Captain Simon Banks glanced at his desk clock, then raked his gaze over the men sitting in his office.

Jim fought the urge to look through the blinds into the bullpen. He didn't need to look. Using his newly trained enhanced sense of hearing, he caught the familiar cadence of sneaker steps squeaking across the freshly waxed floor in the outside hallway.

Thank God. Jim sighed quietly, giving his boss a slight nod. Simon had been a virtual grizzly bear all day. Now, waiting for Blair Sandburg, Major Crimes own personal police observer, to show up was not helping the man's temper. Last week, Simon had invited Blair to attend the weekly staff meeting. An honor that had thrilled the younger man. But Blair was running late. A few seconds later, his roommate entered the office - as usual, without the customary knock that would normally be expected on a police captain's closed door. Looking comfortable in blue jeans and a dark gray thermal shirt under a soft chamois outer shirt, Blair waved brightly at the occupants.

"Sorry, guys. I had to..." Blair's words were cut off with the sharpness of a surgeon's scalpel.

"Save it, Sandburg," Simon barked, pointing towards the only empty chair, the one closest to his desk.

Jim frowned, wishing he'd thought to save a seat next to his own. Having his civilian roommate sit in on these staff meeting was humorous on a good day and a downright disaster on a bad one.

It was obvious, even to the meter maids, that Captain Simon Banks had declared today as a bad day.

Blair fell into the chair looking duly chastised, sneaking a questioning glance back at Jim.

Jim responded with a head shake, trying to send a silent message. `Don't rock the boat.'

"Lets get started," Simon's booming voice began without its usual warmth. "With Rhonda on vacation the next two weeks and our normal sub sick, we're not going to experience our usual smooth, efficient day-to-day operations. We're lucky to get Mary from burglary to fill in."

He paused to study the faces around his office. "The first bozo that pisses her off and sends her packing, deals with me... understand?"

The group nodded like the obedient employees they all wished to be.

"So, man. Is she pretty?" Blair asked lightly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Detective Brown was caught unprepared and snickered. Jim groaned quietly to himself.

"Sandburg..." Simon's tone was laced with danger; a saner grad student might have run for the door and never looked back. "Your excuse for a social life has no place inside these four walls. Am I making myself clear? Or do I need to get out my box of crayons and write it down?"

Brown and several others gasped in surprise. Jim curled his hands into fists.

Simon had moved beyond the normal teasing that went on daily and had gone directly into offensive attack.

Blair's cheeks bloomed the color of a summer rose. He ducked his head in a vain attempt to hide his face. "Sorry, Si- Captain. I was just... Um, sorry," he muttered softly.

Jim swallowed his rage, a pain of betrayal growing in his gut as he watched his boss continue to glower at Blair with open contempt. This was not the man Jim knew and called friend.

"Captain," Jim barked out. He paused to rein in his temper before continuing. "What's the ..."

"Can it, Detective! I'm not going to let a snotty-nose grad student belittle my command," Simon snapped.

The next scene played out like a nightmare.

Blair stood - apparently realizing as a civilian he wasn't required to put up with the verbal abuse - Simon exploded in rage. Barreling out of his office chair with amazing speed, Simon's left hand caught up a handful of thermal shirt while his right balled into a fist and struck.

Before Jim could clear his seat, the first hit landed on Blair's nose. The resulting `crack' exploded in Jim's ear. Blood streamed from Blair's face unchecked. The room erupted from stunned shock to sudden, frantic movement. Unfortunately, all of it slower than Jim would have liked. Men blocked his path. Jim roared like a wounded lion, physically throwing an office chair - still occupied - to one side as he climbed up and over Simon's desk to reach his roommate. Blair had fallen back in his chair under Simon's attack and was out of sight with Simon on top. The dark fist continued to rise and fall as the attack played out.

"Simon! STOP!" Joel Taggart shouted, reaching the pair on the floor the same time as Jim.

Jim grabbed the fist that rained blows, stilling the onslaught. Joel had a large, meaty arm around Simon's neck, pulling the larger man back and off Blair. More hands grabbed the enraged man, until Simon was dragged back and Jim could survey the damage.

"Rafe, call an ambulance," Jim ordered, kneeling down at his friend's side. Blair was on his back, choking on his own blood. His jaw hung loose and crooked, his face bruised and bloodied.

"Blair..." Words hung up in Jim's throat. Blair wasn't listening anyway.

Sliding an arm under Blair's shoulders, he lifted the younger man's upper body. Jim dropped to his butt, leaning against the wall and pulled Blair to his chest, tilting the injured face to one side. Warm blood flowed down Jim's shirt and soaked his lap.

The movement brought pain. Blair gurgled a moan, cradling his broken jaw with both hands to keep it from falling open. But the changed angle cleared the airway and Jim could hear the sound of air moving up and down Blair's windpipe.

"Hold on, Chief," Jim whispered into his ear, tuning out the nearby sounds of Simon's rage.

"How bad, Jim?" Rafe asked, kneeling down next to the two roommates.

"Bad... Did you call for medics?" Jim answered, keeping his voice calm. Blair's heart pounded Jim's ribs through the layers of clothes. He could feel each painful gasp and moan Blair uttered. As much as he wanted to get up and rip into Simon Banks for doing this, he wanted to stay here with Blair more, making sure the injured man continued to breathe.

"Jjjjaaaahhhh..." Blair groaned with a violent shudder. A bloodied hand moved to grab a handful of Jim's collar.

"Easy... don't talk," Jim ordered, his words blowing the brown curls around and tickling his nose. "Try and relax, I've got you."

Blair shuddered again, but relaxed, just a little.

Simon had been dragged out of his own office. His curses and screams easily audible in the bullpen. Apparently, it was taking the rest of the staff to keep him down. They'd gone from bad day to nightmare in less than sixty seconds. Now Jim's world was reduced to this corner of the captain's office, listening to air move in and out of his guide's lungs. Blair's chair was still on its side next to them, forming a makeshift barricade against the world.

Jim sighed and tightened his grip as another wrack of pain caused a shudder to run through the other man's body.

Damn it.

Sitting quietly next to Blair's hospital bed, Jim watched TV. Normally, the host of the nightly program never failed to bring a smile. But Jim had sat through the entire show with all the enthusiasm of watching grass grow.

The only speaker to the TV available was in the side rails of Blair's bed. And it was on the lowest setting. Jim could hear every word, even though - to an outsider - it looked as if Jim had spend the last hour reading lips. Jim didn't need volume, he was a sentinel.

The great sentinel of Cascade.

He could hear, see, taste, touch and smell better than any other person alive.

Shit.

So why didn't he see this coming? It took a broken jaw and surgery to see reality. Not his jaw of course, that would have been poetic justice. After all, Jim was the one who should have seen it. Not Blair. Yet it was Blair who got to look forward to six weeks of not being able to open his mouth. The doctors had run wire in between his partner's teeth and twisted the ends together.

Shit.

He leaned over to adjust the blankets covering the man in question. Blair was asleep, forced under by drugs. His face still swollen from the attack, he looked like someone who had faced ten rounds with Tyson while both hands were tied behind his back.

The door opened. Taggart's head appeared through a quietly cracked door. He peered into the gloom, spotting Jim with the aid of the flickering blue light from the overhead TV screen.

"Jim?" he whispered.

"Come in... he's still asleep," Jim informed him quietly.

The large man entered the private room and lowered himself into the second chair with more grace than one would expect. "The results are back. Looks like magic mushrooms."

Jim shook his head, disgusted with himself. How could he not know? Not see? Simon had been acting bizarre for hours before Blair had arrived, and he had just written it off as a bad lunch. "How is he?"

"Better, he stopped screaming at the world," Joel shifted to gaze into the bed. "He's going to be sick when he knows..."

Jim scrubbed his face with both hands. "Yeah... what a mess."

"We're going to find the person's responsible, Jim," Joel vowed. "The Chief's already been by, he swore to me we could have whatever we need to get to the bottom of this. Everything in Simon's office is in the lab, anything he touched is being tested."

Jim nodded, too exhausted to comment. He really should have remained to help process the clues, to search through Simon's things and used his senses to help, but he couldn't. Both Blair and Simon had been loaded up in ambulances and brought to Cascade General Hospital.

In fact, it had taken more than gentle persuasion to get Blair to release his hold on Jim's collar when the medics did show up. Jim had seen the look of panic in Blair's eyes when they'd taken the tube and stuck it down his throat to secure his airway. Blair's free hand had scrambled to find Jim's during the procedure and Jim had taken that hand and held on.

"You look wasted, Jim. Go home," Joel ordered softly.

"I'm fine, really. His drugs should be wearing off soon. I want to be here when he wakes up."

"Okay... what if I bring by a change of clothes? You can't be comfortable in those scrubs."

Jim glanced down at the light green outfit a thoughtful orderly had found for him. His own clothes sat in a white plastic bag in the closet behind him. The heavy starch in the cotton scrubs was attacking his skin, punishing him for his lack of caution. Jim had taken the abuse without complaint. He deserved worse.

Joel held out his hand. "Come on, give me your keys. I'll be back first thing in the morning. And I'll find a way to bring your truck down."

Jim twisted in his chair to reach his jacket slung over the back. His key ring was still where he'd left it. He handed them over. "Thanks, Joel. For everything."

Two hours later, Jim opened gritty eyelids at the first soft groan. Blair twitched a leg under the blanket - just a leg, but it was movement. Jim watched him climbed out from under the drugs and return to a world filled with confusion and pain. Scooting the heavy recliner closer to the edge of the bed, he waited until deep ocean-blue eyes made their tentative appearance.

"Hey, partner. Welcome back," Jim said, careful to keep his voice soft and as comforting as possible.

The eyes tracked the voice down like a radar scope, filled with questions. A hand appeared from under the blanket and touched the swollen jaw tenderly, exploring the damage while the eyes continued to plead for some rational explanation for being in his current location.

"Your jaw is wired shut, Chief. You're going to be okay, just a little sore for a while," Jim explained, reaching for the button to notify the nurse. A tube snaked down Blair's nasal passageway, insuring the man had a way to breathe other than dragging air between his teeth. "I'm going to let them know you're awake. They'll tell you what to expect, okay?"

Blair nodded, then his eyes widened and he reached over to grasp Jim's hand in his own. "Siiiiiiii." The noise gurgled in his throat and he paused to swallow painfully.

