”

“Hey, be nice to me or I really will let you work off your bill.”

Brad nodded and dropped his head into his hands. “What do you think’s happening to Fen and Paul?” he asked into the table, not sure he really wanted an answer.

“Probably annoying the hell out of that Don bastard,” Greg smiled.

“I just hope they don’t do anything stupid.”

“Oh, they will,” he chuckled. “But they’re gonna be alright.” Brad nodded. “I’m gonna go upstairs, try to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same,” Greg said, “and try to be nice to Gina.” Brad nodded again, watching Greg pay and leave.

He sat for a few minutes, finishing his drink, before heading up to the room. It was dark but for the flickering blue of the television, and smelled of the almost antiseptic shampoo all hotels offered. Gina didn’t acknowledge his presence, even as he stepped between her and the TV, so he decided not to make his presence obtrusive, for fear of evoking her wrath again. Brad kicked off his shoes and gingerly got under the covers, looking up at Gina as she leaned against the headboard, remote in hand, flipping through the channels every few seconds. He couldn’t count how many times he and Fenny had been in bed like that, and the scene tore at his heart. As Gina’s channel changing became more irritated and less about finding something to watch, Brad figured she was probably having the same thoughts about Paul as he was having about Fenny.

“Any luck with the phone?” he asked cautiously.

“It’s gonna take ‘em a while,” she said, eyes still riveted on the screen, thumb abusing the remote button. “They’re gonna call in the morning.”

“Does it normally take that long?”

“How the fuck should I know, I don’t make it a habit of trying to rescue people like this.”

Brad decided it was best not to mention that it did, indeed, seem to be growing into a sort of habit, and nodded instead. It became apparent that they had little to say to each other, the uncomfortable situation of being stuck sharing a bed certainly not helping, so he rolled away from her and tried to get to sleep. Images of what Fenny could be doing or suffering through wasn’t helping the endeavour at all.

“Do you realize Fen and Paul are probably sharing a bed at this moment too?” Gina asked cautiously after a few minutes watching some terrible news program.

“Yeah, thanks, ‘cause that’s really an image I’m needing right now,” Brad huffed.

“Oh, get off it, she’s probably kicking the shit out of him for stealing all the covers too.”

“I am not stealing all the covers,” Brad said, turning to face her.

“Yes you are, look at you, all cocooned and me with practically nothing.” She turned on the bedside lamp, frowned at him, and yanked the covers away from him.

“Oh come on, don’t be stupid,” he growled, pulling at the blankets.

“If I’m gonna be stuck sharing a bed with you, you’re gonna be stuck sharing the covers.”

“Well why don’t you go share a room with Proops, huh?” Brad sneered, crawling up on his knees to get a better grip.

“Selfish bastard,” Gina hissed, and let go of the blankets just as he gave it a tug. He flew across the bed, landing with his ankles under him and his head lolling off the end of the mattress. She took advantage of his startled state, took possession of the entire mound of blankets and cuddled under them on her side of the bed.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to share?” Brad groaned as he righted himself.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to fight your own battles?” Gina countered, grabbing his arm viciously as he reached for the blankets.

“At least I know how to pick my fights.” He grabbed her arm and wrenched it from him, and she kneed him in the chest. What ensued was a wrestling match that would have earned millions for the pay-per-view industry. After several minutes, a couple of failed attempts to knock each other off the bed, and more than a few popped stitches in the quilted bedspread, the fight was won by Gina, who’d pinned Brad to the bed with half the blankets around his neck, the other half around her legs, as she sat perched on his chest with her hands buried in the sheet surrounding his shoulders. Wide-eyed and panting, they stared at each other until Gina hastily leapt away from Brad, got tangled in the blanket, and fell off the bed.

She gathered the bedclothes that had fallen with her, shot a quick, nervous glance to Brad as he scuttled to the edge of the mattress, decided they each had an adequate amount of covers to sustain their needs for the night, turned off her lamp, and mirrored his position perched on the edge of the bed as far from him as she could and tried to get to sleep.

“Get up.”

“Shit, it wasn’t just a horrific nightmare.”

