Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.
Summary: Takes place after TSbyBS. Jim's a little burned out, and Simon sends the partners out of town, hoping to give them a break.

Think Outside the Box
By Jael Lyn
Written Spring 2002 - Revised Summer 2002

Concentrate. It would happen if he allowed it.

He took a breath, and released it. Concentrate. Push all other things aside. The world spiraled down, diving into a single spot of flesh. He could see the twin lumps of the clavicle, surrounding the spot he wanted. The bastard was wearing body armor, and they needed him down on the first shot.

Wait. The order would come. One shot only.

NOW!

*****

Jim jerked back to reality, shocked by the familiar confines of the bullpen. He was breathing hard, just this side of near panic. Damn. It had happened again.

He licked his lips, tasting the sour tang of sweat and fear. His eyes darted around the room. Had anyone noticed? The chair next to him was vacant. Sandburg was down in the evidence room. Henri and Rafe were absorbed in paperwork, and weren't looking in his direction. Jim forced his mouth closed, trying to slow his body back to normal. His chest felt ready to explode.

Simon came out of his office, headed for Rhonda's desk. Jim spun his chair around, turning his back to the rest of the bull pen. Simon would snap the cuffs on and drag him down to the department shrink in a heartbeat if he knew. He stared at the wall, trying to buy a little time and composure.

It didn't work. A curtain of red dropped slowly across his vision. Jim jerked his head sharply and tried to blink the vision away. All he saw was the blood. He'd done everything right. How could the shot have gone wrong? Why did he have to keep living that scene over ...and over?

It had to stop. After all the disappointments, all the horrors he'd survived, this one wouldn't be different. He'd make it stop.

The chair spun back around. Detective Ellison picked up the report he'd been working on and skimmed it. Anyone would think he was calmly, efficiently, going about the day's business.

*****

Blair took a sip of merlot and watched his friend in silence. Lasagna was Jim's favorite meal. He never failed to take a second helping. Tonight he was just picking around the edges. The only thing Jim was taking an interest in was the wine. Glass after glass of wine, to be exact. Whatever Jim's habits may have been in the past, as long a Blair had known him, he'd become increasingly careful about alcohol consumption. Sentinel senses were apparently difficult enough to control without throwing a wild card into the deck. Part of his brain scolded that Jim wasn't sixteen, downing his first six-pack. If the man wanted a drink after a long week, he was entitled. It wasn't until Blair realized that Jim was opening a third bottle rather than a second, that he started to worry in earnest.

Jim stood up and carried his plate into the kitchen, mumbling something about not being hungry. The nearly full bottle of merlot went with him as he retreated to the couch in silence. Blair finished his own meal alone.

The evening slipped away as surely as the level in the last wine bottle dropped to nothing. Blair weighed his options when Jim's head finally drooped to one side. After considering the possibilities, he slipped up the stairs, pulled the comforter off Jim's bed, and brought it downstairs. Fussing with clothes was pointless. He gently shifted Jim to lie on his side, and Blair tucked the comforter around his friend as best he could. Jim never stirred.

Blair shut off the lights and finished locking up. He halted briefly before retreating to his room. In the dim light, he stroked two fingertips along Jim's furrowed brow. If only he could wipe away his friend's inner turmoil as easily.

******

Jim couldn't stop the groan.

"I have coffee for you, if you want it."

Jim winced. Sandburg may as well have been shouting in his ear with a bullhorn. "That'd be good," he managed to stammer.

"You can have it right after you take these and drink some water." Two tablets were placed in the palm of his hand. "You're dehydrated."

The pair of legs hovering in front of his eyes didn't seem to be going anywhere. Jim groggily sat up and downed the water. "Don't start, Chief," he said between gulps.

"You're assuming I have something to say. I don't." Blair waited with the steaming mug of coffee, and swapped it for the empty water bottle. "I left some clothes for you in the bathroom. I'll make some toast."

Jim watched the retreating back. He'd managed to avoid looking Sandburg in the eye. Thank God for small favors. After he struggled into the bathroom, with his head dunked beneath the spray of the shower, he realized the irony of that thought. He didn't feel too favored by the Almighty at the moment.

Sandburg was gone when he got out of the shower. A folded sheet of notepaper peeked out from under a plate holding the promised toast.

Jim

Will do shopping and bring home lunch. Softball practice is at 2. Don't even think about ditching me - you signed us up.

Blair

Jim reluctantly munched the toast and forced down a swallow of orange juice. Leave it to Sandburg to schedule the inquisition after shopping and before some group thing. Softball? He vaguely remembered Brown rallying the troops for games in a PD league. It seemed like a harmless idea at the time.

On the other hand, he was a lot more willing to throw a softball around than have a heart-to-heart with Sandburg. He wasn't going to have that conversation with himself, much less anyone else. His head throbbed, he felt like shit, and he had only himself to blame.

He pushed the toast aside. The march up the stairs momentarily weakened his resolve. Flopping on the bed for a few hours was pretty tempting. Instead, he forced himself to the dresser, grabbed some workout clothes and headed out the door. It was time to show some personal self-discipline and rise above. He could make it stop.

*****

The Cascade Farmers' Coop was one of his favorite spots. Even when he was an undergrad, prowling through the stalls had been a welcome release from the grind of study. After all these years, many of the vendors were familiar faces. Blair got friendly smiles to go along with his apples and asparagus. Even the occasional spit of spring rain was no burden.

They could have a chicken Caesar for dinner, he decided. All the fresh greens were too good to pass up. Besides, it was quick and easy. He needed brain cells for other issues than recipes.

Jim. What to do with the impenetrable wall of Ellison? Something was under his partner's skin, and he had no idea what. An anniversary of some painful event? A current case? Failed love? If the guy would just TALK to him it would be a hell of a lot easier.

He arranged the produce in the cloth bag he used for shopping, and bought a coffee for the trip home. Jim had the right to the privacy of his own thoughts. When did he have the right to intervene? Wasn't that what friends were for? Or was his role to provide some nonjudgmental support while Jim worked this out?

The loft was empty when he returned. A half eaten piece of toast was hardening on a plate. Blair wondered if he should put a star on the calendar. Jim never left dirty dishes around the loft. Rather than ponder that mystery, he washed the greens, put some soup on to warm and sorted some laundry. If he couldn't solve the big problems, he could at least tackle the minor ones.

*****

"Hey, Jim! Take an at bat." Rafe frowned when Jim waved him off and stayed in the outfield. He tossed the ball back to Henri, who was pitching. "What's with him, Sandburg? Jim isn't always chatty, but this is a bit much, even for him."

Blair shrugged and hoisted the bat to take another swing. "Don't know, Rafe. I've racked my brain and come up empty." He smacked a sharp grounder toward third and Megan gave chase. "Did he have words with anyone while I wasn't around? I'm at a complete loss." Blair glanced out toward center, wondering if Jim was listening in. If direct communication wasn't working, he wasn't above using other methods. Brown buried the next pitch in the dirt in front of the plate. Blair relaxed while Rafe trapped the ball under his mitt and tossed it back. "I'm getting worried about him, you know?"

He popped the next one up sky-high over Henri's head, between pitcher and short. Franklin, who was playing shortstop, nearly collided with Brown, and Simon caught it on the rebound. It looked like a grade school play. Brown pronounced practice over, for his own safety.

"Okay, everybody, how about pizza at Martino's?" he suggested.

Blair was ready to chime in to the affirmative when he noticed Jim had already turned his back to the others and was walking toward the parking lot. Socializing apparently wasn't on the dance card. Simon followed his line of vision, and raised an eyebrow.

"I'll take a rain check," Blair said with a gracious smile. He waved and gathered up his gear. When he walked past Simon, his captain caught his arm, halting him in mid-step. "I want to see you in my office on Monday, alone, if this doesn't get any better," he said softly.

All good humor vanished from Blair's eyes. "Understood," he said with a nod. "But I don't know what I can tell you."

*****

"Sandburg, my office."

Blair looked up from his desk. He'd harbored a vain hope that Simon had forgotten about Jim's behavior at softball practice. Now it was too late to bolt for safety. Blair shut the door to the office behind him, but didn't take a seat. Instead, he leaned against the door, as if hoping for a quick escape.

"I checked. Your partner's still in court." Blair didn't move other than to lower his gaze to the floor. "Knock it off and sit down, Sandburg. This isn't grade school," he barked.

Blair moved reluctantly to a chair. "Stand, sit, it won't make a difference, Captain. I don't know what's wrong. I can only agree with you. Why don't you ask Jim?"

"Might as well throw myself out the window," Simon growled. He refilled his coffee and joined Blair on the other side of the desk. "One of the shift supervisors called me last week. Jim nearly decapitated some rookie for walking across his line of sight at a crime scene. Were you there?"

"Yes, and no. I was with the witness, trying to calm her down. I heard the tail end of it. Like I said, I know what, but not why."

"I depend on you for this stuff, Sandburg. If it had been anyone other than Jim, I would have seriously been considering desk duty, or even a short term suspension."

"Maybe you should."

"What did you say?" Simon asked sharply, nearly dumping his coffee cup in surprise.

