Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly

I'm back folks. Just took a little time to get readjusted back to college life. Well here is Chapter One of my new story Icons. I hope you like it. Please read and review if you so choose. The next chapter will be up soon. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Truth One Way or Another

Wherein our cast find themselves in a perilous situation and our main hero begins to tell their tale.

Damp, dark and cold, that is our world and has been for the last few hours. All of us who were wearing sport coats or jackets had had them removed. The smell of rust from cell bars fills my nostrils. Three people to a cell, no seats, dark walls and the sound of nothing. All nine of us trapped in this hellhole, waiting on whoever is in charge to come and do what they will.

The leader comes into the hallway in between the cells surrounded by a group of his men. "Which one of you is the boss?" He asks.

No one says a word. One of his thugs draws a gun and points it at Sid. "I'll only ask one more time. Who's your boss old man?" The leader repeats calmly.

I stand up.

"You must be Mac Taylor?"

"I am."

He motions for his men to open up my cell door and two of them each roughly grab one of my arms. One of the other thugs has his gun trained on Stella and Flack to prevent them from doing anything.

The one in charge lands a blow on my face. Lindsay tries to stifle a gasp.

"The next time I ask for you, I expect you to respond promptly." He says.

They push me away from the prison area and take me through a hallway to an empty room. No table, no chairs, nothing. I have a very bad about where this is going. The two thugs holding my arms pull them back behind me, leaving me defenseless against whatever they have in store.

The one in charge starts talking to me "Mr. Taylor the way this will work is really simple. I will ask a question and you will answer it. If I don't like the answer you give me, or you decide not to answer, there will be consequences. Understand?"

I glare back at him, not saying a word.

"Good, now down to business, what does the Crime Lab know about our little group?"

I don't answer and he lands a vicious blow to my ribs.

"We'll try this again, what do you know about icons?"

I still won't answer. Another vicious hit to my ribs. My knees start to buckle but the thugs keep me standing.

"Who are some of your suspects?"

I refuse to answer once again. Any even harder blow to my stomach. I can barely stand, even with them forcing me up.

"This is getting old Taylor. Just answer my questions and the pain will stop."

"Piss…off…" I gasp in defiance.

He retaliates by striking me in the face.

"Okay Detective, we'll try an easy question; when did all of this start?"

I offer only silence and I'm hit in the chest. I can barely breathe. A part of my brain is screaming at me; you idiot just tell them something, anything, but I can't. Something inside me refuses to give in to what should be an easy solution. What keeps me from talking is the knowledge that I'm protecting my team. As long as these thugs are focusing on me, then they aren't going after my team. At least I hope so.

This continues for several more questions but I never give them any information. The one in charge knows I wouldn't answer anything a couple of questions ago. The remaining blows were to try and teach me some kind of lesson. I can't even walk afterwards and instead they drag me out through the hallway and back to the prison area. My vision is extremely blurry and my head is hanging down; lifting it would require precious energy I don't have. One of the jailors opens the cell door and the two holding me simply drop me onto the floor.

Stella rushes up to me, at least I think it's Stella. She turns me over and I offer a soft moan of pain.

"Mac! Oh God Mac, what did they do to you?"

"Here Stel, lift his head up a bit." Flack instructs as he takes off his jacket and makes it into a pillow for my head. My vision is slowly starting to clear up, but every inch of my body is sore and wracked with pain. I feel Stella's hand on my face, trying to wipe away some of the blood and sweat that has accumulated.

"Mac, please look at me. Say something. Tell me you are alright." She pleads.

"Stel…" I whisper so quietly I can barely hear it myself.

"It's okay Mac, I'm here."

"Hurts…" I mutter to no one in particular.

"I know Mac. Don't worry. You're safe now."

"Don't be too sure about that ma'am." It's the ringleader.

"You bastard! Look what you did to him!" Stella yells at our captor.

"He did it to himself. All he had to do was answer the questions I asked and he would have been fine. That goes for all of you. If you insist on being stubborn and defiant, then what happened to your precious boss will happen to you."

I try to move, to stand up for myself and the rest of my team. I want to do it but I can't. It hurts too much.

"Stay still Mac." Stella whispers to me. I do what she says.

"I guess I'll have to find a different way to make you cooperate." The boss says aloud.

He and whoever is with him leave the room and close the door. Only then do I let out a cry of pain that I had been holding in.

"Mac!" Stella places her hand on my chest to keep me from moving.

"Make sure he doesn't move too much to avoid damaging anything else." Hawkes calls out, echoing Stella's sentiments.

There is quiet in the room as they wait for me to recover. It takes some time, but eventually my breathing gets back to normal and I can see clearly, but the pain won't go away. I'm certain it will linger for a while.

"Mac" Stella says gently, trying to get me to focus. One of her hands is still on my chest, monitoring my breathing; the other is grasping my hand.

"Mac" she repeats "what did they want?"

I try to focus my brain on the "interrogation".

"Umm… they wanted to know about, the icons and if we knew anything. That's it. I didn't tell them anything Stella." I reassure her, and myself.