Fenny’s eyes fluttered open to find Paul stretching in bed next to her, Don hovering at the end of the bed. “I disagree,” she yawned.

“Get up,” he barked at her again. “We’re leaving.”

“Do we get something to eat?” she asked, her voice scratchy from the previous night’s screaming. “Paul’s threatened to sing again if we don’t.”

Paul nodded enthusiastically and, when encouraged by Don’s frown in response, began to sing chipperly, “Try not to get worried, try not to turn unto problems that upset you, oh, don’t you know—”

“Stop singing and you can have this,” Don announced, holding up a pair of apples.

Obediently, Paul stopped, and Don tossed them to Paul, who held them out to Fenny. She took one and watched as Don marched towards the door. “You’ve got five minutes,” he declared.

“Everything’s alright, yes everything’s fine,” Paul finished the verse, flipping off the retreating form of Don as he slammed the door closed.

“You have the oddest taste in music,” Fenny mused as she bit into her apple.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Paul asked, regarding his apple closely.

“Feeding us isn’t terribly high on our kidnapper’s list of priorities?” she ventured.

“That too. They went down to the buffet breakfast without us.”

“How inconsiderate of them.” She leaned over to tie her shoe, Paul doing likewise.

The door flung open again and the two heavies appeared. “That was not five minutes,” Paul announced.

“Tough shit. Let’s go.”

“Can I put on my fucking shoe first?” Paul gasped as one of the mountainous men grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Be quick about it.” He put his hands on his hips, taking great care to push back his jacket to reveal the gun tucked neatly in the waistband of his pants.

Paul sneered mockingly and tied his shoe as Fenny stood and straightened herself out. “Either of you have a hairbrush?” she asked, tiredly running her fingers through her hair.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Don growled as he entered the room, “you’re here because you were snooping around my house, you should be grateful we haven’t killed you yet.”

“Yes, you’re such a gracious host,” Paul snapped.

“Out to the car,” Don ordered and Fenny and Paul were each grabbed by the arm and shuffled bodily out of the room. Despite the fact that they were being tussled about a bit unnecessarily, the two victims decided to just work nonchalantly on their apples on their trip down to the lobby and the waiting car.

“You rather enjoy your job, don’t you?” Paul asked as he was shoved into the back of a newer and altogether less pleasant van.

“Shut the fuck up,” the heavy growled as Fenny was pushed backwards into the van. Paul threw his apple core at her heavy, and he lunged towards Paul, only to be stopped by Don.

“Later,” he said with an evil snicker. “We’ve gotta get to the dock.” And with that, the doors closed, leaving Fenny and Paul to stare at each other as she finished her apple.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna smoke some of this stuff?” he giggled, poking one of the packages with his foot. “We could use your glasses to light it.”

“I thought it makes you hungry,” she countered.

“Good point,” he groaned. “Later then.”

Fenny rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall of the van. “What do you think the others are doing?”

“I’m gonna guess that at least one of them has been killed or maimed by the others. Probably Brad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve never seen the man when he’s trying to rescue you from danger. He loses his mind completely. Coupled with the fact Gina knows this is all his fault, expect to see him bandaged when we get out of this.”

Fenny nodded reluctantly. “And Greg?”

“Whining.”

“Most likely,” she agreed. “And us?”

“Hungry, but otherwise coping as well as can be expected.”

“For the time being.”

“Be positive,” Paul chided.

“I don’t like it when evil men announce they’re taking us to the docks. I have this vision of fish swimming by curiously as we’re dropped into the Atlantic Ocean with cement shoes. And before you say it, yes, I know I’ve watched too many old movies, leave me alone.” She took to pulling nervously at her hair.

“Well, on the upside, if you keep that up, Don won’t want you anymore,” Paul chuckled.

“Are you insinuating something?” she asked, trying to sound menacing through the smile creeping across her face.

“No, it’s just you look like something you’d find in the gutter with your hair all frazzled and your clothes rumpled.”

“Oh, and you’re looking fantastic, huh?”

“The rumpled hair look is in for men,” he declared proudly.