Blair sighed. "I'm not psychic, Simon. I can't help right now. I'm not in a position to compel Jim to do anything, but you are. Make him take a vacation if you don't want to suspend him, or put him on notice."

Simon considered that possibility. "He won't take time off when you can't, and you don't have any leave time accumulated yet. Do you think it's some Sentinel thing, like with Alex?"

Blair's frown deepened. "I considered that, since that was the last time Jim got seriously antisocial, although I'd hope that Jim wouldn't hide something like that from me." Blair gazed out the window for a moment. "If it makes any sense, with Alex, he was pushing people away, but the focus was external. This is all inward. He's withdrawing because something within him is all-consuming."

Simon shook his head. "The fact that you're making some sense almost scares me. It's probably a sign of the Apocalypse. So what's he brooding over?"

"That's just it. There's nothing going on. He's on pretty good terms with his dad and brother. Case load's normal. The Mariners are winning." Blair threw his hands in the air. "You tell me."

They were interrupted by the phone. Simon answered. The conversation was short and fairly one-sided. Simon hung up abruptly and grabbed his coat. "Come on, Sandburg. We're leaving." Blair scrambled to his feet with a puzzled look on his face. "We need to go rescue your partner. He almost managed to get himself cited for contempt during cross-examination. They're in recess and Beverly wants someone to calm him down before they go back in."

*****

Beverly Sanchez slid a sandwich across the long conference table. "I suggest you eat it, Detective. You're in for a REAL long afternoon."

Jim unwrapped the sandwich a little ruefully. "I didn't expect the prosecutor to buy me lunch on the same day she yelled at me."

"Don't imagine that food for the starving means I'm done with you. Maybe the calories will resurrect your brain. What were you thinking?"

"He ticked me off."

Beverly took a bite of her own sandwich and glared at him as she chewed. "He ticked you off? You CANNOT be serious! That little tantrum nearly got our case tossed. Judge Morisson now officially hates you, and me by extension. You're lucky to not be sitting in a cell."

"Okay, I got it the first time." Jim said impatiently, and set the sandwich down. Whatever progress he'd made toward calming down just went out the window.

Beverly had no intention of letting him off the hook. "If you'd gotten it the first time, you wouldn't have lost it on the stand. As many times as you've been a witness, certainly you know when the defense is baiting you for effect. Besides..."

She didn't finish the statement. The door banged open, and the larger-than-life figure of Captain Banks, in full fury, loomed in the doorway. He blew into the room at top speed with Sandburg in his wake. Jim dropped his head into his hands. The day couldn't get anymore perfect.

Simon stayed on his feet, but Blair slipped into the chair next to his partner. "I want the whole story and I want it now." He managed a nod in Beverly's direction. "I don't care who I hear it from."

"You're worse than the lawyer, Simon. It's under control." Jim answered sullenly.

"I'll decide if things are under control, Detective. We have too many man hours in this case to blow it now."

"I lost it, okay?" Jim answered heatedly. "It won't happen again. Enough already."

"Simon." Blair's quiet voice somehow cut through the escalating argument on both sides. Blair looked quickly towards the door, but said nothing else.

Beverly caught the exchange. "Captain, let me get you some coffee." She held the door open. "We'll be back in five," she said, directing her comment at Blair rather than Jim.

"Are you the designated 'Father Confessor', Chief?" Jim asked, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"Pretty unlikely role for a short Jewish guy." Blair drummed his fingers on the table. "Besides, Simon's the only one who can order you around, and we all know at the moment you're not in a real accommodating mood. I think he left me here rather than to have to bust you for insubordination."

"Some favor." Jim's handsome face was decidedly sullen. Blair didn't miss the childish response, and it irked him.

"What's with you today? Did you get up and decide today was the day to piss off authority figures? I don't like working without you, Jim. I wish you'd remember that I'll still be pulling down a shift alone when Simon tosses your butt out the door."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "That was a cheap shot. You know I'll always feel responsible for you, no matter how long you've been a full-fledged cop."

Blair settled back in his chair, satisfied with some element of progress, no matter how meager. "Cheap or not, at least it got your attention. Don't make me drag it out of you, man. What set you off?"

Jim didn't answer. It wasn't usually a smart move to box Jim Ellison in, but under the circumstances, Blair had no choice. He waited.

"The guy was badgering me about procedure."

"So what? That's normal."

"He implied that we didn't exercise due care in protecting Elizabeth Green." Jim's hands tightened into fists, the knuckles white. "As if we were the one's who shot her instead of that creep on trial." His voice went terribly quiet. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Fair enough. So now that you know, are you going to be okay?"

Jim nodded. "Maybe we could run through everything a couple of times, you know, just to get everything settled in my mind." His voice was shockingly tentative, almost lost.

Blair used every trick he'd ever learned to keep his jaw from dropping. "Sure," he answered gently. "We can do that. Finish your food, and I'll go get you a candy bar. You sound like you need some comfort food, Ellison style. Snickers okay?"

Jim sort of nodded, and Blair took it as a yes. He shut the door and leaned against the wall, staring up and down the busy corridor. It was as if his world had suddenly tipped on one end. In all the time they had been together, Jim was the unquestioned boss when it came to all things law enforcement. Blair was an equal partner in an investigative sense, but even as a detective, Jim was the lead man. For Jim to ask his partner for guidance for something like this was a reversal that froze Detective Sandburg to the core.

*****

They made it through court. Beverly considered it a miracle, and Jim didn't take offense when Judge Morisson invited him for a little one-on-one attitude adjustment when they recessed for the day.

Five blocks away, Jim Ellison was also the center of attention, albeit in absentia. Simon Banks didn't make captain of Major Crime by being unimaginative. If he couldn't get Sandburg - Ellison out of the office with vacation time, he did the next best thing. He went back to his office, called in some markers, and found a seminar that required immediate participation from someone, specifically two someones. When Sandburg returned to Major Crime with the bad boy in tow, the hotel reservations in Olympia were already waiting.

Blair read the itinerary and mouthed a silent "thank you" in his superior's direction. Jim had a variety of more explicit ideas and didn't mind sharing them.

"Olympia? Why do we have to go? Send someone else."

Simon was prepared for that reaction. Some elements of Jim's personality were entirely predictable. "Spare me, Detective. You and Sandburg are uniquely qualified for this particular activity."

"Uniquely qualified for what? Torture by seminar? I'd rather be sent to Siberia. At least the Soviets were honest when they sent a guy to the gulag."

Simon crossed his arms and looked bored. "Anything else, Ellison?"

"And what's this shit about a rental car?" Jim blurted out.

Simon rolled his eyes. "Give me strength. You're going to be representing this department. If anyone sees one of your personal vehicles, they'll be sending us donations. I can't take the embarrassment. Besides, you're a menace to society at the moment. If I booked you on an airline, the plane would be hijacked. Guaranteed."

"Well, I like the idea," Blair interrupted. "Maybe it'll have a CD, and I can listen to some decent music."

"Captain..." Jim protested, but it was useless.

"G. O. Go," Simon stated emphatically. "Go pack, and drive down tonight. You're expected at eight sharp tomorrow morning." Jim started to walk off without the rental paperwork, and Simon caught him. "Aren't you forgetting something, Ellison?" he asked, waving the offending papers in his hand.

When Jim started to take it from his hand, Simon held on to it for just a second. "Keep a low profile, Jim. If I so much as hear your name for the rest of the week, you'll be walking a beat. Consider your future as a crossing guard."

"We'll be fine, Simon," Blair said, coming back to shepherd his partner out the door. "Just fine."

*****

Jim groused the entire way to the airport to get the car. He was still complaining when they reached the loft. Sometime during the packing process, he retreated into aggrieved silence. When he reappeared, carrying overnight gear and a suit bag, Blair took one look and knew he would be driving. Tight lines around Jim's eyes screamed "headache". Not only was he an unhappy camper on general principles, the stress of the day had caught up with him.

Blair appropriated the keys and banished Jim to the passenger seat. Jim was still complaining when Blair unexpectedly pulled into a convenience store. He emerged with a bottle of water for himself, bottles of juice, a box of Jim's favorite crackers, and a can of squeeze cheese.

"What happened to 'cholesterol in a can'?" Jim grumbled, rummaging in the bag as Blair pulled out of the parking lot. "I get lecture 103 when I buy this stuff."

"You were the one who wanted to get to Olympia before eating. That should tide you over. I'll sacrifice my principles in an emergency. You can make up for it at dinner."

Jim already had the cracker box ripped open and was adorning them with cheese. "If you think I'm eating some stupid salad tonight, you've got another thought coming."

"Just eat your, cheese, Jim," Blair replied patiently. "Just eat your cheese." He didn't have to wait long to get results. By the time they hit the freeway, Jim was already dozing, and soundly asleep as Cascade receded in the rearview mirror.