"Easy, kiddo. Simon's okay... he's in another room," Jim paused, patting Blair's hand before trying to remove his from the other man's grasp. But Blair held on with strength that surprised him. The meaning was clear. Blair wanted the whole story, he remembered the attack.

"Okay," Jim told him, settling back down and leaving his hand in Blair's while he talked. "It looks as if Simon was poisoned with a hallucinogenic mushroom... like that LSD-type of magic mushrooms that were popular back in the late seventies. It causes very bad trips, violent behavior."

Blair's eyes widened.

"He didn't mean to hurt you, Sandburg. I'm sure of it," Jim added.

"Heee...kayyy?" Blair whispered harshly.

"He's quieted down. I haven't been to see him yet, but Joel came by and told me he's doing okay," Jim explained.

Blair released his hand as if it burned and pointed to the door. "Gooo!"

Jim huffed. Leave it to Blair to start bossing him around within seconds of waking. "Darwin, it's three in the morning."

Blair continued to point.

A nurse entered in response to the summons. She raised an eyebrow at the drama unfolding in the room.

"Everything okay in here?"

"Yeah," Jim stood, patting Blair's blanket covered knee. "I'm being yelled at. I'm going to step out for a few minutes... need to check on our friend. I'll be right back, Chief."

Blair gave him a weak thumbs up before turning toward the nurse, no doubt getting ready to win her over. Even if he did looked like the winner in the `Looks-like-road-kill' contest, Blair would never pass up a chance to flirt with a pretty woman.

Jim found the hallways of the hospital busier then he expected. No one challenged his right to be there. He fingered the scrubs absentmindedly as he studied the large whiteboard over the nurses' station. Each line on the board had the room number and the last name of the patient assigned to that room. Banks was listed next to two-fourteen.

Jim pushed the door open slowly; the large form in the bed was still. The room was dark, but Jim easily made out the two brown colored eyes that gazed at him mournfully from the bed.

"Here to kill me, Jim?" Simon whispered, his voice rough from abuse.

"Expecting me to?"

"If you'd done to Daryl what I've done to Sandburg, I'd be looking to kill you."

Jim entered, letting the door close and sending the room back into darkness. "Not if you knew I'd been poisoned."

Simon rolled over to one side, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Shit, Jim... is he okay?"

A chair, similar in everyway to the one he'd just left, sat next to Simon's bed. Jim perched on the edge and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. "He's going to be okay, Simon."

"Oh, god. I remember everything... everything. How bad is it?"

"Broken nose, his jaw's going to be wired shut for a while. He's going to be okay," Jim repeated.

"He must hate me," Simon moaned.

Jim snorted. "He was totally pissed when he realized I hadn't been by to see you. As soon as he woke up, I got my marching orders to come check on you."

Simon would not be comforted. "I could have killed him."

"Yeah... but you didn't. Simon, you're a victim here too. You were poisoned. Any ideas as to who would do this?" Jim asked.

"No, none. Major Crimes is working a few cases that might warrant an attack. But why me?" Simon mused. "I'm not lead investigator, I'm the captain. At least... I was the captain."

"You're still the captain. Joel told me the chief was here personally to check on you. The department knows you didn't bring this on yourself. Blair knows it... and so do I."

A rueful smile found its way to the dark face in the bed. The first hint of its owner's normal dry humor. "I'm thinking this realization didn't happen right away. How long before the urge to murder me passed?"

Jim shared the morbid joke. "A couple of hours..."

Blair stared at his reflection in the hospital's bathroom mirror. He was being released later in the day. He wanted to get a good look at what the outside world would be looking at.

He looked hideous.

It was doubtful that Steven King could imagine a more nightmarish character for one of his horror flicks. The lower half of his face was still swollen from the abuse at Simon's hands, added with the surgery of rewiring his jaw. His nose was taped, the white band standing out on his face, contrasting with his black left eye. If Blair ever got a woman to accept a date with him again, it would be a miracle.

Flicking off the light switch, Blair headed back to bed. He needed to get a grip. This was not a permanent situation, in fact, the doctor had said he'd make a complete recovery. He pushed down his sudden, irrational urge of self-pity.

And ran bruised face to chest with Simon Banks.

"Ahh!" Blair said with a start, before he recognized who his guest was.

Simon recoiled, taking a quick two-step dance backwards. "Sandburg! I didn't think you were in your room," he stuttered quickly, looking like a thief caught in the act.

A white bag sat on the table next to Blair's bed.

"Isss fine," Blair said through swollen lips. With time, he would be able to speak well enough to be understood. Until then, his words would be slurred. Too tired to care about his battered face, his rat's nest of a hairdo, or the gapping gown he wore, Blair climbed back into his bed and pulled the blanket back up to his chest. At least Jim had brought him a clean pair of boxers. Mooning Jim's boss was not on his `do to' list for the day.

"I... uh...I brought you a..." Simon waved his hand towards the bag.

Blair set the sack in his lap and opened the top to pull out an insulated drink container, the surface cool against his fingertips. He carefully peeled off the lid and looked into the deep brown color of a Cascade Delight mocha milkshake. He felt his cracked lips pull into a weak smile.

"Tanks, Simmm," Blair mumbled before carefully inserting the straw between his lips and pulling the sweet, smooth treat into his mouth. God, it tasted like heaven. The stuff the hospital had been giving him paled in comparison. He pointed towards the chair as he slurped in bliss.

"So..." Simon started, clearing his throat awkwardly as he sat. "How... I mean, are... Damn!" the large man blurted out angrily before rubbing his wide forehead with one hand.

Blair paused in his greedy intake of nourishment. "Simmum. Iss kay. You werr drugs."

A look of gratitude came over the other man. He chuckled as he shook his head in disbelief. "You're a real work of art, Sandburg."

"You mean like `abstract art', Simon?" Jim entered the room carrying a similar bag.

"I would thank you kindly not to point out my crimes, Ellison," Simon huffed. "I'm trying to work though an apology here."

Blair snickered at the captain's tone. Simon really did look guilty and it was ridiculous. Of all people, Blair knew what it was like to be out of control and having to live with the fact you almost hurt others. Okay, in Simon's case, he did hurt someone else, but that wasn't his fault.

"Looks like I've been out maneuvered." Jim set the bag down on the table and pulled out two more milkshakes. "How many can you down, junior?"

Blair shook his head not pausing in the task of pulling the cool drink through his teeth. For the first time since he'd woken up after the attack, his stomach felt like it was getting some real food. He wasn't going to waste any time gabbing, when he could be enjoying Simon's gift.

Jim passed one large drink off to Simon and took the other for himself. "Well, I just came back from the station. They've determined the drug was in your coffee cup, sir. The only prints we found on it were yours."

"What?" Simon exclaimed. "My coffee? That doesn't make sense. I wasn't the only one drinking that coffee yesterday."

"It wasn't in your coffee maker, Simon. Or in anyone else's coffee. So the perp had to put it directly into your coffee cup," Jim explained, getting comfortable in the chair before taking a sip from his straw.

"Damn..." Simon muttered.

Blair pondered the information. Simon's cup stayed on his desk, except for rare trips to the break room to get washed out. In fact, Blair had heard the captain explain more than once that he preferred his cup not get washed out, claiming it ruined the taste. Personally, Blair felt the tactic was more to keep others from borrowing the cup. As if...the inside of the man's cup was the stuff nightmares were made of.

So if the cup stayed inside his office, then the person that poisoned him had access to Simon's office.

Oh.

Blair swallowed a mouthful of mocha, careful not to choke. He met Jim's knowing gaze.

Jim nodded. "Looks like one of our own has a grudge against you, Simon."

"I'm not just suggesting this to just to keep my Home Depot stock up," the doctor explained, holding the small pair of wire cutters up for Blair to see. "You must keep this with you at all times. If you find yourself with a blocked airway, you or someone else will have to cut the wires. Or you can die."

Jim cringed, thinking of the pain involved. But the doctor was right, the alternative was not an option. He continued to pack Blair's books and papers into a tote bag while the doctor went over the rest of his post op care. It always amazed him how his roommate could create such a mess in such a short time. Picking up a large textbook and recognizing it as one that Blair had coaxed him into bringing down, he eyed the other five. So where had they materialized from? He finished stuffing the last book into the cloth bag and slung the straps over his shoulder while eyeing the room for anything he might have missed.

"Okay, then," the doctor said, shaking Blair's hand cheerfully. "I'll be seeing you in about ten days for a follow up, remember what I said."

"Eu bescha," Blair muttered through clenched teeth.

He was sounding better, his words still slurred, but stronger. Blair took the position of honor in the wheelchair. They rolled toward the main hospital exit with Blair saying his goodbyes to the men and women who had taken care of him over the last two days. Once they reached the entrance, Blair rose from the chair and stretched, his face turned towards the sunshine as if in worship.

Jim had to smile.

"Oh, ma'. I um so `eady to get bach to auk," Blair said.

"Nice try, Sandburg," Jim answered, standing at his side. "I heard what the doctor said."

"Whah?" Blair tried for his best `innocent' look.

"Here's Simon. He offered to drive us to the loft," Jim said, nodding towards the sedan as it pulled up. "You get to stretch out in the back seat."

"Uh, Zim. Ackually, I thoht you'd drop me auf a' `ainieh," Blair told him.

Jim gave his roommate a dry chuckle. He loaded the bags of books and clothes into Simon's spacious truck. "Well, think again. I've already called your department head, your classes are covered for the next two weeks.

"Whah?" Blair took a step back, a look of rebellion beginning.

"You're recovering from surgery, Sandburg," Jim explained, speaking as if to an idiot or young child. "You're going to be in the loft for a while." Closing the lid to the trunk, he opened the rear door for Blair to climb in.

"You... I'h not..." Blair stopped, took a deep breath and pointed a finger at Jim's face. "You'h not doin' tis to me, Ellahson."

Jim held up a hand. "It's the simple truth, face it. The medicine the doctor gave you will be kicking in soon. You need it to breathe through that broken nose, the down side is - you'll be spending most of the time asleep."

"Is there a problem?" Simon asked, unfolding from his driver's seat to look over the top of his car.

"No... no problem. Blair's just soaking up the sun," Jim explained.

"Soak from the balcony at the loft, Sandburg," Simon told him. "I need to get back to the station."

Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, Blair climbed into the back seat. Jim waited until he was completely settled in before closing the door and getting in next to Simon.

"How's the investigation going?" Jim asked his boss as they drove through the noontime traffic.

"Slow, we're not having any luck figuring out who put the drug in my coffee cup. They figure I started ingesting it about nine that morning. Which means the poison could have been put in during the night. Since I'm not inclined to lock my office door leading to the bullpen, anyone could have slipped in and out." He sighed, his eyes glancing at the rearview mirror to check on his passenger.

Jim could tell without looking, Blair was still pissed at him. Normally his roommate leaned over the seat when he rode in the back, eager to be part of the conversation. Dialing up his hearing a little, he could just make out Blair's slurred mutterings.

"I'll be in first thing in the morning to help with the interviews, sir."

"Well, there's been a wrinkle in our plan, Jim," Simon said, sighing unhappily as he continued. "IA is taking over the investigation."

"Great..." Jim groaned. "So, we can't even help?"

"Nope, they're going to conduct the interviews while we continue to work our cases. I'm on administrative leave, effective as soon as I finish getting my affairs in order."

"Whah? Why?" Blair asked, leaning forward to drape his arms over the back between Simon and Jim's shoulders.

"It's just procedure, Sandburg," Simon said calmly. "Like when an officer shoots his weapon. The department just wants to make sure everything looks above board."

"For how long?" Jim asked. He was familiar with the procedure, but was hoping they wouldn't evoke it. Now that Simon wasn't going to be at work and Blair was going to be home sleeping...

"Not too long. Three, maybe four days," Simon answered.

"Umm, you know, Simon? One of those affairs you might look into today could be my request for a few days comp time, starting tomorrow." Jim gave his boss a sweet smile. "After all, I need to keep an eye on my roommate."

"No, Simuh!" Blair begged. "Make hum go to woch."

Blair shuffled into the loft. He managed a yawn with his jaw clamped shut.

Damn, he was tired.

Jim entered behind him, closing and locking the door before setting the books down on the kitchen table. "You want anything before you lay down?"

Shaking his head, too exhausted to even summon up the energy to protest, Blair headed for the nearest sofa. The whole morning he'd been at the hospital, waiting to get home, he'd made a long list in his head of all the things he needed to get done. He had emails to send, papers to grade, and a grant proposal to write.

Now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Stupid drugs.

"Don't get too comfortable, Sandburg. You'll sleep better in your room," Jim said, just as the phone started ringing. He answered it, missing the rude gesture Blair flashed him over the back of the sofa. "Ellison... no, he's not able to come to the phone right now... what? That's a lie! Where did you hear that? I don't care who you are, you print that crap and you'll be talking to an attorney, mister."

Blair sat up, alarmed at the intensity of Jim's anger. He watched Jim slam the handset down, looking ready to explode in disgust.

"That was the Cascade Daily! Some moron is telling the press that you're looking to sue Simon, me and the department for the attack! They called to get my reaction," Jim exclaimed.

Blair vaulted off the sofa to his feet, and the room spun. "No! No, `im... I da'nt!"

Jim caught him by the arms, his anger quickly changing to concern. "Hey, hey! Calm down, Chief. I know you didn't. I'm just pissed at the idiot that started this rumor, not you."

Blair squeezed both eyes shut. The room continued to spin, causing Blair's stomach to flip and send urgent messages to his brain.

He'd never sue Jim. It was unthinkable. Bile burned his throat. A mental picture of those wire cutters popped into his head.

Damn, he had to calm down!

"Take deep breaths through your nose," Jim ordered, moving Blair back to sit on the sofa and taking a seat on the coffee table facing him, not releasing his hold on Blair's arms. "You're not going to throw up."

Part of Blair continued to be amazed at the way Jim always knew without being told, the other part hung on every word out of the sentinel's mouth, praying he was telling the truth. After a few moments, the urge to be sick passed and Blair opened his eyes to look into the worried face of his roommate.

"Sowwe."

"It's okay. I think it was my fault, anyway," Jim apologized with a guilty grin. "I might have overreacted. You okay now?"

Blair nodded, his exhaustion back in spades. "Yeah."

"Let's get you settled in, you look ready to drop. Then I'll make a few phone calls and find out what's going on."

"'Kay."

Blair got settled into bed, still wearing the sweats he wore while at the hospital. Reluctant to leave his friend alone just yet, Jim sat on the edge of the bed. Blair's blood pressure was still high, the strong swishing sounds as each heart valve slammed shut pounded his ears. With effort, he lowered his sensitivity, eyeing the man in the bed critically. It was imperative his friend stayed calm. He knew Blair, knew how he could work himself into a full crisis when he thought he was responsible for someone else's problems.

"I'll call Simon, Chief. Not that he's going to believe these rumors anymore than I did, but I'll make it clear," Jim explained. "We'll figure out what's going on."

Blair nodded. "Tell `um... I wud'nt."

"I will, but listen to me." Jim pointed a finger towards his friend's swollen, battered face. "You can't make yourself sick over this, you hear me? You'll be back in the hospital before you can say lima beans and liver milkshake."

That got the desired effect, Blair huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Oh... puleease!"

"Don't knock it, kiddo. That's your dinner tonight - you need your protein." Jim stood, walking to the single window in the room and drawing the shade. The room darkened. "Rest for a few hours, I'll wake you for dinner."

Blair's eyes were already closed. He looked calmer now. Jim slipped out of the room to make his call.

When Simon didn't answer his cell phone, Jim tried the station. An unfamiliar female voice answered.

"Major Crimes, Captain Bank's office."

"Uh... Mary." The name popped into Jim's head after a moment's hesitation. "This is Jim Ellison. Is Banks in yet?"

"No," the voice lost its professional tone, warming instantly. "Jim, he's just got a call from the Chief. Everyone's looking for him right now."

"He dropped me off at my place, so he should be walking in the door any second. I need to speak with him before he sees the Chief. Make sure he calls me, okay?" Jim opened the refrigerator as he talked, eyeing the contents. He'd been kidding about the lima beans and liver, but it did beg the question. What was Blair going to eat? Living for the next six weeks on mocha shakes wasn't an option.

"I'll tell him... wait, Jim. Here he is."

After a moment, Simon's voice came on the line. "What's wrong, Jim? I just left you two. Is Sandburg all right?"

"He's fine," Jim assured him. "Listen, we just got a call from a reporter. Someone's spreading a rumor that Blair is suing us for the attack. The city's legal sharks are going to go ape shit when they hear this. Hell, Blair did is own version when he heard."

"Sons of a bitch..." Simon muttered softly. Jim could hear the sound of a palm slapping a surface before the creaking of weight on chair springs drifted over the wire. "Well, no surprise I'm holding a message from the Chief's office marked urgent. This just keeps getting better and better... what in hell is going on around here?"

Jim grimaced, feeling slightly responsible, but unable to pinpoint why. "You've got to know Blair didn't..."

"Oh, shut up, Ellison. Of course he didn't," Simon barked impatiently, then sighed. "Look, I need to beat feet to see the Chief. Tell Sandburg not to worry, everything will be fine. It's not the first time the brass had gotten their panties in a wad over a stupid rumor, it won't be the last... thanks for the heads up. It helps."

The connection was cut and Jim grinned at the milk carton. These were the times he remembered why Simon was his friend. Closing the door with a soft snick, he dialed another number he knew by heart. After this call he needed to make a list and call a grocery store that made deliveries. It was worth the extra cost to avoid leaving Blair on his own for even a few hours.

"Sally? How are you? No, everything's fine... I need a favor...what do I give someone who can only drink liquids?"

Judging by the smells wafting from the kitchen, dinner was almost done. Jim glanced at his watch and headed for the small bedroom under the stairs. Blair could sleep through a full scale attack when he set his mind to it. Joined with the fact he was on medication, he could sleep for days. But Jim knew his friend needed calories to keep his energy up.

Entering the room and switching on the light, he saw Blair pretty much as he'd been when he'd last checked an hour ago. Blair slept on his side, curled around an extra pillow, his battered face lax in slumber. Jim used the opportunity to place his palm on Blair's forehead.

He felt normal.

"Okay, Sandburg. Up and at `em. Simon's due any time now for dinner," Jim told him, gently shaking a blanketed shoulder. "You have time for a shower if you want."

"Auggnnhh..."

"Come on, you've slept enough. You can go back to sleep after dinner." Jim pulled the blanket back and pried the pillow out of Blair's grasp.

"Jiiimmm..." Blair rolled onto his back, his eyes still closed while his hands fumbled downward, trying to locate the missing blankets.

"Nah uh... wake up." Jim tossed the sought after covers to the end of the small futon and easily captured Blair's hands to pull the man into a sitting position. "Nice case of bed-head, Junior."

Blue eyes finally appeared. With soft groans, Blair managed to get to his feet and head towards the bathroom under his own steam. Left alone in the room, Jim efficiently made the bed.

"So, that's what it looks like," Jim muttered to himself before leaving. "I should take a picture."

Familiar sounds in the hallway outside sent Jim to the door. He opened it just as Simon reached out to knock. "Hey, you're on time."

Simon blissfully sniffed the air as he entered. "All right... roast?"

"Yep, with vegetables and a Greek salad," Jim announced, failing to suppress his pride.

Sally had come through for him in a big way. Within an hour of his call, she'd appeared at the loft, her arms filled with sacks. Jim had made two more trips down to her jeep to bring in the rest. They'd spent a pleasant afternoon visiting and making dinner together. She'd peeked in on his unconscious roommate and had declared him `a dear', much to Jim's amusement.

"You are a man of hidden talents, Ellison," Simon admitted. "How's Sandburg?"

"Well, he's awake. We'll see what his mood is like as soon as he gets out of the shower."

Simon's face darkened. "Shit, Jim. What's he going to eat?" He glared down at the table with its three place settings.

"Relax." Jim patted his shoulder before going to the oven to remove the roast as the timer buzzed. "I've got it covered. How did it go with IA?"

Dropping into a kitchen chair, Simon sighed. "Okay. They've talked to the immediate members of Major Crimes and asked me a few questions. They're going through everyone's personnel files now."

Jim set the large roasting pan on two hot pads. That didn't sound very promising. "Our files?"

"Yeah," the big man scrubbed his face, his voice full of dread. "They're leaning towards a revenge motive."

Jim folded his arms in front of his chest. "Revenge? From one of us?"