“Sorry dear, but you’re way past rumpled,” she giggled.

“Shut up back there!” someone up front yelled.

“He’s right you know,” Fenny said, “people who’ve been kidnapped shouldn’t enjoy themselves. It’s not the norm.”

“Fuck the norm, let’s play Twister.”

“If we make it out of this alive,” Fenny giggled, “remind me to stop talking to you.”

Gina woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing, which she fumbled for and sleepily answered. “Hello? Yeah.” She punched Brad in the shoulder and he jolted awake. “Yes I did.”

He blearily looked over to see her fumbling for a notepad.

“No, I don’t think so. Yes I am. That makes sense.”

Brad frowned, disentangled himself from his half of the covers and wandered into the bathroom. When he returned, Gina was pulling on her boots. “What was that about?” he asked groggily.

“I got Fen’s phone traced,” Gina announced, sounding a bit more chipper than she had the night before. “They’re in a hotel not far from here. We have to go see if they’re there.”

“And if they’re not?”

“We find out where they went.”

“Right.”

“I’m gonna go wake Greg. Meet us in the car?”

“Right.”

And she wandered out of the room, down the hall to Greg’s, where she pounded on the door. “Come on Speccy, we know where they are, time to leave.”

He popped his head out the door and stepped into the hallway ready to go. “Morning,” he chimed.

“Well, that’s something I wasn’t expecting,” she said with a pleased smile.

“I woke up in desperate need of a cigarette about an hour ago,” he shrugged. “Had to drag myself out of bed to get a pack. So, we know where to go?”

“Yeah, got the address for the hotel they’ve been dragged to when I got the call traced. Brad’s on his way to the car.”

“How did that go?” Greg chuckled as they headed down the hall. “Sleeping with Brad?”

“God, don’t put it like that, please,” Gina grimaced.

“So, didn’t go well?”

“If you count trying to kill each other over the covers as going well, then it went swimmingly. But, on the upside, I think we’ve worked out some of our aggravation.”

“I’d have paid to see that,” Greg giggled, “you and Brad wrestling over the covers. Who won?”

“I did, until I fell off the bed.”

He chuckled to himself as they stepped into the lobby and out to the parking lot. “Morning Sherwood,” Greg said through a laugh as they found him sitting in the driver’s seat. “Sleep well?”

“Not really,” Brad admitted. “You?”

“Probably better than you, man.”

“Can we just go?” Gina asked anxiously, sitting in the back to let Greg deal with the street map. “Here’s the address.”

“Just around the corner,” Greg announced as he checked the address scribbled on the hotel stationery against the map. “Turn left at the second light.”

Brad nodded and they drove the short distance in silence, all still trying to become fully conscious, unable to think through the yawns and stretches and popping of joints.

“This is where kidnappers go?” Brad asked, looking up at the surprisingly pleasant hotel as they drove around to find a place to park.

“Not all kidnappers are like the Crispin sisters,” Greg announced as Brad parked the car. “At least their accommodations are better than they were last time this happened. Let’s go find out if they’re there.”

“And if they are?” Brad asked.

“We…do something.”

“Brilliant plan,” Gina sighed.

“We’ll come up with something if they’re there,” Greg said resolutely.

“Let’s just find out what’s going on,” Brad ordered, hopping out of the car anxiously. They were so close to Fenny, he could feel it. All they had to do was find out what room, go up there, overpower the bad guys…no, scratch that. Sneak Fen and Paul out. Granted it wouldn’t reinstate his manliness, but they were more likely to make it out alive by being sneaky and devious than by getting shot trying to be brave.

Gina and Greg caught up with him at the front desk, where he suddenly realized he didn’t know what to ask. Would they have checked in using Don’s name? That was really the only option, only chances were that they’d used a fake name.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.

“Yeah. Um, we’re looking for some friends of ours,” Brad said, trying to sound confident. “They might be checked in under the name Donald McIver?”

“No, I’m sorry, no one’s checked in under that name.”

“Oh. It’s a long shot, but Grey or McDermott?”

She clicked away at her computer for another few seconds. “No.”