Blair put some quiet music on the CD and let him sleep. Simon had maneuvered to give him this time; now he needed to put it to good use. Early evening was deepening into twilight when he decided that he'd probably been on the wrong tack all along. Jim had gone through periodic episodes when he didn't communicate, for a whole host of reasons, and Blair understood most of them. Angry Jim - no problem. Repressed Jim - Blair had a handle on that one. Wounded Jim - if they could make it through Lila and Danny and...well, a lot more, they could make it through new hurt and disappointment. Tentative Jim, however, was spooky. He needed to quit looking for the usual suspects, and find the anomaly. What ever could have introduced those kinds of doubts into Jim's psyche?

*****

The alarm went off way too early. Blair rolled out of bed and stretched. Simon had apparently raided some secret contingency fund, because they were booked into a comfortable suite with separate rooms. He was a bit surprised that Jim, the habitual early riser, wasn't already prowling around. Blair peeked in on his friend, found him sleeping soundly, and decided it best to leave well enough alone.

He showered, called room service, and frowned. The sound of the shower never failed to rouse his roommate. He poured a mug of coffee and slipped back into Jim's room. "Hey, bud, rise and shine."

Jim stirred, and rolled to his back. Blair realized he was using all the tricks of sentinel existence - the eyeshade and the white noise generators. Jim pulled off the eyeshade, looked around the room a little wide-eyed before finally saying, "What time is it?"

"We've got over an hour, but breakfast is on its way. You've got time for a shower, and I made you some coffee."

Jim tossed back the covers and perched on the edge of the bed. "I slept like a zombie." He accepted and sipped the coffee. "You bring this from home, Chief?"

"Yeah. The last time we had motel coffee, you nearly choked on it.

"Still, I don't expect you to worry about that kind of stuff," Jim mumbled, shuffling off to the shower.

Blair waited until the other man was in the shower before saying to the closed door, "But I worry about everything, Jim." The arrival of room service gave him other things to do.

Jim's mood improved significantly after his shower, and they enjoyed the breakfast. It turned out to be far superior to the usual room service fare. Jim took one look at his steak and eggs and fell on them like a famine survivor. "This is great food," he said, grinning as he spoke with his mouth full. "I can't believe this place. Simon either sold a kidney, or he's got connections we don't know about."

"Definitely a cut above Motel 6. We'll have to thank him." Blair leaned back. He was still dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. "I started to put on a suit and had second thoughts. I know you brought a suit, too, but do you think we can get by with casual? Did Simon give us any other info about this shindig?"

"Let me see." Jim dug through his overnight bag, and skimmed a packet of photocopied pages that Simon had put in with their hotel and rental paperwork. He got a thoughtful look on his face and sat down at the table again.

"What? You look worried or something."

"Not really," Jim answered in a distracted voice. "I just assumed this was some garden variety state seminar. You know, sit for eight hours, eat some bad pastries and be bored out of your mind. It's not." He continued reading.

"Well don't leave me hanging here, partner. What did our illustrious captain sign us up for?"

"It's more task force than seminar." Jim flipped back through the sheets. "Actually, I recognize some of these names. They've got FBI, Secret Service, some military, some regular cops like us. I quote - innovative situational management to develop new strategies consistent with the war on terrorism. We're supposed to contribute insights, as they call it, for some regional command structure. It looks like Simon was supposed to go, and he sent us instead." He put the sheets down. "That explains the accommodations. Cascade PD isn't picking up the tab."

"Who is?"

"Probably the state, or some regional thing. If they're bringing people in from lots of different agencies, they can't stick them in minimal accommodations."

"Ah. And here I thought we were being appreciated and all," Blair smirked.

"Right," Jim scoffed. "There are some pretty high profile names on this list,"

"Well, that's just great," said Blair, with a touch of disgust in his voice. "You can probably hold your own with this group, but what am I going to do here? Provide the comic relief? Be the test dummy for the radical activist?"

"You'll be fine," assured Jim. "Better than fine. It does, however, solve the issue of what to wear. No suits."

"So how do you come to that conclusion?"

Jim just gave him a wry grin. "Thanks for the breakfast, Chief. My advice is to go for the earring."

"An earring?" Blair asked to his retreating back. "Are you nuts?"

*****

Blair scribbled frantically. They'd been at it for hours, and their seminar leader, who identified himself only as "John", showed no sign of letting up. He snuck a look at Jim, who had been sent to another group across the room. He hoped that they'd have a break soon. He was dying to find out what Jim thought about all of this.

Jim's prediction of bad pastries and boredom couldn't have been more wrong. They'd virtually been given a second breakfast, and after some brief introductions, there was no time to be bored. John had assigned them into groups of three according to some system known only to him. Then the real work began. Blair had never experienced anything like it, and the undercurrent in the room told him he wasn't alone.

Each participant was given a yellow legal pad. The lights were turned off in the room. John quietly announced, "Scenario One."

An image was projected onto the wall, complete with sound. The scene was complete pandemonium, on a city street. Sirens wailed. It took Blair a few moments to figure out what was happening. Apparently they were viewing the aftermath of a bombing. Mixed in were recordings of dispatch, street maps and a couple of blueprints. They saw everything just once.

Then the lights flipped on, and John said, "You have three minutes. Describe your response. Detail your strategy, where you assign your resources, what factors you would be considering." Blair sat with a blank look for a moment. Command structure wasn't his area of expertise. He'd barely organized his thoughts when John said, "Turn the page."

The barrage continued, one incident after another. Some of the scenes were shocking. Even on video Blair felt completely sucked into the horror of each scene. He couldn't imagine being on the site and making appropriate decisions. His hand cramped from writing, and he was having trouble concentrating. He felt shell-shocked.

"Set your materials down, please," John said crisply. "I want to thank all of you for your full level of participation. We're going to take a short recess, and your responses will be compiled. You'll find refreshments and a place to relax down the hall. We'd appreciate it if you would make an effort to get acquainted before the second session."

Blair chose a bottle of fruit juice instead of coffee. His nerves didn't need any more jangling. He did a little cursory mingling, feeling painfully out of place, and went in search of his partner. One look at Jim told him the headache was back. In unspoken agreement, the two men drifted off to a quiet alcove.

"That was awful," Blair said. "I had no idea what I was doing. I feel like a complete idiot."

"Don't worry, Chief. No one else in the room felt any better about it. I sure didn't."

"You want me to go get you some aspirin? I'm sure I can scrounge some up."

Jim shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder who has the special abilities, Chief. I'll be okay."

"What do you think the point of all this is, other than to freak us out?"

"Oh, there's a point, all right. I think they're looking for patterns of response, things like that." Blair looked at him quizzically. "It's tactics, Chief, just like counterattacking in battle. You want to do the right thing without being predictable. Predictable can be exploited."

"Why show them one after the other like that?"

"Shock value. You can't really simulate the stress of the real event and how it influences decision-making. They're probably hoping this comes close. Like training with live ammunition."

"Simon would have been better suited for this."

"We'll see, Chief. We'll see." They sat for a moment without speaking. Several of the participants seemed to be serious about mingling as instructed. A tall, dark haired man about Jim's age drifted over. "Don't get up," he said, settling into an armchair next to Jim. He ignored Blair completely. "Mike Logan - Seattle FBI. We haven't met, but I've heard about you, Detective Ellison." He gave Jim one of those 'we're all in the same club' grins. "Major Crime, correct?"

"That's right," Jim said. "This is my partner, Detective Blair Sandburg."

Logan's eyes flicked over Blair and dismissed him a second time. "You've had more than your share of interesting cases - quite a variety for a city cop. I was on a task force trying to take Carrasco down in the early 90's. That was a nice piece of work."

"We try to keep busy," Jim said dryly. "I wasn't aware we had any fans in the FBI, Seattle or otherwise."

"Don't be modest, Ellison. Your reputation precedes you. Maybe we could get together for dinner, toss some ideas around." Jim's expression never flickered. Logan's body language spoke volumes. Blair Sandburg wasn't to be included on the guest list. Blair shifted ever so slightly, poised to excuse himself.

They were interrupted by John, who asked them to reassemble in their meeting room. Logan smiled as he rose, apparently assuming that his invitation had been accepted. "Catch ya, later," he said cheerfully.

"Look, Jim..." Blair started.

"Forget it, Chief. My only dinner plans are with you." He rapped Blair on the elbow with the back of his hand. "You heard the guy. I have a reputation to protect. I wouldn't be caught dead having dinner with a fed."

*****

Blair groaned inwardly for - oh, the thirtieth time in thirty minutes. It was so embarrassing. He loved working with Jim when it was just the two of them. Together, they were two halves of the same whole, contributing differently but equally. That didn't mean there were never situations that put him on the defensive. Sitting in this room, surrounded by the elite of law enforcement, was one of them.

Their responses had been compiled, by some miracle of computerization, for each scenario, grouped for similarities and identified with initials. John spent about ten minutes summarizing and evaluating, pointing out similarities and differences. The participants from federal agencies tended to have a pretty unified vision of how to respond, which was subtly different from those representing smaller agencies. John observed and compared with absolutely no inflection or judgment in his voice, encouraging everyone to take notes on points he considered important.

