2008-02-07: Taken

Starring:

Namir_icon.gif Samantha_icon.gif

Summary: Namir and Samantha have just been married! They come home on this momentous day to prepare for their honeymoon, but it doesn't go exactly as planned. They're taken.

Date It Happened: February 7th, 2008

Taken


Namir & Sam's Apartment

Greenwich Village, NYC

Despite the recent familial strain, the wedding went off without a hitch (haha). Fahd wasn't there, but everyone else was thanks to Cairo's insistence. There's been ceremony and dancing and gift-giving and food and everything one could possibly expect at a wedding, and now there's an hour before the couple have to leave for the plane to New Zealand. Getting dressed in normal clothes (wedding dresses and tuxes aren't exactly normal) and some last-minute packing is in order.

If they can get the door open, that is. It's not easy to unlock a door when one has an armful of bride. Maybe picking Sam up for the whole 'carry-over-the-threshold' bit back in the elevator was premature, but Namir's not putting her down now. Isn't that bad luck? So he fumbles with keys and doorknob. The kisses he keeps sneaking probably aren't helping matters either.

The wedding had alcohol available to those that wanted it, but Samantha stayed dry, because otherwise Namir wouldn't kiss her, and that's kind of a point in the whole wedding thing. There was however, an appropriate amount of wedding bukake, and Samantha's dress was delightfully plunging where it should be. All in all, a lovely experience, and now she's laughing her head off as he carries her through the door to the apartment. The rats and cat are gone, having been given over to their caretakers for the duration of Sam and Namir's honeymoon. "A redeye?" Samantha says in the midst of her laughter. "Oh god, next trip I'm doing the booking…" she grins up at him. "Are you sure I can't talk you into a teeny tiny bit of wine with me? Just a little bit? I'll be your best friend." She flutters her lashes at him. She may not be drunk from alcohol, but joy can make you silly too.

SUCCESS! Door open! Bride go through! Door closed. All is well in the world. Sneaky kisses no longer have to be so sneaky now that there's not a door serving as distraction. Namir cocks an eyebrow, but he's smirking as he bears Sam toward the kitchen. "You're not already my best friend? What did I marry you for?" Once in the kitchen, he hefts her up a bit so she can reach the cupboard with the glasses. A little wine never killed a Muslim.

A cold breeze drifts through the apartment. Did someone leave the window open before they left…?

"One sec." Once she's on her feet, Sam lifts up her skirt so she can make her way to the window. "I don't think I left this open. God, check and make sure the PS3 is still there, would you?" She reaches out to shut the window, and looks down at her dress, smoothing it out briefly before she turns to head to the bedroom where her change of clothes is waiting for the plane trip.

It's a little disconcerting, but a part of Namir refuses to believe that someone would break into their apartment on their wedding day. After setting out the glasses and a bottle of wine (it was Sam's wedding gift from him!), he goes to check on the electronics in the living room. And by that, it is implied that he is eyeing Sam until she disappears into the bedroom, then he's heading to the living room to check on the electronics. "Maybe Bekah accidentally left it open when she came to get the— " He trails off with a wave of his hand. Fill in the blank, he's distracted.

The sound of a zipper sliding down probably doesn't pass the bedroom doorway, as Sam slips out of her wedding gown and hangs it up to drape on the closet door. In her skivvies - wedding skivvies, and erego, a bit fancier than the norm - she takes a moment to get her hair out of its fancy updo, and start changing into much more relaxed clothes.

A small metal canister goes unseen in the kitchen, laying on the floor oh, so out of place. A red tiny red light, attached to a bundle of wires, flashes malignantly. While Namir is in the living room and Sam in the bedroom unawares, it gives off a quiet hiss.

Only moments later, the window Sam closed mere minutes ago is shoved open by gloved hands on the fire escape.

Everything is still there. Nobody's made off with anything. So Namir heads back toward the bedroom, already unbuttoning the bowtie and collar of his tux. Spotting the wedding dress on the closet door, he frowns a little. "I thought I was supposed to help you out of th— "

Whoa, he's feeling a little off suddenly. Taking hold of the door frame to steady himself, he blinks several times, trying to fight unconsciousness. "Sam?" It comes out more muffled and slurred than it was in his head.

She's still in her lacey, girly lingerie when he appears in the doorway. And promptly slumps. "Baby, you okay?" she asks in concern, striding toward him and holding out her hands in time to take a big whiff and - "Oh, shit…" she mumbles as everything goes dark and she drops like a rock.

The gloved hand at the window belongs to a man, wearing a black ski-mask with a blue-and-white bandanna tied around his mouth and nose, who slides it open with a scrape and climbs in. He's followed by three other men, similarly dressed. They move with precision and confidence, evidently trusting in the odorless agent that fills the air. These are not petty criminals, and this is a precision strike. The first man to sneak in heads straight for Namir.

No. No, no, no, no. Once it becomes apparent that Sam is also feeling the effects, Namir reaches out to prevent her from falling and misses. Fearing a carbon monoxide leak or something similarly harmful, he holds his breath and quickly grabs her and slings her over a shoulder, despite his own weakening knees. Just as he reaches the door again, he spots the men. Damn it. His first instinct is to slam the bedroom door, though he fails to lock it as he's soon immediately turning and heading for the bedroom window. He reaches it, but his legs get out just as he gets there, and he's left slumped against the sill trying to stop the world from spinning.

The man opens the door immediately, taking stock of the room: downed Samantha, falling Namir — all according to plan. Nodding his head back at his co-conspirators, he gestures into the bedroom and gives a few clipped words in a language that is not English (or French or Spanish or Arabic or Klingon, for that matter). One of them opens the window once more, letting in fresh air — for them. It's too late for the newlyweds, whom they descend upon.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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