"Yeah. Remember last month? When I had to get on H for that Chambers case?"

Jim shook his head.

"Well, of course not... it wasn't a big deal. H pissed off a witness, admittedly the witness was a total ass - but I still had to deal with the complaint. I'd made a note of the verbal warning in his file, like I'd do with anybody." Simon shrugged.

Carving the roast into thick slices, Jim grimaced. "I don't want to think what my file looks like."

Simon grinned. "No... you don't, believe me. But, it's been better the last few months. You're not the same hothead I first got from Vice."

Jim accepted the complement with a nod, returning to the issue. "So, IA is thinking H did this to get back at you? That's a load of shit."

"I agree." Simon fiddled with the utensils, lining them up perfectly next to the plate in front of him. "If this turns into a witch hunt..."

"It won't," Jim said firmly, bringing the roast to the table before retrieving a small bowl of salad from the old fashioned refrigerator.

As if on cue, Blair emerged from the bathroom, Jim's extra robe wrapped around his body. He'd taken time to shave and comb his hair out. The dark, damp curls framed his bruised face and Jim caught Simon's wince out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Simon," Blair said clearly, taking time to pronounce each word carefully.

"How you feeling?" Simon asked, turned sideways in the chair to assess him.

"Good." Blair eyed the table, his eyes resting on two plates. He looked up at Jim, puzzled.

"You get to eat. You want to change or stay in the robe?"

Blair answered by walking to the table, lowering down into his usual chair with an expectant expression. His stomach growled, bringing a smile to Jim's face.

"I just need to blend it up," Jim explained taking out the top half of the blender from the refrigerator filled with unidentified layers. In no time, a tall glass of bluish drink was set in front of the waiting diner.

Blair placed the straw between his lips and took a tentative sip.

"Well?" Jim asked.

Blair smacked his lips, his forehead creased with concentration. "Blueberry... orange juice... ice cream?"

Jim dropped into his seat. All the food was on the table and they were ready to eat. "Close enough. Enjoy, but you need to finish that glass. If you want more, no problem."

Simon seemed hesitant to start. "God, Blair. I can't enjoy this when you're stuck..."

"Simon, izz not your fault," Blair insisted, his words slurring from speed of delivery. He paused to swallow carefully before continuing. "Do you blame me for shooting up the garage when I ate the pizza?"

"Of course not!" Simon responded with feeling.

"Well then..." Blair waved his hand towards the captain.

Jim smiled. "Practice what you preach, Captain," he added.

"Okay, okay... I get the message." Simon picked up his fork and speared a thick slice of beef. "I'm officially removing myself from any further episodes of guilt."

After catching Blair up on the IA investigation, they settled down to eat. Blair finished his drink first and held the glass out to Jim for a refill. The evening proceeded in a pleasant manner. Finally the dishes were stacked in the sink. As Jim wiped down the table, an idea occurred to him.

"You know, Simon. What if the whole thing was a set up to discredit you somehow?"

"Why?" Simon asked, looking up from searching the cable guide for the channel of the Jags game.

"Well... I don't know. Are you testifying on a case?"

Appearing to give that some thought, Simon turned on the TV and found the Jags game. "I've got a few committees that I'm on. I'm testifying before the legislature on an organized crime bill next month."

"Wow... I didn't know you did that," Blair said, returning from his room wearing a set of clean sweats and carrying his laptop computer. He settled down on the sofa, turning sideways to set his sock covered feet on the cushions and powering up his computer.

Jim finished drying his hands and joined Blair on the same sofa. He ignored the ten toes that immediately buried themselves under his right thigh for warmth. "How critical is your testimony? If you had this pending over you, would it effect your cause?"

Simon leaned back, loosening his belt a notch. "I guess. I don't know. I'll talk to IA, they need to look outside the bullpen, that's for sure."

"Someone still had to get access to your office," Jim pointed out. "Have they interviewed the janitorial staff?"

"I'm sure they have. They're not keeping me in the loop on the investigation," Simon answered distracted by Blair's activities. "Sandburg, what are you doing?"

"Need to send my outlines to Rainer," Blair explained.

Jim rolled his eyes. The anthropology department had assured him everything was in order. Blair ran a very organized class. They'd even promised to send notes on the classes that Blair was taking so he would not fall behind. He shook his head at Simon, mouthing the words `control freak'.

"I saw that," Blair said.

"I'm just thinking you should rest. You just got out of the hospital," Simon told him.

Blair huffed, turning his head to glare at the captain. "Don't you start. Jim's bad enough."

"Don't worry, Simon. He'll be nodding off soon," Jim predicted with a smug grin as he watched the game.

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will."

"Nope."

"Yep."

"Boys," Simon laughingly admonished. "I'm trying to watch a game here."

Thirty minutes later, Jim carefully lifted the laptop off Blair and set it aside. Blair was snoring softly into the back of the couch.

"You called it, Jim," Simon chuckled.

"He never had a chance. That stuff the doctor prescribed is pretty strong," Jim said. "Help me get him up. He'll be more comfortable in his room."

Between the two men, they got Blair on his feet. Halfway across the loft, Blair woke with a groan, objecting to the fact he was heading back to his bedroom.

"Come on, Chief. You need to sleep. You're healing," Jim said as they entered the small bedroom. He pulled the blankets down, messing up his earlier job.

"It's still early..." Blair mumbled.

"It will be morning before you know it," the sentinel answered, guiding Blair down on the mattress.

"You drugged me." The protest was so soft, Jim almost missed it.

"If you'd have asked, I would have told you the medicine was in the shake," Jim explained patiently, realizing it he was already talking to a sleeping guide.

"Geez, Jim, the things you do to win an argument," Simon accused as they returned to the living room to finish the game.

Pain surrounded him. It knocked on his skull to the tempo of his heartbeat. It laughed cruelly when he rolled over and tried to curl into a small ball to escape. The room was dark and for a few seconds Blair forgot where he was and why he hurt. Although his arms and legs didn't seem to be tied down, he felt imprisoned. A fogbank impeded any chance at rational thoughts. Blair shuddered as he drew in a shaky breath, which expelled in a whimper.

"Come on, Chief... sit up for me."

A strong arm under his shoulders lifted him off the mattress into a sitting position. Blair's world came into focus with the movement. He was in the loft, Jim was with him. The pain was localizing now, focusing with clarity to his face. Blair cradled his jaw, his breath hitching with weak sobs. His fingers found wet skin. He was crying.

Jim was talking again but the words bounced off the pain and dropped away without making any sense. Still, Blair knew this was Jim sitting next to him, so things were bound to get better. He just needed to wait. A small medicine dropper was inserted into his lips and his head was tilted back until it rested on Jim's shoulder. A small blast of fluid shot out of the dropper and Blair swallowed the thick mixture automatically.

Closing his eyes, Blair tried to relax. Jim's voice rumbled against his back as he leaned against his roommate. He let Jim's words wash over him. Even though he didn't understand what Jim was saying, the tone spoke of a coming liberation from his bondage of pain. He waited, keeping his breathing shallow so as not to aggravate the men with jackhammers inside his skull.

"...a few minutes. I promise it's going to feel better."

There, he heard that. Blair nodded, letting himself relax completely. Already the sharp spikes where dulling. "Jjiimm..." Great, Blair thought. He was back to slurring his words like a patient with brain damage.

"Feeling better?"

Blair nodded, feeling Jim's shoulder bone against the back of his head. He was aware of Jim sitting behind him, holding him close. The blankets had been drawn up to his neck. No wonder he was nice and warm. He had Jim-the-furnace-Ellison in his bed with him. If this got out, his chances of getting another date would be slim. Blair chuckled at the bizarre thought, realizing he was nearly pain free.

And high as a kite.

"Wha' give me?"

"A pain medicine. We'll save it for the worst times, like now."

Jim shifted and Blair felt himself slide sideways. He ordered his arms to help, but they were slow and he was lowered back down onto his side, the blankets pulled up to his ear. The room was still dark. It was kind of weird not being able to see his roommate. Blair wasn't sure if it was the lack of light or the fact his eyes were closed. Jim left, the mattress springing up as he stood.

Almost immediately a warm, wet washcloth was bathing his face. Blair welcomed the feeling of being clean again; he really should open his eyes and thank Jim. The futon sank again as Jim returned to claim his spot. Was Jim going to sit with him all night? Geez, how embarrassing. He needed to tell him to go back to bed. He needed his sleep, too. Still... it was kind of nice. Sort of like when Naomi sat with him the time he had the mumps. Or was it the chicken pox? It might have been when....

Blair woke to daylight flooding his empty room.

Okay, that was a weird dream. His yawn was preempted by wire.

Shit. Not completely a dream.

Simon had beat the snot out of him, broke his jaw. The only other time he'd broken a bone was when he fell out of that stupid tree. This hurt worse. Blair gently scratched his puffy cheek and sat up. His bladder was demanding relief.

"Hey, good morning." Jim stood in the kitchen, working with the blender.

Blair nodded his reply, his thoughts centered on getting to the bathroom. Getting the most important task finished, Blair washed his hands and face before carefully examining his face in the mirror.

He was even more hideous.

His face was swollen, his eye black. His nose was red and dorky looking with the tape on it. He was a poster child for Abused-R-Us. Great. Just freaking GREAT.

He leaned against the sink and managed a deep breath. It must be the drugs. He was filled with chemicals and it was totally messing up his head. With a last look at the mirror, Blair told himself it would pass. All this damage would heal and everything would be back to normal. Feeling more in charge, Blair left the bathroom to join his roommate.

"Ready for breakfast?" Jim sat another shake down on the table.

God, it was going to be a long six weeks.

Simon studied the report again. IA had a wonderful way of saying they were clueless. Any department could take lessons from them. He tossed the report on his desk and leaned back to scrub his face. Three days of investigation and this was the best they could come up. Ten pages of `unknown parties' and `tentative motives'.

At least they'd stopped looking towards his own men.

Grabbing his new coffee mug he headed for his new coffee maker for a refill. It was great to be back at work. He'd taken the time to clean out the basement of his small home and take care of some early spring yard work. He'd even managed to reciprocate Jim's great home cooked dinner with some take-out from a north-end BBQ place that came highly recommended.

But still, Simon's place was here... in this office... being a police captain.

The only thing missing was...

"Hey, Simon!" Blair entered without knocking, followed by Jim.