John's attitude aside, Blair felt like left-field boy. At least one of his responses was always singled out and noted as unique. He was getting increasingly tense by the minute. Blair could hear the occasional murmur. Knowing that Jim was already on edge, and could certainly hear more than he could, he was expecting his partner to come flying across the table at someone any second.

The last scenario was discussed. John looked around the room, making eye contact with every participant except for Jim. Jim, for some reason, refused to look up at all. "We've covered a lot of ground this morning," John said. "We're going to break for lunch, but I'd like you to know that the vast majority of your responses mirrored what occurred during the actual emergency. How do you feel about that? Any comments?"

No one answered right away. When Mike Logan spoke up, Blair wanted to wring the guy's neck. "Mike Logan, FBI. I think it's entirely predictable. We're all professionals here." Several others in the room nodded their agreement.

John nodded thoughtfully. "I'd like you to take this thought with you when you're at lunch. Each one of these scenarios was selected because they were all disasters, resulting in major loss of life and property damage. You're here because we need to throw out the book and start over. In each of the cases, the 'right' thing turned out to be the worst possible response, and for the most part, we're all doing it wrong together." John smiled thinly, with just a touch of scorn. "Do enjoy your meal," he said, and swept out of the room.

*****

Jim tightened his fingers around the arms of the chair. John's voice had dropped to a hum, just as the projections on the wall had long since faded to flashes of light and color. Jim concentrated on each breath, telling himself that he could make it. Just one more minute. Just one more after that.

He needed to get out of this damn room, away from these people and their pretensions. This wasn't just a chess game. People had died, and would die again, while they tried to boil things down to some crisis response checklist. He could feel himself edging closer to losing it. Sometimes sentinel senses really made things worse; he knew when his heart raced and his blood pressure climbed.

Jim looked down, studying his shoes. He forced his eyes to track every stitch in the leather. Anything to avoid chasing his own thoughts, hearing the shot reverberate in his head, or remembering how it had gone so wrong.

*****

After John breezed out the door the room seemed frozen. Finally, someone muttered, "Damn that arrogant son of a bitch," and chairs began to scrape back. The air was filled with low voices and bitter, resentful comments. Blair had only one thought. He wanted to find Jim, and get the hell out of here.

Rather than fight the flow of the traffic, Blair stayed where he was. When the room cleared, he realized that Jim was still staring at the floor. His first thought, however unlikely, was a zone-out, but Jim's eyes flickered back and forth. Blair rounded the table and said gently, "Jim? You okay?" When Jim didn't answer, he sank into an empty chair, trying to decide what to do next.

Maybe it was a zone-out. Blair ran a fingertip along the back of Jim's hand. Each tendon stood out sharply, and he noticed the knuckles were white. Jim was hanging on as if his life depended on it. "Jim? Try to talk to me, man. Are your senses off?"

Jim's grip released, and his head came up. Blair found himself looking into a pair of eyes totally drained of animation. "It's okay, Chief. It just got to me, you know? A bunch of know-it-alls analyzing these - tragedies - as if real people weren't involved."

"Yeah. I feel that way, too. Still, if you don't reflect on your past actions, you can't change the future."

"Is that what we're doing here, Chief?" Jim whispered. "Changing the future?"

"I don't know, Jim."

"I want to get out of here."

Blair took a deep breath. He couldn't count the number of times Jim had given him the "check your emotions at the door, or they'll get you killed" speech. So how did the poster boy for detached professionalism end up teetering on the emotional brink? "I couldn't agree more, but Simon did send us. I think he'd be pretty ticked if we drove back and showed up in the bullpen today. I think I'd rather deal with these turkeys than having Simon yelling at me for being insubordinate."

"He'd be ticked off all right," Jim said with a weak grin. "Livid would be closer to it."

"So why don't we go have lunch. You said part of this was for shock value. Well, now that we've been shocked, let's turn the mind game around. What do you say?"

Jim seemed to shake off his funk. He could tell Jim was back on a relatively even keel when he smiled and commented, "That psych minor makes you a menace, Sandburg. Let's go get some lunch."

It made Blair feel better, but it also made absolutely no sense at all.

*****

They were the last ones through the buffet line. Jim took one look at the round tables with assigned seats and marched resolutely out the door, plate in hand. Blair figured it was best to play along, and followed him out.

The building was arranged around a center atrium, and they found two chairs off in a secluded spot. A miniature stream meandered through the indoor garden, broken by a few pools filled with koi. Blair figured the sound of running water was probably as good as a white noise generator. They ate in silence for a few minutes. All things considered, it was a pretty good lunch.

"I have to admit, I didn't mind that jerk Logan being the one with egg on his face," Jim muttered finally. "Do you want your pickles?"

"Yes, but take them," Blair said with a sigh. "You want them more than I do. Give me your carrot sticks. The guy's a twit." He crunched down on a carrot. "It didn't make me feel much better. He might have been embarrassed, but I was mortified. Talk about the odd man out. I may as well have been wearing a pink tutu with my service revolver."

"Sandburg, you kill me," Jim said, snagging another pickle off his partner's plate. "Didn't you get it? John said it in English and I was only half paying attention - the right response is wrong. I'll bet you tickets to the next Jags game and a month's worth of dishes that you're going to be the star of the show this afternoon."

"Shit, I hope you're wrong. I think I'd rather spend the next two days with people who think I'm an idiot, instead of a roomful that hate my guts for being a smart ass."

"Did you accept the wager, Sandburg?" Jim teased.

"No. I think I lose either way."

"And here I thought I was going to pull a fast one."

"Speaking of fast ones, you two pulled a pretty good one getting out of our nicely arranged seating chart." John materialized from nowhere, and took a seat on a nearby bench. "I was a little concerned that you'd decided to leave us entirely."

"And if we did?" Jim asked, his voice tinged with hostility.

"I'd consider it a great loss. I think the two of you are going to be major contributors to any progress we may make this week."

"We weren't even supposed to be here," Jim said.

John looked at them steadily. Blair suddenly had the impression that he knew a lot more about them than they knew about him. "You were in the military, Jim. How many times does a covert op involve taking advantage of what the natural terrain provides, whether you know about it in advance or not? Success usually depends on exploiting the unexpected. You and Detective Sandburg were unexpected, but not without value. Considering your background, I assumed you'd appreciate my position."

"I don't like head games," Jim said.

"Neither do I," John said, challenging Jim's gaze. "We're in a law enforcement crisis. We're operating under assumptions and procedures that don't work with the new generation of protesters and terrorists. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get conservative entities like the FBI to reexamine their paradigms? We need people that think outside of the box, and clearly the two of you fit that category. I hope I can convince you to stay." Neither Jim nor Blair answered. "You were on your way out, weren't you?" John continued. "As soon as you finished lunch, that is. None of us make enough money to turn down a free meal."

Blair watched his partner carefully. "You want me to go get the car, Jim?" he asked, knowing full well he was asking a much broader question. Jim and John were still eyeing each other.

"I know you, don't I?" asked Jim quietly.

"We might have met, Captain Ellison. Let's just say I have a unique appreciation of your abilities. Any man that could smell a rat with the late Colonel Oliver has a special place in my heart."

Jim stood. "I'll take your plate, Chief. We'll be changing the seating arrangements for the afternoon, John. My partner and I work together." Jim glided away toward the dining room as if nothing had happened.

John gave Blair a brief nod and vanished in the other direction. Blair sat, staring at the brightly colored koi, wondering if things could get any weirder.

*****

Jim stroked his aching head. Logan and two guys from the Seattle PD were shouting at each other. Tempers were running high, and they were only on the second scenario. John, looking cool as could be, had pulled back and was letting the three of them duke it out at full volume.

They were all suffering from severe cases of bruised egos. John had started the after-lunch session by flashing their top five responses on the screen, and then proceeded to point out to them how each and every one of those choices had cost lives during the actual event. Blair, who was now sitting by his side instead of across the room, had scribbled on his legal pad:

"beats him calling us a bunch of dumb shits"

Jim had almost laughed out loud. It had been the last cheerful moment of the day thus far.

It had taken a solid hour of arguing to come up with some different ideas that made more sense than vaporizing the bad guys with ray guns. He had to give John, or whoever he really was, grudging credit. He didn't spare their feelings, and didn't let them off the hook. He also kept at it until they came up with something reasonable, even if it was a little off the wall. It still frustrated him that he just couldn't place the guy, but the longer they sat there, the more certain he was that John was someone of significance from his past.

They'd moved on to a second scenario, with no better results. John finally called the arguing to a halt. "All right. Let's reconsider the basic difficulties. This situation spiraled out of control because the officers called for backup and then DID NOTHING. Backup was slow because resources were committed to a street festival, which our perpetrators no doubt knew about, and used to their advantage. Not only did these men kill four at the original crime scene, three other civilians were killed when they blew up the escape vehicle. In this case, waiting for backup was not the right choice. What were their other options?"

"There weren't any," someone protested. "The guys were detectives and they were outgunned. Waiting was the only choice they had."

"No, it wasn't," John said flatly. "You're limiting your thoughts to having a shootout. Think!"

"They could have blocked the streets," someone finally suggested. "At least make sure the guys didn't drive off."