“Oh. Well, you see, they’re friends of ours, and they’re on vacation, and they don’t want anyone to find them. They’re—”

“Really stressed actors,” Gina supplied. “Afraid of being caught by fans. But we have to get to them. It’s something of an emergency. Um.”

“We just found out her sister has leukemia, and we have to get them tested for bone marrow,” Greg piped. Gina and Brad tried not to flinch at him in surprise. “It’s kinda urgent.”

“Well what do they look like?” the receptionist asked, trying to be helpful.

“Short slim Australian man, dark hair, hazel eyes, wicked grin,” Gina said. “And an American woman, long brown hair, glasses, kinda average build?”

“Oh, that’s them,” the receptionist smiled. “That explains the other gentlemen with them, they must be bodyguards.”

“Yeah, that’s right, bodyguards,” Greg said through gritted teeth.

“So they’re here?” Gina gasped, ready to leap over the counter and give the woman a hug.

“No, you just missed them, actually,” she said sadly.

“Damn it,” Brad hissed.

“Do you know where they went?” Gina demanded.

The receptionist typed away for another minute or two, shooting them apologetic smiles from time to time. “Mr. Dufford has a room reserved at our Paris location,” she chimed.

“Dufford?” the other three asked simultaneously.

“Yes, the man who checked them in. I assume he’s their agent or head of security or something.”

“Oh yes, yes, agent, that’s what it is,” Greg nodded. “Well thank you, we’ll go see them in Paris, thanks.”

“Good luck finding a donor,” the receptionist called after them as they headed back out to the car.

“Donor?” Brad echoed.

“Bone marrow,” Greg said. “Yeah, thanks, bye,” he waved to the receptionist.

“Proops isn’t allowed to watch soap operas anymore,” Gina giggled as she got back into the car. “Bone marrow transplants?”

“So, Paris, huh?” Greg said, changing the subject. “Guess we take the Chunnel?”

“Fastest route,” Gina shrugged.

“Am I the only one who hears the word Chunnel and thinks of Ryan Stiles and a pickle?” Brad asked.

“I’m gonna hope that that’s a reference to a Whose Line game I’ve forgotten,” Greg cringed, “and not some kinky thing between you two that I don’t want to know about.”

“Just drive,” Gina laughed.

“Get out,” Don ordered as he flung the back doors open. The smell of salt air was thick and the wind was brisk as Fenny and Paul stepped out with help from the lackeys in the form of grabbing their arms and wrenching them behind their backs. They were at a deserted port with few boats and even fewer people, and the boards that comprised the dock were squeaking unpleasantly beneath their feet as they were dragged to a small boat that barely looked seaworthy. “In.”

Fenny and Paul looked at each other, then Don, then the boat, then each other again. “In there?” Paul gasped.

“No, into the cruise liner, you son of a bitch. Get in.”

Without warning, the heavy who’d been assigned to Fenny picked her up and dropped her on the deck of the boat before stepping on himself. Fearing the alternative, Paul stepped gingerly into the boat himself, followed closely by his heavy.

“Do you get the feeling this just gets worse and worse?” Fenny whispered to Paul.

“Gets worse than this,” Paul whispered back. “I get seasick.”

“There is no god.”

“Get in there and shut up for a change,” Paul’s heavy said, pushing him fiercely into a small hold, Fenny following. The door closed, leaving them in darkness again.

“Where do you think they’re taking us?”

“The only place to go from England on a rickety old boat like this is France. We’ll be lucky if we can make it that far.”

“Isn’t this just fabulous,” Fenny sighed. “Not only am I kidnapped, this time I’m kidnapped and taken to a foreign country where I couldn’t ask for help if I wanted to.”

“You didn’t take French in school?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, but that was over fifteen years ago. At this point I can remember how to order a ham sandwich and comment on how well the monkeys are driving the car.”

He regarded her carefully. “That must have been a very interesting class,” he mused.

She shrugged. “You know any useful French?”

“Only withering insults and dirty words.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“Learn this quickly: fous-moi le camp.”

“Fous-moi le camp,” Fenny repeated obediently. “What’s it mean?”

“Fuck off.”