"Just thinking about you two clowns," Simon said, returning to his seat with a full cup. Simon noticed Jim was dressed in his exercise sweats. Blair wore his normal jeans and loose fitting layers of cotton shirts. He watched Blair settle into a chair, his hair pulled back, allowing for a full view of his face. "You look good today, Sandburg."

"Yeah... Jim kinda surprised me," Blair told him, then rolled his eyes. "When he isn't playing June Cleaver, that is."

"Watch it, Beav..." Jim growled, taking a seat beside his friend.

Blair leaned towards Simon, making a point to ignore the man next to him.

"Anyway... he's got some sort of secret ingredient stuff that's supposed to promote healing and reduce swelling. But he won't share the recipe."

Simon glanced at Jim in time to see him shrug. "I told him it's nothing, just a few vitamins and hot packs switched with ice packs. Nothing big."

"Well, whatever it is... you look good," Simon declared. "What's on your agenda for the day?"

Blair snickered. "Don't care, as long as I get to get out of that loft!"

"That bad?" Simon asked, leaning an elbow on the chair arm and reaching for a cigar. He knew he couldn't smoke inside the building, but no law had been passed yet to keep from enjoying the smell.

"It's that bad, sir," Jim answered for him. "He's getting dropped off at the University library while I go to the gym. If he's a good patient, I'll take him to the park to feed the birds afterwards."

"Hardee har har, man," Blair sang.

"What's new with the investigation?" Jim asked, taking his turn at playing `ignore the partner'.

`The two of them do need some time apart,' Simon decided, tossing the report on the edge of his desk for them to read. "The final just came in. See for yourself."

Four and a half minutes later, the two partners set the report down.

"If I was grading that, they'd get a `D' for content," Blair announced.

"It's legalese talk for `we don't have a clue'," Jim told him. "I knew we should have done the investigation."

"Well, as far as the department is concerned, they're ready to move on," Simon said, darting a guilty look at the younger man's face while he spoke the words.

"I'm not," Jim told him.

Simon's reply was cut off by a knock on the door.

"Enter... see, Sandburg? That's how normal people come in," Simon quipped as a blond woman in her twenties entered with a small stack of opened mail. "Thank you, Mary."

Setting the stack down, the woman nodded. Her trek back to the door was fast, her eyes stayed glued to the carpet in front of her feet. When the door was closed and there was no chance of being overheard, Simon frowned. "That was weird, normally she's very chatty and friendly."

"Her heart rate shot up like a rocket," Jim said, also frowning. "She couldn't get out of here fast enough."

"Heck, I thought my face was getting better," Blair joked. "So that's Mary, huh? She is pretty. She seeing anyone?"

Before Simon could think of an answer, Jim swatted Blair's arm lightly.

"Do you ever slow down?"

"What? I'm just asking, man," Blair insisted with a laugh. "A man needs his hobbies."

Jim rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to Simon. "Anyway... what's new with the lawsuit rumor?"

"Oh, the Chief's okay. He knows it's just talk. In fact, we found out where the rumor started," Simon told them. "Seems one of the ER nurses on duty the night we were brought in is married to a detective in Bunko. The rumor had a foothold in that department within twenty-four hours."

"Big surprise there, what a bunch of losers."

"Jim! That's kinda harsh, man. Even for you." Blair looked at his friend in shock.

"I have to agree with the kid, Jim," Simon warned. "I know Bunko has its problems, but-"

"Simon, I'm sorry, but everyone knows that department is where the brass pigeonholes the screw-ups. I know plenty of good officers that prefer to stay in uniform than end up starting their detective career there," Jim insisted.

Simon held up a hand to stop the flow. Even though he agreed with most of Jim's statements, these were still fellow officers. They were part of the team. "Enough, I know you and Jack had history with some of the men from Bunko when you were in Vice, but I don't need a division war brought to Major Crimes. Am I clear?"

"Yeah, sorry." Jim did look abashed.

"Anyway, the issue is over and the rumors have been laid to rest," Simon declared. "Now, get out of my office and enjoy your days off. I have work to do."

Blair trailed after Jim as they left the bullpen, still in thought.

"Hey, Hairboy! Looking good!"

"Thanks, H." Blair flashed a grin at the man. "You're such a liar, dude. But I appreciate the effort."

Once in the hallway, Blair was surprised when Jim came to a stop in the hallway, causing other detectives and clerical staff to walk around him. This time of day, the seventh floor was busy, and hallway traffic was always high.

"What?" Blair asked.

"Shhhh."

Blair waited patiently. He knew Jim well enough to recognize this wasn't a zone. In fact, judging by the predatory glint in the cop's eyes, Blair would guess that Jim's sentinel abilities were doing just fine.

After the third person accidentally brushed his shoulder in passing, Blair drew his partner to one side, closer to the wall. Jim never even noticed. Finally, Jim's body stiffened and Blair's arm was snagged. He found himself being dragged back through the bullpen, towards Simon's office. It was just like the time he'd been caught with the water balloons in the fourth grade and he got marched to the principal's office by the librarian. Thankfully, only one person was in the bullpen.

H looked up in surprise as they passed. Blair managed a casual wave as he concentrated on moving his legs fast enough to keep from being dragged. "We... uh... forgot something."

Jim didn't even knock. Flinging open the door, he pulled his partner in before slamming it behind him. Simon looked up in surprise, rising from his chair to meet his lead detective head on.

"Jim! What..."

"I just overheard you new secretary in the ladies room!" Jim hissed angrily.

Blair wanted to hear what Jim had to say, but he preferred to listen without the vise around his bicep. "Jim, man. Could you please release the arm?"

"Sorry, Chief," Jim said, turning him loose.

"Okay, calm down," Simon ordered. "Sit back down and tell us what you heard."

Thankfully, it worked. Jim lowered himself into the a chair, like a powerful spring coiling. Jim visibly got himself under control before starting again. "Mary was on a cell phone, sounded like she was talking to a boyfriend or something. She's upset - crying. She's talking about Sandburg and how bad he looks."

"Wonderful..." Blair muttered, self-consciously touching his jaw.

"That's hardly the `Nixon tapes' were talking about here," Simon interjected.

"Simon, she said, `I never would have... if I'd known." Jim looked like a wild animal, ready to pounce. He was so angry, his body was vibrating.

Simon went still, the only movement was the slight narrowing of his brown eyes.

Shifting in his chair, Blair began to feel like a mouse in a room with two lions... both well past their feeding time.

"Who was on the other end of that phone?" Simon asked in a cold voice.

"I don't know, I couldn't hear," Jim answered unhappily.

"Uh... guys? I'm not a cop here, but remember the Juno case? How are we going to prove Jim could hear that conversation?" Blair asked.

"We don't," Jim said.

"We'll just follow my secretary until she leads us to the person responsible," Simon ended for him. "Jim, as of now. Your days off are canceled. Welcome back. "

Jim looked like a cat that had just been offered a saucer of cream. "Thank you, Simon."

Quitting time for the administrative staff was five. Jim wasn't taking any chances. After driving home to change into suitable clothes and getting his backup gun, he returned to the underground parking lot just before lunch. They took the time to hit a drive-through on the way back.

"I think I'm getting tired of milk shakes," Blair said, glumly pulling out a strawberry shake before handing the bag to Jim.

"We'll make you a soy mix for dinner," Jim promised. "We just don't have time right now."

Blair's answer was cut off by Jim's cell phone.

"Ellison... okay, we're in place." He returned the phone to his pocket and slapped the wheel lightly. He was right. "She just asked for the rest of the day off."

"Wow, she must really be freaked," Blair said.

"The day you were attacked, she had gone to the City Attorney's office to deliver some case reports. I guess she never realized how badly you were injured," Jim responded. "She must be having a minor attack of her conscience."

"I still don't get it. I mean, why drug Simon?"

"There she is, Chief. Scoot down." Jim slid down, keeping is profile low. She was parked on the opposite end, but he didn't want to take any chances she might look over her shoulder and spot them.

"She's getting into the Mustang," Blair noted, peering over the dash.

"Here we go." Jim sat up straight and turned the ignition key.

They followed her out into the busy downtown traffic; her blue Mustang heading east until she took the on-ramp to Interstate Five and headed south. A few minutes later, they were in the suburbs of Cascade. She drove fast, changing lanes as she needed. Jim glanced down at his speedometer in concern.

"If she keeps, this up, a uniform is going to pull her over."

"Can you contact dispatch and warn them to stay clear?" Blair suggested.

"Not a bad idea, but in a few minutes we're going to be outside Cascade and we'll be dealing with WSP," Jim predicted. "Let's just see what happens."

After a few miles, the traffic lightened and Mary's driving settled down. Jim set the speed control to keep an even sixty miles an hour and gave his foot a break. At this rate, they'd be in Seattle before long. The sky was dark with low clouds and he activated the wipers when the first drops hit the windshield. Mary's Mustang drifted onto the shoulder of the road, hitting the line of speed dots placed there to wake sleepy drivers. With a jerk, she seemed to realize her location and lurched back, crossing two lanes in a reckless manner.

"What the heck?" Jim muttered.

"She's picking up speed, Jim," Blair warned.

Jim stomped the gas pedal to keep up. She was going faster. Too fast. Judging by the way they were losing ground, she was doing eighty and not showing any signs of slowing. Jim was sure she hadn't noticed his truck.

"What's going on? Is she drunk?" Blair asked as she drifted off to the shoulder again.

"I don't know, but if she keep this speed up and displays that kind of lack of coordination much longer, we're going to have a mess on our hands," Jim said grimly.

The freeway curved ahead, not much, just enough to bypass an old farmhouse that had managed to survive the road's construction. Mary's Ford failed to negotiate the corner. Instead, she drove off the road, and hit a small bank, which sent the car airborne. At over ninety miles an hour, the car cleared the wire fence which paralleled the freeway and plowed nose-first into a massive tree stump. The momentum didn't end there, the rear end of the car continued forward, flipping it upside down, dragging it over the stump and smashing the roof into the ground. The Mustang acted like a rubber ball, bouncing once before the front end flipped forward one last time to turn the car tail over nose and land, finally, back on its tires.

"Shit..." Jim hit the brakes, letting the truck skid into a four wheel drift as they glided into the soft dirt next to the paved shoulder. As soon as it was safe, he retrieved his cell phone and tossed it to Blair. "Call it in, Chief."