"With what?" Logan said sarcastically, who was obviously still in full argument mode. "The roadblocks in their back pocket?"

"Try to make your comments meaningful, Mike," John said sharply. Jim smiled to himself. When John had insisted on first names that morning, it had just seemed casual. No one had suspected he'd be using first names to control the tenor of the discussions. A good interrogator did that. Maybe that was John's role in real life- an interrogator.

Abruptly, John turned on his heel, and faced Sandburg. "Blair, enlighten us. You made two notations: fire truck and TV crew. What were you thinking?"

Twenty some pairs of eyes rotated in their direction. Jim gave his partner a swift kick. Sandburg didn't need to apologize to anyone, and Jim had a pretty good idea of what he'd been thinking when he put pen to paper.

"Well - uh - most TV vans like that have great audio equipment. The detectives didn't have a bullhorn, but they could have gotten the TV people to broadcast to the crowd, try to clear the site." Blair paused for a moment, and then decided to continue. "They were two guys all alone. They needed to recruit some civilian help, because no one else was coming, and they knew it."

You could have heard a pin drop.

"And the fire truck?"

"Uh, nothing."

John smiled. "Not good enough, Blair."

Sandburg was dying from embarrassment. Jim could hear his heart banging away. Jim decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Look at the photos," Jim said. "Most of the firing was coming from behind the van. The pumper was behind the van by about twenty or thirty yards. They could have had dispatch patch through to the fire department, and turned the hoses on them."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Jim placed the face and voice, but not the name. Early fifties, former SWAT commander, now working in Washington DC for some agency or other. Guy had no doubt seen everything twice. Correction, he hadn't worked with Sandburg.

Jim leaned back in his chair. In an icy voice he said, "Then you can apologize to my partner, for starters. Sandburg took out two guys trying to heist an armored car in broad daylight, armed with heavy weapons and a rocket launcher, among other things, with a fire hose. As an unarmed civilian observer, I might add. That's how stupid an idea it is."

"You're kidding, right?" The man gestured at Sandburg. "Him?"

Jim would have taken it up close and personal, but beside him Blair started to laugh. "Yeah, me. The jerks deserved it. They shot holes in my Corvair. It was a sacrilege. The car was a classic."

Thirty some years of street experience did an about face. The craggy face broke into a grin and held up both hands in mock surrender. Shaking his head, he said, "God damn, son, I'm buying you a drink. A Corvair and a fire hose. Now that's a new one."

*****

Their small table rang with gales of laughter. True to his word, Galen Trent had waited for about ten seconds after John adjourned for the day to drag Sandburg off to the bar, Jim in tow. They soon discovered that the stern, no-nonsense exterior in the meeting concealed a wicked sense of humor. Trent was a born storyteller, and he met his match in the junior detective from Cascade, although Jim found himself joining in pretty regularly.

"No!" Trent protested, still laughing. "A vending machine? No wonder John thinks you're a gift from God. For a guy who has alternative methods on the brain, you're a dream come true. Ellison, do you write these things down?"

Jim shook his head. "Guess I should. Maybe Simon does. Nobody would believe it if we did."

"Makes me almost yearn for the days when I broke in rookies," Trent commented. Jim gave him a skeptical look, and the older man snickered in return. "Okay, so I don't miss it quite that much. Come on, boys, finish those beers, and we'll hunt down a place for dinner."

"Well, I could eat," Blair agreed amiably. "There are supposed to be some great seafood places on the bay. What do you want to eat?

Jim and Trent exchanged looks and said, in unison, "Steak!"

"Steak," muttered Blair. "Of course. I should have known."

"Wait here," Trent said, still looking amused. He nudged Jim's elbow. "We should cut Mr. Alternative Methods here a little slack. I'll check and see what the hotel staff recommends. Be right back."

Their new companion headed for the lobby. "Jim," Blair said quietly. "Do you really feel up to this? We could beg off."

"Told you earlier, Chief, my only dinner plans include you. Trent's one of the good guys. Let's just enjoy the meal and call it an early night."

"If you're sure, but I can sure go for the early night. Those sessions are awful. For fifteen cents I would have strangled some of those guys. I've listened to you complain about the 'feds' for forever. I swear, Jim they really do all think alike. What do they do, brainwash them? Give them cards to read from?"

Jim shrugged. The afternoon had been easier to bear than the morning. Sandburg's abbreviated written comedies had kept him from spiraling off into painful tangents, but he still felt drained and exhausted. Now that there was a lag in the conversation, he felt himself crashing again. He took a long sip of his beer and then noticed the worried look on his partner's face. There was no point dragging Sandburg down into his melancholia. "Feds," he said in mock disgust. "I'd better watch myself, or they'll try to steal you away from me. You're the best kept secret in the Cascade PD, and we don't want to share."

Despite his joking tone, Sandburg's good mood seemed to vanish. "Don't be dumb, Jim. Cascade PD barely tolerates me. If something happened to you or Simon, I'd be out the door."

Jim set his glass down abruptly. "Damn. Do you still feel that way, Chief? Then we - or I - have screwed up big time. Simon turns down two or three requests for you a month."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Duh. They're asking for us, Jim, which translates to asking for you."

"No, they're not," Jim protested. "Burglary asked if you could be reassigned for some smuggling thing they were working on, narcotics wanted some help with a drug ring that's centered at the Community College." Jim shook his head in distraction. "I can't even remember the others right now. Simon didn't think it was such a good idea to put a lot of weird cases on your shoulders so soon out of the academy." He watched Blair's face carefully as he absorbed that information. "Guess that means we should have said something, huh?"

Blair dropped his eyes and tore strips off the napkin in front of him. "I understand your motivation, and you're probably right, but yeah, I think you should have told me."

"We - I - ah, shit. What a mess. We just worried that you'd put yourself out on a limb trying to prove something that didn't need to be proved."

"That should have been my decision, Jim." Blair's face was serious. Jim wasn't sure if he was angry, hurt or both.

"Yeah, well - I guess I wasn't willing to take a risk," Jim said slowly. "Does it matter that I'm sorry?"

"Depends on whether you're sorry that you did it, or sorry that I found out."

Jim looked away sheepishly. "Both. Don't make me apologize for valuing you as a good friend first and a good cop second."

They were both so absorbed in their own conversation that Trent's voice startled them. He was jingling keys in one hand, and had a map folded in the other.

"Got the perfect place," he said, clearly pleased with himself. "Steak house, overlooking the bay. The desk swears they have items on the menu that didn't moo in a previous life. Your chariot awaits, and I called ahead. They're holding a view table with three shrimp cocktails and a great bottle of wine."

"You heard the man, Chief," Jim said. He was more than a little relieved to get off the hook with his partner, even temporarily.

******

Dinner was excellent, in terms of both the cuisine and the company. On the drive over, Blair had teased about spending an evening of swapping war stories. He couldn't have been more wrong. Conversation ran the gamut from politics to sports, fishing to sociology, of all things. Trent had a son who was a PhD in sociology, and was teaching at a state University in the Midwest.

"Decided not to become a cop, like his old man, huh?" Jim had asked. "Not that I followed my dad into business."

Trent had smiled fondly, as if the question had brought back a pleasant memory. "He gave it a shot. He got an undergrad degree in Criminology, and went to the Academy. Came to me the night after graduation and told me he just couldn't do it. That he'd been watching me fight against the bad guys all his life, that he thought his calling was in keeping people off that road, and understanding why they went there in the first place. Damn near broke down in tears. I tell you, as a father, I couldn't have been more proud."

"Really?" Blair had asked, staring in surprise. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, but I would have thought you would be pretty upset."

"Not me," Trent had answered, shaking his head. "I may be a tough old bird, but you want your child to be happy. I was glad he had the courage to listen to his own counsel."

That had led to a long discussion about Naomi, Blair's academic background in anthropology and his recent move to the police force. The whole subject was painful ground; under normal circumstances the two men from Cascade would have avoided it at all cost. Somehow, Trent was a neutralizing factor, and the conversation had been both honest and enlightening.

Now they'd come full circle. Over coffee and dessert, the conversation finally arrived at law enforcement in general, and their seminar in particular. Of the three men, Blair had taken the day with less stress. He had fewer preconceived notions, as Trent pointed out. The two more experienced men were almost relieved to discover that the other had found the entire day equally disturbing.

"I just don't get it," Jim said. "John can babble all he wants about alternative methods, or whatever. Where's he going to be the next time I'm sitting in court, or in front of IA?" He flashed a quick look at Blair. It wasn't as if his last time in court had been a stellar performance, and they both knew it. "Most of the time, the fact that you followed procedure is your only defense. Now procedure is a bad thing. What's going to happen when we send guys on the street and tell them what they ought to be doing is improvising?"

"The ultimate SWAT paradox," Trent agreed. "It's always been that way. In the middle of an incident, everyone screams to bring the nutcase down, and is glad you did. When the pressure is off, nobody's happy that you pulled the trigger. The guy was under stress, or didn't really mean it, and his mother gets on the tube and tells how he was such a great kid."

"Mothers will always be mothers," Blair observed quietly.