"I know Mac."

She kisses my forehead, bringing a slight smile to my face. It quickly dissolves when I hear footsteps coming back.

"Well, it's your lucky day folks. It seems that I'm under orders from on high to not cause you too much physical discomfort. Funny, the message came before Detective Taylor and I had our conversation. I guess I should have checked my messages earlier."

"Bastard." Flack spits out at him.

"Actually you are really going to think that way about me in a minute friend. Detective Taylor and I need to have another talk."

"No!" Stella shouts, grasping my hand even tighter.

"My dear, none of you really has any say in this matter."

One of them draws a gun on Flack and Stella to keep from interfering. Not really caring about my discomfort, two more get me to my feet and haul me out of the cell. They find it quicker to drag me instead of taking the time to let me walk. They take me back to the same room as earlier, only this time there is a table and chairs. They place me in one of the chairs and the boss stands beside the other chair. He pulls out a needle and some liquid.

"You knew damn well about that message before you hauled me in here the first time." I shoot out at my interrogator.

"Of course I did, but I have my reasons." He points to the bottle. "Detective Taylor do you know what is in this bottle?"

I focus on the bottle, sodium triopental otherwise known as sodium pentathol "truth serum."

"Correct Detective. Since force didn't work, I think it's time to try something a little different."

"You must know that sodium pentathol is unreliable as truth serum."

"Of course. That's why we had our little chat earlier. In your state, I don't expect too much resistance now. Time to take your medicine Detective."

One of his men pushes my head onto the table while my interrogator brings over the needle and injects a large amount of the drug into the back of my neck. I start to feel its effects immediately. One of sodium pentathol's affects is the reduction of pain, which in this case is a blessing. My hands which had been gripping onto the table suddenly relax and my other muscles do the same.

"Glad to see you're in a better mood Mac." The gentlemen sitting across from me says. "Now, why don't you tell me what you and your friends have been up to?"

Why not? He reduced my pain and there is far less tension in the room now. Giving him information surely won't hurt anyone. NO damn it! Another part of my mind yells at me it's the drugs, fight them! My face contorts and I clinch my jaw as I try to fight the sodium pentathol. The other men in the room seem to be enjoying the battle between my will and the drugs.

"Is there a problem Mac?" the man across from me asks with a smirk.

I'm too focused on my own inner struggle to respond to him. There are several ways to combat the effects of sodium pentathol. If you have a firm lie in your head, it may well come out instead of the truth. If a lie hasn't been prepared, a person with a strong enough will can resist it. Under normal conditions I could overcome this thing, but after the beating they put me through, I can't fight it off.

The drugs win.

"No problems Mac?"

I repeat what he said. "No, no problems."

"Good, I need some information."

"What do you want to know?" I say groggily. Sodium pentathol is also used as anesthesia, making me feel fatigued.

"Let's try a few simple questions to start with. First off, what is your badge number?"

"8443." I don't even think about it.

"Good. Who is your partner? What is her name?"

"Detective Stella Bonasera."

"Very Good. What about the rest of the people in with you? Who are they?"

"Donald Flack, Daniel and Lindsay Messer, Adam Ross, Thomas Hayes, Sheldon Hawkes and Sid Hammerback." I rattle off the names of my friends and colleagues without any resistance.

"Now, to make sure you aren't lying. What was your wife's first name? How did she die?"

"Her name was Claire. She died on 9/11 in the attacks on the World Trade Center towers." I numbly state. There is no passion or outrage in my voice. I couldn't muster any if I tried.

He breaks into a big, nasty smile.

"Excellent job Mac. Now, I want you to tell me everything about what you and your team have been up to. Tell me everything and start at the beginning."

"It all started less than two weeks ago…"

***

12 Days Ago…

Mrs. Nora Malone quickly makes the Sign of the Cross as she enters the front door of Saint Basil's Church. Inside, the Church is quite, and most of the lights are out. It is Friday afternoon, most people don't even think of Church until Sunday, if at all. However, Mrs. Malone considers herself a good Catholic, and that means going to confession.

She finds her way to the confessional. Going inside she sees a figure dressed in the cloth of the priesthood on the other side of the screen. Mrs. Malone finds this odd; most priests do not wear their vestments outside of Mass. Oh well, to each their own. She makes the Sign of the Cross, and begins her portion of the Right of Reconciliation.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned, it has been two weeks since my last confession."

There is no answer. Mrs. Malone is puzzled.

"Father" no answer again.

"Father are you ok?"Still no answer. Mrs. Malone steps out and goes to the other curtain, leading to the priests' side of the confessional. Very timidly, Mrs. Malone pulls back the curtain.

Immediately, she lets out a fierce shriek of terror. This is too much for someone her age. One of the parish staffers comes running over just as Mrs. Malone collapses. He calls for an ambulance, and the NYPD.

Because there is a dead body in the confessional.

Thoughts? Ideas? Suggestions? I'll take them all. Chapter 2 coming soon.