Climbing the fence slowed Jim down. A heavy cloud of dust was still obscuring the wreck. Just as he cleared the fence, he saw the first flame licking up from the crumpled hood. Black smoke mixed with the dust. Jim ran towards the damaged Mustang, trying to see into the passenger compartment.

With a loud snap and rush of air, the flames exploded into a heavy fireball, momentarily filling the compartment and began to burn the duff on the ground.

"Jim!"

Blair stood on the freeway side of the fence, holding the small fire extinguisher Jim kept in the truck for emergencies, tossing it as soon as Jim returned. It would be like trying to stop a bulldozer with a tricycle, but Jim had to try. Maybe if he just used it to keep the fire back long enough to get Mary out...

Pointing the nozzle at the driver's door, Jim shot a spray of dry chemical through the broken out window. The fire was advanced well into the front seat, but Jim managed to push it back. Mary lay sprawled across the two seats, held in place by her lap belt only. Before Jim could do more than hit the fire with the initial attack, Blair was at his side. He carried Jim's green wool army surplus blanket and used a corner like a glove to wrench open the door.

"Careful!" Jim shouted, giving the fire another blast from the extinguisher over the top of Blair's back as he reached into the car to unbuckle and lift the woman out. Parts of her clothes were burned, red skin exposed beneath. She was unresponsive in Blair's grip, her body completely limp.

Just as Blair finished pulling her completely out of the vehicle, the fire extinguisher emptied. Jim tossed it down and turned to gather up the woman's legs. Together, the partners carried her a safe distance. The fire, left unchecked, devoured the old Mustang in seconds. The heat reached Jim's face, causing his skin to tighten as they carefully laid Mary down on the wet ground.

Other cars had parked, their drivers spilling out and running to help.

Jim checked for a pulse, aware of Blair's raspy breathing and hard coughs. How much smoke had his friend inhaled?

"Well?" Blair asked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Jim shook his head, catching his partner's hopeful eyes and watching them change to sorrow. "You do the compressions, Chief."

Blair used his toe to nudge the rock at his feet. The rain had turned into a typical Northwest drizzle that hung in the air, soaking you more completely than raindrops. One of these days, he was going to study all the different types of rains Western Washington nurtured. As the dark clouds moved in from the Pacific Ocean, they bumped up against the Cascade Mountain Range. Unable to get over the top, the clouds dumped their payload on the coastline. No wonder Blair preferred the dry lands of Eastern Washington.

Who was he kidding? He'd never talk Jim into moving across the mountains. Not that he doubted Jim could adopt a new `tribe', but he knew Jim liked being surrounded by lush evergreens. He loved being near the salt water. Rainy days never slowed the cop down. Maybe it was left over conditioning from military life, getting the job done no matter what the condition.

Blair looked up to watch Jim. The cop was deep into a discussion with a WSP supervisor. He had arrived a few minutes ago. Jim was currently nodding at something the other man was saying, their voices too low to carry to where Blair was sitting on a downed tree.

They'd been on location for hours now. It never failed to amaze Blair how many details were involved in this sort of thing. His eyes strayed to the location Mary's body had laid. He absentmindedly worried his lower lip with his finger tips. During the mad dash over the fence, he'd managed to smack his face, the wire that held his jaw in place had cut the inside of his lips.

"Let me see."

Blair jumped. Jim was standing just to his right. How does he do that? Jim moved quietly all the time, but get him outside and he could slip from place to place without leaving a footprint. Blair pulled down the damaged lip for inspection.

"Geez, Sandburg. You did a nice job of turning that into ground hamburger," Jim gently chastised. "How's the jaw feel? Did you hit it?"

Blair released his lip. "Nah... juss bumm'd my mouth."

Jim eyed him unhappily. "Well, we're free to leave."

Blair rose stiffly. "Did they... I mean, it's obvious the accident caused it...but, how'd she die?"

"Rapid deceleration injury, Chief. Her aorta probably ripped away from her heart," Jim answered leading the way back to the truck. WSP had cut the fence to allow for access, so neither man had to climb over it again to leave. "They think she was doing close to a hundred when she left the road. Question is, why did she do it?"

"Suicide?"

"Maybe... they did a blood draw, so we'll know if she was on anything."

Blair scrambled back into the cab. Now that they were on the move again, he realized how cold he was and cranked the heat dial up in anticipation.

"It's almost four. Let's head back to the loft. There's not much more for us to do until we get more information." Jim pulled back into traffic.

Soon they were back home.

"How about some dinner?" Jim asked, heading for the kitchen.

Blair headed for his room. "Nah... I need a shower, I've got that stuff from the fire extinguisher in my hair."

"At least you still have your hair. You're lucky the fire didn't burn it all off," Jim said. "I'll start a milkshake for you."

"Don't bother, Jim," Blair tossed over his shoulder. "I'm really not hungry, man."

Gathering up some dry clothes, he avoided Jim's glower and took refuge in the bathroom. Jim wasn't going to let him get away with skipping a meal, but at least he could put the argument off for an hour.

The smoke clung to his clothes. The awful smell of burning rubber and plastic coated every strand of his hair. Blair stripped quickly, kicking the pile of clothes into the corner. He stepped into the warm spray, sighing as the welcome heat spread down his torso. Standing perfectly still, he stared at the tile. During the drive home, every time he'd closed his eyes, his mind gave him a slow motion replay of Mary's car flying over that fence.

And pulling her out of the car? Blair suppressed a shudder, remembering the way her burned skin had peeled under his touch. Today had been the first time he'd ever done CPR on a real person. In First Aid class, they hadn't warned him about the sound of cracking ribs when you push down on someone's chest. Well, maybe they did. It's been a long time since Blair took any formal training.

"Hey, Sandburg! You might get clean if you actually start scrubbing!" Jim hollered from beyond the closed door.

Snatching up his bottle of shampoo, Blair went to work, wishing he could erase the memories from his mind like he could the smells and dirt from his body.

Jim entered the bullpen and looked around in amazement. Blair stood at his side, equally stunned.

It was chaos.

Simon was yelling at some man in a pinstripe suit. Henry was standing behind Rhonda's desk, all the drawers were open and paperwork spilled out onto the floor. The normally easy-go-lucky detective had a look that spoke of the early stages of a panic attack. Rafe was on the phone, trying to talk, but getting interrupted by someone on the other end. His normally neatly groomed appearance looked uncharacteristically disheveled.

"No wonder we passed Joel running the opposite way, man. He was escaping," Blair muttered quietly.

A third stranger broke away from the confusion to approach them with a clipboard and a pen. He was dressed in a brown delivery uniform. "You guys sign this for me? I've got a route to finish and no one knows where Carlos Juarez is."

Jim craned his head to one side to read the label on the box. Sure enough, it was addressed to Carlos Juarez, Cascade Police Department. Problem was, Jim had never heard of the man. "I'm not signing for a package when I don't know the person, Hoss."

"I can't take it back, I need a signature..." the man complained, turning away to head for Henry.

A phone line was ringing somewhere. Jim went to the nearest desk, Rafe's, to answer. "Major Crimes."

"This is the Cannon Company, we're calling for our monthly meter reading on your copy machine."

Jim looked back at the machine in question. Simon had gotten it for the division, to keep them from having to run to the third floor for copies. "Hey, Sandburg - you got any idea how to find the counter on that copier?" He had to raise his voice to a near shout in order to be heard over Simon's argument with Pinstripe-Suit.

Blair shook his head, before returning to stare at the loud, three ring circus that used to be the bullpen.

Before Jim could answer the Cannon representative, a familiar voice broke through the storm of confusion, bringing hope.

"I'm gone for just five days - and this place falls apart!"

Simon turned, a broad smile breaking across his face. "Rhonda!"

Jim had to hold back the laugh as Henry's panic attack seemed to get a firm foothold. He'd literally been caught red- handed trashing Rhonda's desk.

Rhonda was dressed in a bright yellow and red sundress with a white cardigan covering her sleeveless arms. Jim remembered she'd been planning a trip to Florida for weeks and wasn't due back for another nine days. Yet here she stood. She must have come straight from the airport; her rolling luggage trailed behind her.

"Okay," she said with the authority only a secretary with tender would get away with. She pointed to the delivery man first. "You... Juarez is not on this floor. I've told your company more than once he's two floors down, Records Division. And you," she left her luggage as she approached Pinstripe-Suit with a feral grin. "If that detective is trashing my desk because you lost the quarterly expense record again, I'm going to report you to the Chief for running your department with all the co-ordination of a roomful of five-year-olds on a sugar high!"

Pinstripe fell back as she approached.

"H, pick up those files!" she snapped.

"I need that report!" Pin-Stripe whined pathetically.

"Look in your inbox," Rhonda told him, shutting her top desk drawer with a slam. "I emailed a backup before I left. I'm not going to print it out for you, too." Not waiting for his answer, she leaned over H's bent over form to push a hidden button on the small desk copier. The entire top of the unit rose on a hinge. "Jim, tell them its nine-three-oh-oh-four-six."

Jim had forgotten he even had a phone in his hand. He dutifully repeated the numbers and hung up. Pin-Stripe was heading for the door, the deliveryman had already disappeared.

"Never mind... we're not going to need that secretary, anymore," Rafe said into his phone, his face beaming. "We've got our Rhonda back!" He slammed down his phone gleefully.

The room was quiet. The storm had broken.

"Wow, I knew you were good... but I didn't know you could perform miracles," Blair said through clenched teeth.

Rhonda coolly surveyed the men standing around her, her eyes finally resting on Blair. Her face softened as she took in his injuries.

Softened, but she still looked pissed. "Captain? What the hell is going on around here?"

Jim choked. Who knew Rhonda cussed?

The impromptu staff meeting was held in the bullpen. Simon switched on the voice messaging system to keep the phones from interrupting. Rhonda sat at her desk, while the other detectives and Blair pulled desk chairs near to form a half circle. Simon perched himself on the edge of her desk, his back against the doorframe to his office.

"Mary? Mary from Burglary?" Rhonda asked her boss.

Simon had gone over the facts up to the fatality accident yesterday. Luckily, Jim already had a reputation of having very good ears. No one doubted it when Simon had glossed over the part where Jim had caught the one sided conversation through the doorway as he passed.

"Right, she was sent up at the last minute to cover you," Simon explained. "They told me Beth got food poisoning."