"Of course they will," Trent said, losing the edge in his voice. "I didn't mean it that way. It's just that everyone ought to realize that Genghis Khan's mother probably thought he was just a sweet boy who ate his vegetables and took out the trash."

Blair laughed. "Should I mention the anthropological problems with that statement?"

"No," Trent said, laughing. "Just like my son. The statement is still true. Second guessing is a time honored tradition. The more extreme the original circumstances, the harsher the criticism. If someone dies, expect to be taken apart."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "So how does an old SWAT guy live with it?"

Trent sniffed. "The old SWAT guy resigns and goes to Washington, hoping for a few years before retirement where the decisions were a little more black and white."

Blair looked thoughtfully over his coffee cup. "Did it work?"

"Hell, no. An old bird like me should have known better. Next thing I know, nine-eleven changes all the rules." He took a long sip of coffee. "God, I love coffee with real cream. My wife would slap me silly." He gestured towards Blair. "Our system of response is set up to stall, to talk our way out without loss of life. We're not prepared for terrorists who want to die, or perps that are so disassociated from society that they don't care whether they survive. While we're trying to reason with them, the innocents get killed. Let me ask you, do you think we'll ever let another hijacked plane go anywhere near a city?"

"No," Jim said. "I think they'll shoot it down, and God help the one who makes the decision, and the crew who has to fire the missile."

"I don't like it," Blair said softly.

"Neither do I, but we're all in the same boat, right down to the rookie in uniform walking a beat," Trent answered. "That's why we need the college boys like you and my son. We need the thinkers to help us out, so maybe ten years from now, we'll still be able to see the difference between the good guys and the bad guys."

They spent a few minutes finishing their coffee, each man lost in his own thoughts. The streaks of light rippling on the bay weren't giving them any answers.

*****

Blair wrapped his arms around one of the extra pillows on the bed. He was dead tired, but he couldn't sleep. He kept hearing Jim's voice, over and over.

"John can babble all he wants about alternative methods, or whatever. Where's he going to be the next time I'm sitting in court, or in front of IA? Most of the time, the fact that you followed procedure is your only defense."

"Is that what we're doing here, Chief? Changing the future?"

 

What was it, really, that had set Jim off in court? And was still bothering him now, for that matter? Something about the barrage of no-win scenarios was scraping away at something Jim wanted to keep buried, and he wasn't being very successful. Maybe Galen Trent could pry the lid off. Jim respected him, seemed at ease with him. Maybe Jim would confide in someone he didn't have to see everyday.

Blair's last thought as he drifted off was, "Why doesn't he trust me?"

*****

Finally. The scrape of sheet against sheet had stilled. Sandburg's breathing was lengthening out. Jim glanced at the clock. His partner had night-owl tendencies, but this was late even for him. Jim traced aimless patterns in the ceiling above him, outlined by the thin streaks of light which escaped through the edges of the draperies. He could put on the eyeshade, for all it would help. A little ambient light wasn't the reason sleep was eluding him.

He'd screwed up again, with Simon's help. They could have told Sandburg about the requests from other departments, actually discussed it. Now there was a concept. Sandburg would have gone along with their advice. But no, they just had to be the smart guys, and play it their own way. Shit, they were just like those poor saps in John's stupid scenarios, still marching to the same set of rules when the game had changed.

On top of that, what had he dragged Blair into? Was he really where he wanted to be in his life right now? How was it that Galen Trent could be unselfish enough to let his own son opt out, but Jim Ellison, who had far less claim, had let his best friend give up everything?

So how was he ever going to tell his partner how much of a new ballgame they were actually in?

*****

The call came early, a few minutes after five. Jim cursed as he fumbled for the phone. It was John's voice.

Change in plan. We're going into the field. Casual clothes; it will be cold. You'll be picked up in half an hour. Don't be late.

Jim was going to read him the riot act when the phone clicked, followed by a dial tone. John had hung up. Apparently he wasn't interested in Jim Ellison's opinion of the world situation, or his seminar in particular.

Half an hour meant barely enough time to shave, and breakfast was probably a lost cause. Jim rolled out of bed, knowing his partner wasn't going to appreciate the rude awakening.

 

Their journey ended as dawn faded into day. To Jim's practiced eye, it looked like half of the secret Army training facilities he'd ever been on. Maybe it was. The group was quiet as they were herded into one of the nearest buildings. Each participant was handed a plastic bin of gear.

The contents were ominous. Kevlar. Handgun with ammunition. Coveralls.

"What the hell?" Blair whispered. "Live ammunition? For what?"

"Think we're going to find out any minute now, Chief."

"If this is some crazy 'hunt down the terrorist', I don't care what Simon thinks, I'm leaving. Walking, if necessary."

"I'll be right behind you. This is definitely weird." Jim finally caught sight of Galen Trent. He'd been riding in a different van. He gave the man a questioning look. Trent shook his head ever so slightly. He apparently didn't know what was going on either.

Without fanfare, John appeared in a doorway. "Good morning, gentlemen. You'll be escorted to the range. You have half an hour to sight in your weapon. Then we'll adjourn for a briefing and continue with the program." He disappeared as swiftly as he had arrived.

"Why do I get the feeling that coffee on the terrace isn't part of the program," Blair muttered sarcastically.

"Probably because breakfast isn't part of the program either. Stay close, Chief. I don't want to have to go looking for you if we decide to take that hike you were talking about."

*****

The shooting range was followed by a blank room, furnished with a few rows of folding chairs. John was waiting for them as the filed in. Surprisingly, considering the circumstances, the grumbling and grousing had been pretty minimal. It was about time for the dam to break.

"As I said, good morning," John began. "This is how it usually begins. An unexpected call, after a long shift, not enough sleep. No time to prepare, the information is sketchy or non-existent."

"You're going to participate in a new type of training drill. All of you have gone through the standard obstacle courses. Before I continue, I want everyone to unload. The live ammunition will be collected, and you'll be issued blanks, or more precisely, a new type of training ordinance we're testing. Be thorough, please. Have at least two others check your clip and your pockets." He waited as the live rounds were checked and collected. "Obviously, we don't want to be firing live rounds. I might add this is the only concession we are making to the training scenario. The other participants will be real, live humans, not plywood cutouts."

"I've assigned you in groups of four. The information is minimal. An undetermined number of armed men are involved. Multiple deaths have already occurred, but you're not sure who did what. They may all be equally guilty, they may not. You don't know. I don't have to elaborate on the consequences if you are either too conservative or too zealous."

"Didn't we have this conversation last night?" Blair whispered. His tone was soft. He was speaking for his partner alone.

John was still speaking. "You'll have to establish your own command structure. Again, this isn't uncommon in the situations you may be facing. Units may be responding from different agencies, even different locations. Communication networks may be damaged or non-existence. You'll be on your own." John held up a fistful of index cards. "The name at the top of each card is nominally in charge, but command may shift as you form your unit. It is up to you. Again, this reflects reality. You will have an escort, who will be identified by a colored armband matching the color of your card. Good luck."

John laid the cards on the table in front of him, and then stepped back. After a moment's hesitation one of the nearest men grabbed the cards, and began calling out the first name on the list.

"McCracken"

"Foster."

"Schrader."

"Wommack."

"Coonz."

"Ellison."

Jim snatched the card and read it quickly.

Ellison, J

Trent, G

Logan, M

Narramore, D

Names were being called out around him, as groups assembled and found each other. Sandburg looked at him and shrugged. It was a nonchalant gesture, but his partner's eyes told another story. He started to walk away, when Jim hauled him back.

"No, they're not splitting us up."

Mike Logan wandered up, looked at the card, and smirked. "Fate, Ellison."

"Get lost, Logan. You've been reassigned."

Trent didn't miss the byplay. He moved to stand between Logan and Jim. "Improvisation, Mike. It's the name of the game." He held his ground as Jim moved away toward the escorts, hustling Sandburg in his wake. Narramore, their fourth guy, apparently decided to go with the flow.

"Just a damn minute," Logan protested. He started to follow Ellison, but Trent stepped in his way again.

"Jim, maybe we should..." Blair pulled back hard enough to hold Jim up for a second.

"No. We shouldn't, Chief. Enough head games."

"Rearranging the seating chart again, Jim?" It was John. Blair looked from one face to the other. The two men were replaying the scene from the previous day.

"Just correcting an error," Jim answered in a level tone. "There's no problem. I'm sure you'll see Agent Logan to his correct placement."

John didn't answer immediately. The room fell quiet. Logan was still fuming, but he quailed slightly under all the curious eyes.

"As you wish. Mike, come with me." John turned his back to Jim, showing no emotion whatsoever. He might as well been discussing a grocery list.

Logan was apparently going to put up a fuss. Trent moved to their side. "Time to go, boys. Got to hand it to you, Jim, you make life exciting."

Their escort was a silent young man, dressed in fatigues with absolutely no insignia. He gestured them into the back of a van and informed them the trip would take twenty minutes. No one bothered to question him further. It seemed a good bet there would be no answers.

Jim and Blair took the rear-most seat, and immediately dropped into a quiet and very private conversation. Trent and the fourth member of their team took the front seat, leaving an empty seat between.

"Narramore?"

"Yeah. Dan Narramore, Secret Service. I work out of Seattle Field Office."

"I'm Galen Trent. I met your boss last year. Spoke highly of you, as I recall." He gestured to the seat behind them. "Detectives Ellison and Sandburg, Cascade PD."

Narramore nodded in their direction. "You know of any reason against leaving Ellison in charge?"

"None whatsoever."

"I have no problem with it then."

"Good," said Trent, "Because that's the way it's going to stay." He resolutely faced the front, leaving no doubt that Narramore should do the same. Whatever was going on in the seat behind them wasn't their concern. "Tell me about your background, Dan," Trent said. "Any specialties? Tell me what I need to know."

Blair was staring at the floor of the van, but his attention was completely focused on Jim. "How do you want to do this?"

"Close to the vest. I think we can assume they'll be videotaping, whether they inform us or not."

"You can still use your capabilities. Just be subtle about how you communicate them," Blair said. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"What? Rearrange the seating chart, as John put it? Sounds like you assume I did it for your benefit."

"Didn't you? It's not as if you asked me, but I guess that's par for the course. Wouldn't be the first time, would it, Jim? "

Jim nearly winced. There was no mistaking the tone in Sandburg's voice, and it was more pained than irritated. "I deserved that, but no. In this case, I did it for me, not for you."

"Right."

"Believe what you want, Sandburg, but I'm not playing some crazy version of war games without my partner if I can avoid it."

"Okay, we'll leave it at that."

"Just stay close. I - I just need it to be this way."

After another thirty minutes, the van pulled to a stop in front of what, for all intents and purposes, was a city block out in the middle of the woods. That wasn't their immediate destination. Their driver motioned them over to an area near the van where a table was set up. When they gathered there, he pushed the button on a tape recorder. It was a 911 call, followed by dispatch traffic. They could hear the sounds of shots and screams.

The driver gestured to two headsets and a cell phone, which were displayed on the table. "Those are your communications units. You have contact with your hostage takers through the cell phone. Make the following assumptions: there has already been loss of life, backup will not arrive for twenty to thirty minutes at a minimum, and demands have been made that you can't possibly comply with. The details of the demands are not important. You have one rifle. Monitors are identified in yellow vests. Ignore them completely. They are present to make documentation records only. If you are hit, they will determine whether you can continue to participate in the exercise. Questions?"

"Is the rifle sighted?" Trent asked.

"You may assume it is a standard issue weapon."

"Answer: maybe." Trent gave him a disgusted look. "Ammunition? Other equipment?"

"There are vehicles on the street. The buildings themselves have typical business furnishings." The driver set several boxes of shells on the table. "We estimate this is what would normally be available to officers responding to such an emergency."

"Great," Trent replied sarcastically. "We can attack them with desk chairs."

"Can we opt to do nothing?" Narramore asked.

"Nothing precludes that response." Their driver waited a few moments. No one asked any other questions. "When you round the corner of the first building, the exercise will officially begin. You may take up to two minutes before you begin your response." With a nod, the driver returned to the van and drove off.

Trent quickly looked at his watch. "I'll track the time. Ellison?"

"Pairs?" Jim asked.

Trent nodded. "That would be my recommendation. We'll need to cover each other."

"How's your long range shooting?"

"I used to be pretty decent, but these eyes have gotten old. I think Dan's our boy for the rifle." Trent answered.

"Okay. My guess is they're going to force our hand. Waiting for backup won't be an option," Jim said firmly. "Priorities will be, find their location, isolate, respond if possible. One team high, one team low. Check the communications."

The radios were awful. Trent cut lose with a few colorful profanities. "We'd do as well with smoke signals."

"They've set us up to fail." As one the other three stared at Sandburg. Something about the tone was just - wrong.

"Chief?" Jim said, surprised at the grim note in his partner's voice. "Not like you to be a pessimist."

Blair shrugged. "Just a guess. I think that's the point. Do the best you can, even if you know it's going to come up short. Shift the paradigm."

"He's right," Trent agreed. "You know, this is really starting to piss me off. I don't like to lose." He handed the rifle to Narramore. "Let's go. I tell you, I expect some decent coffee when I get done here." He stomped off toward their row of simulated buildings.

When they rounded the corner, the scene was realistic enough. Halfway down the block, shattered glass covered the street. As they eased their way into the street, using parked cars for cover, two wrecked hulks burst into flame. Black smoke came roiling in their direction. A round of gunfire pinged off the brick, or what looked like brick, behind them.

A woman appeared in one of the doorways, her head pulled back at a sharp, unnatural angle. Someone was advancing, using her as a shield.

"Have you met our demands?" a voice rang out. The woman stumbled. A man in fatigues shook her hard, and jerked her head to the side.

"We're working on it," Jim shouted back.

They heard the shot. The woman went limp, and was tossed to the street as the man darted back. "We told you," he shouted. "One every five minutes. The next one will be a child."

"Son of a bitch!" Jim responded angrily. For him, it wasn't a simulation anymore. He leaned into the tire of a parked car as more rounds zinged over their head.

"Jim," Blair hissed. "Where are they? How many?"

The wind shifted and black, choking smoke engulfed them. They flattened themselves on the pavement, trying to find air to breathe. Jim lowered his forehead to the pavement, pushing all the competing issues aside, concentrating on the doorway where the gunman had disappeared. He struggled, and wrapped a hand around Blair's wrist.

"Too many heartbeats," he said, raising his head as the smoke cleared. "I can't count, but they're all on ground level." He paused again. "There's a cluster against the back wall. That's all I can tell."

The curtain of smoke had passed, chased by the swirling wind. Jim faced behind them. "Trent! Get to the roof. Leave Narramore with the rifle and work down behind them. You keep the radio. Narramore - when the guy came out, he didn't stay glued to the building. When he brings the next hostage out, take him from above and behind. We won't be able to talk to you. Take the shot as soon as you see it."

"What about the hostage? Or the ones inside?" Narramore protested.

Trent didn't give Jim time to answer. "The second hostage will be as dead as the first one." Narramore looked appalled but nodded.

"Go with the smoke," Jim ordered. "Move fast." The capricious wind shifted again. At its thickest, Trent and Narramore took off.

When the two men ducked into the building directly across from them, Jim turned to his partner. "We need to make them think we're all still down here. I'm going to work in closer. Can you keep their attention down here?"

"For awhile, but you're not storming the place alone, man. Get that thought out of your head."

Jim ignored the comment. "Just remember, I can hear you. Stay in contact with Trent, and tell me what I need to know. "

"So I'm just supposed to stay here and bullshit?" Blair asked, clearly not pleased.

Jim gave him a smirk. "I always said you were charming."

They were still arguing when the radio crackled to life. Blair was wearing the headset, but the transmission was so bad he had to listen closely. Jim could still hear Trent's voice, blurred and distorted by the static. "We're on the roof. Looks clear. On the move - out."

The smoke blew back their direction. Blair lowered his head, coughing. When he looked up, Jim was gone. Through the haze, he saw him darting down the street. Blair almost followed the impulse to dash after his partner. Instead, he crept around the front of the car and searched the street.

The fires in the two cars, which had been blazing a few minutes before, were dying. The smell of burned plastic hung in the air. The smoke worked in their favor. It kept Jim's movements concealed. Blair looked up along the roof edge. He saw Narramore signal. Their team members had moved quickly.

Blair stood cautiously, looking down the street again. He'd lost sight of Jim. He shouted a couple of times, but there was no response from the hostage takers inside. Blair was almost ready to dash down the street, or at least move closer to where Jim had to be. He was just beginning to duck down and start running, when he saw them. He crawled forward on his hands and knees. It was too much to hope. He pulled on the door latch, and eased it open. He hadn't been wrong.

He reached out and flicked the keys dangling from the ignition.

******

Jim was directly opposite the hostage takers.

He could hear Narramore on the roof above, scraping his boots on the rough surface. So far, he was secure. No one was making a move up. Trent, however, was on his way down. Although he lacked the benefit of the headset, Jim could follow his progress from what he could hear. He was keeping Sandburg informed with a sporadic commentary.

They'd gone past five minutes. Sandburg had made some minimal contact. He'd given up shouting down the street, and was using the cell phone. It was risky, but Sandburg must have kept the communications open with Trent. Old pro that he was, Trent had clammed up, no doubt listening to the scraps of conversation. Jim's head ached, following sound from the phone, from Trent, and Narramore, all at the same time.

"No! Not good enough! We warned you!" Jim pulled away from the shout.

"Don't do it man! We can do a swap. I'll come in, if you let the civilians come out," Blair pleaded. The only answer was the dial tone. They'd broken contact.

Trent's voice crackled over the headset. "Right behind them. Five - count five - far to the front. First move, I'm going in."

Jim focused his sight through the last wisps of smoke. A young boy, maybe twelve, was standing by the door. It was happening again. Jim crouched. If Narramore did what he was supposed to do, Jim would make a break for the hostage.