"Except now it looks like that might have been intentional, just to get Mary into the bullpen," Jim added. "What did you find out about the phone call? Who did she call?"

"Well, that's where it gets interesting..." Simon's voice dropped a notch and the men leaned forward in their chairs. "This does not leave the office. Am I understood?" After getting nods all round, he continued. "She called one of the general lines shared by Burglary, Bunko and the Gangs Unit on the fifth floor."

Blair watched as Jim, Rafe, Joel, Henry and even Rhonda stiffened with the news. No one said a word and he was reminded of the TV commercial for a phone company. The one where the pin drops and the sound is clear and loud.

Blair was tempted to look for a pin, just to see if it worked.

Jim was the first to break the spell. "We know who took the call?"

"No, and before you ask, I already checked. There was no tape made."

"Tape?" Blair was confused.

"Sometimes the department will randomly record different phone lines, sort of a quality control thing," Simon told him.

"That sucks, sound more like a `big brother' thing to me," Blair replied.

"Well, Big Brother was asleep at the wheel," Jim snapped. "You know, if another cop is responsible for this, he may have killed Mary to keep her quiet. She was obviously upset when she saw Sandburg yesterday. Maybe she's having second thoughts."

"I've thought of that, the ME should have a preliminary report for us soon, I'm surprised we don't already have it. We're working in conjunction with the State on this, since the accident happened outside our jurisdiction," Simon informed the group. "Meanwhile, the fifty dollar question is still the same... why?"

"Maybe it's personal," Rhonda said, looking up at her boss and chewing on her lower lip.

"Personal?" Simon responded. "What did I do?"

Blair wanted to laugh, but knew better. Simon sounded so dumbstruck at the notion. "Oh, come on, Simon. You mean you've never pissed off other cops as you clawed your way to the top?"

The joke fell flat, making Blair wish he'd stayed quiet. He wanted to kick himself; heck, from the look on Jim's face, he might have some help in that department. Before anyone made a comment, Rhonda saved him.

"That's what I mean." She held up a hand when the cops went from glowering at Blair to going bug-eyed-surprised. "No, listen. You guys don't hear what some of the other departments say about Major Crimes. Why do you think I dropped everything and flew back here when I heard a Cascade Captain assaulted a police observer?"

No one noticed Simon's wince.

"What are you saying, Rhonda?" Jim asked.

She smiled patiently at the men in her department. "Major Crimes has the reputation of being the `golden child' with the Chief, the Mayor and the City counsel. You guys have an amazing records of solves, your stats are becoming legendary and if it wasn't for the large dollar amount on the line-item column for car insurance, you all would have your own statue in the lobby of City Hall."

This time Jim cringed and Blair couldn't help but snicker.

"So, what you're saying is... other departments are jealous?" Simon asked with awe.

She shrugged.

"You know, it's not unheard of in a society for the weaker ones to..."

"Sandburg, not now," Jim said, rubbing his forehead. "I think we get the picture."

"Right, right, sorry, guys."

"Another thing... I've heard talk around the break room. Mary was dating one of the detectives," Rhonda continued. "I got the impression he was married, because she was real secretive about it. Now, I don't think she was the type to poison you for money, but if she had been asked by her lover..."

Simon's eyes narrowed. "Rhonda, have I told you lately how lucky we are to have you on the team?"

Jim balanced the two coffee cups carefully in order to free a hand and open the door to the bullpen. Setting them down on his desk, he resumed his position in front of his computer. The office was humming, returned once again to the effective unit is was. Only now, everyone agreed that a large amount of credit was due to Rhonda.

She should do very well for herself when her contract came up for renewal.

Jim sipped the dark brew before returning to his task. Simon was in his office, setting up a meet with IA. They needed access to the files of the fellow detective on the fifth floor. Jim's job was to gather everything they could on Mary, to get a line on who she'd been seeing.

He noticed the bullpen was missing one police observer.

"Where's Blair?" he asked the room in general.

H answered, "taking a jog down to see if the ME report is ready."

Jim frowned.

"Come on, babe," Henry said with a laugh. "Lighten up! How much trouble can he get in inside a ..." his eyes widened. "Never mind." The black detective ducked his head, returning to his reports.

"Be right back." Jim tried not to run. Blair would not appreciate it if Jim arrived out of breath and looking worried. Now that Jim thought about it, Blair wasn't going to be happy, period. He needed an excuse, a halfway reasonable cause for following his partner down into the basement like the worried parent of a toddler gone missing.

The sign next to the elevator advised all police personnel of `in progress maintenance'. Jim turned on his heel and headed for the stairwell. He was so busy thinking up a lie, he almost missed the sounds floating up from above.

"...it feel, you little punk? Bet it's hard to breathe with that yapper of yours wired shut."

Sounds of rubber squeaking on tile and grunts followed. Jim forgot about obfuscating lies and took the stairs three at a time, using the handrail to keep from plunging head-first.

"...understand why they even let you hang around, geek. Now you threaten to sue the department? What's wrong, kid? Blackmailing Ellison not bringing in enough dough? You gotta have something over him, no one would want your sorry ass around them twenty-four seven."

Jim's foot slipped, pitching him forward. He slapped the wall on the next landing hard to keep from going down and ricocheted off to descend the next flight of stairs. He kept his eyes on his feet. He couldn't afford a fall right now. Blair was in trouble. He was picking up heartbeats below. Blair's was fast. Two others were close by.

"Shit! Someone's coming!"

Damn! Jim risked leaping the last six steps. He was close now. He should be able to see something on the next turn.

A grunt, followed quickly by the sound of running feet told Jim he wasn't going to get a look at Blair's attackers, but he knew their voices. If he had to personally interview every employee in the department, he would.

The last landing loomed up and Jim flew past it, desperate to see his partner. Any attempt to remain quiet was forgotten.

"Sandburg!" Jim spotted Blair on the landing below. He was alone, lying on his side. A red plastic bag, the type they used for bio-waste had been pulled down over his head. The bag was large, extending almost to his waist. The bastards had used a wire tie to traps his wrists behind his back.

Jim arrived at the narrow landing, falling to his knees. Blair was squirming like an inchworm on a hot skillet.

"Easy... settle down." Jim yanked the bag off first. Blair's hair stood on end, energized by the static electricity from the plastic. "Oh, shit!"

His partner's eyes were wide in panic. They'd duct-taped his mouth. Trickles of blood ran from his abused nose.

Blair couldn't breathe.

Without taking the time to apologize, Jim dug a fingernail under the edge of the silver tape and ripped it off. The younger man immediately started sucking in air, curling his lips back away from his teeth. Jim laid a hand on his chest, feeling the lungs expand and contract as he listened.

"Do you have the wire cutters with you?" Jim started patting down the younger man's jean pockets, not finding them. "Damn it, Sandburg! You're supposed to carry them!"

"What's going on here?" a man's voice asked.

"Call an ambulance! He's been assaulted," Jim barked, attacking the thin twisted wire around the other man's wrists. Thankfully, Blair's long sleeves had protected his skin.

"...Jim...no!" Blair spoke between attempts to gulp his air.

"Shut up and breathe, Chief."

The wire was off and Blair pushed himself into a sitting position, shaking his head. Hair obscured his face and he pulled it back with one hand, the other latching on to Jim's light jacket and tugging to get the cop's attention.

"No! I'm... fine, just... chill."

Jim tried, his eyes going to the ceiling for a moment to try and calm his anger. The urge to reach down the throats of the assholes that did this and rip out their lungs was strong. Blair's hand released his jacket and began to pat his chest in a steady rhythm.

"They just wanted... to scare me, man," Blair explained, talking easier now that he didn't have to gasp. "I fell into the wall when I struggled."

The pats and Blair's ability to speak in full sentences did the trick. Jim turned to the newcomer. "Forget the ambulance, would you get to a phone and call Major Crimes? Tell Captain Banks I need him here."

With a nod, the man left. Jim returned his attention to his friend. Blair sat on the ground, back against the wall with Jim on his knees facing him. "Where are those cutters?"

Blair blushed, his gaze falling to his hands. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "My... backpack..." he muttered quietly.

Jim's blood was starting to pound his temples again. "I'm getting you a chain, you're going to wear them around your neck. Do you hear me?" he asked, anger making him speak through clenched teeth.

"Jim..."

"Don't even try, Sandburg!" Jim ordered. "This is not open for discussion."

Blair looked defiant for a second, locking onto Jim's angry glare with his own. Just as Jim started to believe they were heading for a full scale fight, the edges of Blair's mouth raised a fraction and he sighed.

"Okay, Ellison. You win," Blair told him, wiping at the blood under his nose with his sleeve.

"Smart move, Junior. I'm bigger and meaner. You never stood a chance." Jim handed over a clean handkerchief. "Did you see the assholes who did this?" Sounds of footsteps pounding down the stairs told them help was arriving. He helped Blair stand.

Blair shook his head, pulling his wild mane back. "No... I saw their hands though. They were wearing those gloves you guys use at crime scenes."

"Jim! What happened? I got a call..." Simon paused at the upper landing, his eyes wide, taking in the red bag and Blair's appearance. "Son of a... don't tell me."

Back in the bullpen, Blair accepted the invitation to use Simon's couch. His face still throbbed from the abuse. His nose was stuffed up, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. The attack had caught him off guard, which was stupid - once he thought about it. The rumor of the lawsuit did nothing to endear him to the other cops. In addition, the knowledge thatsome departments were envious of Major Crimes, plus Blair looking as `un-copish' as a Mr. Rogers in an biker's bar; there was bound to be some fallout.

Blair let his head fall back against the cushions. "Some student of human nature I turn out to be," he muttered.

Jim entered the office. "Don't kick yourself too hard, none of us saw it coming."

Blair eyed the small brown bottle in Jim's hand suspiciously. "If that's what you've been slipping into my shakes, forget it."

"You need to open up your nasal passages again, Chief."

"Later, okay? I'll take it back at the loft tonight."

"You can't tell me your comfortable breathing like this." Jim sat down next to him, shaking the bottle. "It's not the strong stuff."

"It still makes me sleepy!"

"Can't be helped." Jim unscrewed the top and carefully measured the correct dose into the eye dropper. "Lean your head back."

"No."

"Yessss."

"Noooo." Blair was not giving in. He'd capitulated on the stairs, only because Jim looked so freaked out. But he wasn't going to let this become a pattern. He was an adult.

"Sandburg," Jim set the bottle down and crossed his arms. "Here's the only option. We go back to the loft. You rest. I don't get to finish my job today, which puts the case on hold, and possibly endangers the rest of Major Crimes."

Okay, he was an adult with a best friend that wasn't above a little emotional blackmail.

"Fine, give me the stuff." Blair held out his hand, accepted the medicine and took it. "Gaack... you'd think they'd find a way to make it taste good."

"Like dark beer flavor?" Jim quipped, putting the cap back on the bottle.

"Sure, bully me around and then taunt me with something I can't enjoy."

"Okay," Jim stood. "I'll be at my desk, Simon's still meeting with IA. Why don't you lay down and rest? The stuff should kick in soon."

Blair toed off his sneakers with a frown, not happy with the latest turn of events. "Jim... do you resent the fact that I'm always around?"

"No," Jim told him, snagging the red plaid throw Simon kept folded up at the end of the sofa. "I heard some of what those bozos said. It's not true, Chief. None of it. They were just being asses."

Blair squinted up at his roommate, trying to judge if Jim was being honest or not. "It's just that we are around each other a lot, and it wasn't what you originally signed on for..."

"Yeah, so what?" Jim shrugged, opening the blanket with a flick of his wrist. "You didn't expect a job that involved watching my back all the time either. I was just supposed to be the subject for your diss."

Blair blinked slowly. It was too fast for the medicine to make him sleepy, he must be crashing from the adrenaline rush caused by the events in the stairwell. "You were never `just' my subject... okay, maybe at first - but I don't consider you that now, Jim. I want to help; you need someone with you. It's dangerous, man." Jim was firmly pushing him down to lie sideways. Blair just got his feet up onto the sofa when the plaid blanket settled over him like a shield of safety.

"I know," Jim told him. "And I want your help, so forget that stuff about me resenting you."

"Okay." Blair did another closed jaw yawn and burrowed into the sofa. His eyelids were too heavy to hold up. He never even saw Jim leave the room.

More footsteps approached. Jim had given up the pretense of looked busy an hour ago. Instead, he tapped a pencil on his desktop, his eyes fixed on the door into the bullpen. How long could a stupid meeting take anyway? Blair was sleeping, his soft snores remaining constant. At lease he was getting some air movement through his nose now. A vast improvement since he first laid down.

The door opened and Simon crooked a finger at him, a silent invitation to join the small group. Jim rocketed out of his chair and joined them in the hallway.

"Okay, remember, Jim. You're along as a witness. If you do anything else, it will just muddy the investigation," Simon warned with a stern look. He returned his unlit cigar to his mouth and nodded to the two other men standing at his side. "You know IA's Captain Sheffield already, this is Detective Garr. They agree the case needs to be reopened, Mary's blood work came back. She ingested the same crap that I drank."

The older man, Captain Sheffield nodded. "In light of the attack on your ride-a-long today, we have enough cause to speak with the detectives that Mary worked for. You really think you can recognize the voice you heard today?"

"Absolutely," Jim told them. He didn't need to add that he'd also picked up a few smells that would make finding the men easier.

The four men entered the large work area that housed three different divisions. Each division had their own captain. The room was crowded with men and women, many wearing hostile expressions when the Major Crime and IA members walked in.

"I'm Captain Sheffield," the IA Captain said. "I want to thank you all for helping us with this matter. We'll be out of your hair as soon as possible, so you can get back to work."

A short heavyset man with red hair crossed his arms. "What's this witch-hunt all about? Why start in our bullpen?"

Sheffield raised a hand as the other detectives nodded in agreement and a few muttered comments drifted from the men standing in the far back. Jim had to admit, he did not feel the love in this crowd. He didn't care. Two of these yahoos had threatened his partner.

He just wanted a chance to get his hands on them, one at a time or together, the outcome would still be the same.

Sentinel two - Assholes zero.

"We'll be going to all the divisions if we need too. I'm going to ask that each man read the statement typed on the index card. The women don't need to participate." Sheffield handed the white card to the nearest man, who looked at it and read the words out loud.

"What's wrong, kid? Blackmailing Ellison not bringing in enough dough? Someone's coming." He looked up at Jim and shrugged, passing the card to the next man.

The card made it half way around the room before a younger man took it. He was leaning against a desk, his body reminded Jim of a boxer. His face looked like he had no problems getting dates each weekend. He raked a hand through his black hair and pulled a face. "I'm not reading this shit."

Sheffield raised an eyebrow, his body perfectly still. "Excuse me, Detective....?"

"You heard what I said. And it's Detective Higby." The rebellious cop handed the card off to the next man. "I know my rights, and I'm not playing."

"You don't have to, cowboy," Jim said, his anger so concentrated he felt like a bowstring pulled all the way back. His hands literally itched to throttle the younger man's neck. "I recognize your voice just fine."

"Jim..." Simon stepped forward, effectively blocking Jim's route. "Keep it together! That's an order, mister."

Higby turned an angry sneer on the man next to him, the one he'd handed the card to. "I knew I shouldn't have listened to you, Phil!"

Phil was older, with the same athletic build. He turned to Higby with a look of disgust. "Way to go, partner! You're such a screw-up!"

"And that's the other one," Jim said, pointing a finger at Phil.

Sheffield nodded at the two men. "Would you two like to join me in my office please?"

To Jim's amusement, Simon continued to act as a barrier when the two angry cops followed the IA officer's out of the bullpen. Jim let him. It helped him ignore the voice in his head that was demanding blood. While the voice had been useful when Jim was living in Peru, it wasn't always appropriate here in Cascade.

Besides, there were too many witnesses.

Blair pushed himself off the leather sofa, surveying the dark office. He was alone, the sky outside the window was starting to darken. A childhood fear rose in his chest. Did everyone leave? Did they forget he was sleeping in here?

The uneasiness vanished as Jim opened the door carrying a coffee mug. "Hey, partner. Hungry?" He set the cup down on top a two-drawer filing cabinet.

"Not really. What time is..." Blair paused and sniffed the air. A heady scent of chicken broth tickled his nose.

"Homemade, Sandburg," Jim said, nodding to the mug. "I warmed it up in the microwave."

Okay, Blair had to admit, his stomach was definitely showing some interest. Any soup that had that aroma attached was worth trying. Besides, this would be the first non-milkshake meal he'd had since Simon's attack. He picked up the cup and peered into the golden-yellow liquid. The mug was warm against his fingers. Blair took a sip.

"Well?" Jim asked after Blair took a few more sips.

Blair smacked his lips. "Where did you get this? It's good, man. Really good."

Jim smiled. "I have my sources. We're about to have a crew meeting. A few things have come to light while you've been sleeping."

Blair tossed off the blanket and rose to his feet. "I'm ready."

The meeting took place in Simon's office. Blair had a vague deja vu as Jim, Rafe, Henry and Joel settled into their seats; only Simon was missing.

"What happened while I was asleep?" Blair asked Jim in a whisper.

"You'll see," Jim answered as Simon entered with a file.

"Okay, everyone's here," the captain headed for the conference table, not his desk. "Let's do this where we have more room. I've got transcripts from Higby and his partner's first statement, they're not saying much - waiting for their attorneys, I suppose."

"They getting booked?" Jim asked.

Simon could only shrug. "Too early to tell yet. They're being held for questioning, because they're cops - we're keeping them under observation in IA's office."

"Who's Higby? What's going on?" Blair asked.

"Right," Simon scratched under his chin. "You've been out of the loop, haven't you? Okay, Jim recognized Higby and his partner as the two that jumped you in the basement today. They're from Burglary, where Mary worked."

Blair gaped in surprise, looking at Jim who discreetly pointed to his ear.

"Ah... okay, that was fast," Blair said slowly.

"Just to be sure..." Simon pulled out a small recorder and hit play.

The voice on the tape sounded angry.

Blair's mind was instantly back on the stairwell, hands grabbing him from behind, one in his hair, keeping his head forward. He shuddered, laying both palms flat on the table. "That's him."

"Thought so... second, Mary's blood work is in. She had traces of the same drug that was used on me. Looks like she ingested it while driving."

"So, she took it on purpose?" Henry asked.

"Looks that way," Simon answered. "Maybe she didn't realize how dangerous it was."

"Are the two meatheads that attacked Blair the same parties responsible for poisoning you?" Rafe said, rolling his pen between his fingers.

Simon shook his head. "Well...here's the ugly facts. Higby and his partner just came off a stake out. They were out of the building when Mary made that call. Since we know she was calling an inside line to the department, it means she wasn't talking to either of them."

"So we still have a dirty cop," Jim growled.

"Looks that way," Simon continued. "IA is going with the assumption that Sandburg's attackers were reacting to the rumor of the false lawsuit and the death of their secretary and just happened upon a likely victim to... act out their grief."

"That's a load of crap!" Jim erupted, making pencils dance as he hit the tabletop with his fist. "They don't belong here if they `act out' like a couple of ten-year-olds!"

"I know and the Chief agrees," Simon said calmly. "Cool your jets, Jim. I'm just saying that we can rule out those two as Mary's silent partner."

"So, we're back to the question of `who was she having the affair with'," Henry stated.

"Right, that's where we stand. Jim, you've been working that angle, what can you tell us?" Simon asked.

All eyes went to the senior detective. Jim opened his file, still glaring but making an effort to control his anger. "Twenty-four, grew up in Kent, Washington. Moved to Cascade when she finished her AA degree. Hired by the PD two years ago. Lives alone, no pets, family still in Kent. I talked to a few of her friends, who agreed she was seeing someone as of the last six months. She stopped going to the clubs and accepting dates. But, like Rhonda said, she was closed-mouthed about who the man was."

"Where is Rhonda, anyway?" Blair asked, realizing he hadn't seen her since before the stairwell incident.

"She's gone home to lose her jet lag, she'll be in tomorrow," Simon responded before slapping his hand down on the conference table. "Okay, IA will accept limited help on this one. Jim, tomorrow you drive down to Kent and talk to the family. Mary's funeral isn't for three more days, so hopefully you can learn something. Rafe and H, you take Jim's caseload till this case is over. Joel, you and I are going to work with IA on the personnel files. They granted us access because of our rank. Any questions?"

Blair waited until it was apparent no one had anything to add before raising his hand.

"Sandburg?"

"Do we have any more of that soup?"

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