Hostage and gunman stepped forward. Jim's sight faded to grey. He was focused on the sounds coming from the roof - the scrape of shoes, and the click of the rifle's safety.

"Come on, one more step," Narramore whispered, talking to himself.

Jim charged forward a half second before the rifle fired. Only the child mattered. The barrel of a gun swung into his vision, but he kept coming.

*****

It all moved in slow motion. Narramore had to take the shot, and there was no was to communicate with him. Huddled down in the front seat, Blair pumped the gas, eased the emergency brake off, and turned the wheels. His timing would need to be perfect. He tensed, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the rifle when it flashed.

There! He floored the engine, careening across the street, pointing the sedan towards the doorway.

******

Trent heard the familiar crack of the rifle, and cheered inwardly. He'd known Narramore wasn't convinced that he should act preemptively. He'd done his best to convince him, but they both knew it was the kind of move that could end your career, simulation be damned.

He bashed his foot against the door, flinging it open. He dove for the floor, trying to anticipate the direction of the first. The hostages were sitting on the floor in the closest corner, backs to the walls, where he'd expected them.

He was ready when the first gunman moved against him.

*****

Jim tackled the boy and rolled. The man in the fatigues crumpled, red spreading across the back of his neck and head. He was down.

"Go! Run!" He shouted at the boy, dragging him to his feet. Jim shoved him away, and turned back toward the building. The windows of the building shattered as a car, coming from nowhere as far as Jim was concerned, crashed into the panes. Jim ducked as some of the shards came flying his direction.

He came up staring down the barrel of an Uzi. He could have fired. Should have fired.

He didn't. He froze, trapped in the memory from another time and another place.

Trent watched from behind, unable to do a thing. If he turned to help, the two he had on the floor would be all over him. All Ellison had to do was fire. Jim couldn't have been five feet away from the Uzi, and he hadn't reacted.

"Ellison!" he shouted. "No!"

Three shots roared out. Jim waited for the impact, knowing in a detached way that he was already a dead man.

Instead, the man with the Uzi dropped away. Behind him, Sandburg kneeling on one knee, had fired the shots. He stared at his partner, horrified.

The shrill of whistles filled the air. The man with the Uzi, red dye smeared across his back, rolled and came up smiling. "Awesome job, guys," he said. "Can't wait to see the tape." He clapped Sandburg appreciatively on the back.

Blair didn't notice. Every ounce of color had drained out of Jim's face. He dropped the gun, and walked off, speaking to no one.

People were pouring into the wrecked room, some with yellow vests. Everyone was talking at once, congratulating them. Trent shook Blair out of his shock. He took the gun and the radio.

"Go," Trent said. "I'll keep the rest out of your hair. He needs you."

*****

"Jim! Jim! Cut it out, man." Jim was heading off into the middle of nowhere, oblivious to Blair's calls. He chased after his partner, finally breaking into a run. When he caught up to him, he jerked him around sharply. "What the hell are you doing? I don't care if it was just practice." Jim didn't react. Blair was on the edge of panic. He shoved Jim in the chest. "What is wrong with you? You're not shutting down on me, not this time!"

"Don't talk to me."

"Don't talk to you?" Blair was almost trembling in rage. "You can't be serious."

"I can't - can't -," Jim blurted out. He turned his back to his partner. "Don't."

To Blair, it was like looking through a camera lens that just wouldn't focus. He didn't understand. "Don't? What can't you do?" Jim started to stumble away, head bowed, and Blair pulled him back.

Jim was breathing heavily, as if he couldn't catch is breath. "I couldn't tell you - I need to quit the force. I've known, and I've tried to fix it. I just can't do it. After all you - how can I do this to you? Too much," he said shaking his head. "Just too much."

He walked away. Blair was too stunned to stop him.

******

The crowd had spilled into the street, crunching glass under their feet. The female hostage was making a joking complaint about lying all that time on the damp pavement. Narramore was watching a videotape of their successful exercise, being played back through the viewer on one of the cameras. The crowd parted as John arrived on the scene, smiling broadly.

"Congratulation," he said, reaching out to shake Trent's hand. "Excellent job. It looks like your team was our only successful response."

Trent stepped near, until he was close enough so that no one else could hear. "You son of a bitch," he growled. "Of all the dumb ass moves, this takes the cake. You're lucky I don't deck you."

John tried to defuse him. "Hey, we realize it's a little intense, but..."

"You're. Not. Listening. This little exercise of yours went too far." Galen Trent's eyes flashed with anger. He stepped forward, encroaching on John's personal space even further and meaning it. "You may have pushed a fine cop right over the edge. Use all this mumbo jumbo for something useful. Get Ellison's captain on the phone. Now! I need to talk to him."

******

Blair didn't think he could have stopped him, but the notorious northwest undergrowth finally brought Jim's wandering progress to a halt. He just ran out of room to walk. Blair came to a stop just behind him, their shoulders almost touching.

"Maybe you should just start from the beginning, Jim."

Jim looked around, up, anywhere but towards his partner's eyes. "I screwed up. It was a hostage - she nearly died because I screwed up."

"Hostage? What hostage? What on earth are you talking about?" Blair asked. "We haven't been on any hostage situations."

"You were at the academy," Jim said, looking away again. "Right before your exams."

Blair's face clouded with confusion as he searched his memory. "The bank thing? That was SWAT's operation." He stared at Jim, shifting slightly to stand in front of him. "You were there? You were there and you never told me? You didn't think I needed to know?"

Jim's shoulders slumped. "It wasn't like that. The Academy was hell for you. I knew all about the shit they were throwing at you, and I couldn't do anything about it. When it came up, you'd been through so much already. I just didn't want to add to your load. It wasn't general knowledge that Major Crime personnel were there. We - Simon and I - just never brought it up."

"I can't believe you did this. What the hell happened?"

Jim's look was pained. "I didn't - I thought I had a handle on it, and then I didn't. I'd see it over and over again, and just tell myself to concentrate and get it together, that I'd be okay. Now I can't make anything right." He ran a hand through his hair. Blair was shaking his head in disbelief, ready to burst. Jim answered him first, frustration clearly breaking through. "How was I supposed to tell you, huh? Was I really supposed to sit down to breakfast and say - oh, by the way, Sandburg, it's been nice, but I'm transferring to a desk. Or better yet, I'm resigning today. I'm sure you'll work it out. Find a new partner. Have a nice life after you already trashed your first one."

"I expect you to talk to me, not try to shield me like some incompetent child."

"You are the most competent man I know. I couldn't face letting you down again." He slumped into a crouch, his backed leaning against a tree.

Blair went down on a knee next to him. "Jim, didn't you ever think about what I'd do if we couldn't work together? Got injured, or took a promotion? Or God forbid, died in the line of duty? Died of anything, for that matter?"

"I'd never take a command that separated us," Jim said firmly, focusing on the one thing he could answer.

"Typical answer," Blair snorted. "You dweeb. It's not all under your control. You can't determine the outcome of every circumstance. You can't stop change from happening. So you're never going to advance in your career, never going to retire? You're ten years my senior. What are you gonna do, work until you're chasing the bad guys with a walker?"

"Don't joke, Sandburg. It's not funny." Jim smiled in spite of himself.

"My point is, even if you didn't think about those unpleasant possibilities, I did. I thought about all of it. You and Simon tossed me that badge, and my poor convoluted brain thought about everything, every possible twist and turn in the road. I chose, Jim, and despite what you think may think, it wasn't my only choice." Jim looked away. Blair slapped his knee to get his attention. "Don't you tune me out. I could have fought the University, sued the publisher, pleaded with you to clear my name. I played through a hundred different options, and I chose to join the force, knowing that it might not turn out perfectly. Yeah, sometimes it's a bitch, but so is every job. Take the good with the bad, man. Live life, in the now, all of it."

Jim didn't answer. His eyes flicked downward, studying the ground.

"God, you're a hardhead. Let's put that aside for now. Since now I know something happened, why don't you tell me about this hostage thing?"

Jim leaned his head back, his eyes sad. "We came in to support SWAT. Simon didn't like the way they were deployed. We though they might try a different exit, but no one was listening. They didn't have it well covered. We decided I should go up with a rifle to support one of the snipers."

"Shit. Jim, you're not a sniper. Having great eyesight is not the same as being a sniper. Simon should have known better. You should have known better."

Jim ignored that observation. "I don't know what happened. I had the shot, but - I don't know. I didn't take it. I should have taken it."

"I saw the news. SWAT blew it, and it was a mess. People got hurt, but no one died. How did this become your fault? You were the backup, not the primary."

"Don't you get it?" Jim lashed back angrily. "I was dialed in. I had the shot."

"You're impossible. A million other things could have gone wrong. SWAT would have gone ape if you'd fired before their guy did."

Jim shook his head. "I held back, made the wrong decision. Nothing will change that."

"Shit, Jim," Blair said impatiently. "None of us makes the right call every time."

"It wasn't just that I waited. When I did fire, I missed. I MISSED. Who's going to change that?"

Blair settled back on his heels. Obviously Jim wasn't looking at this rationally, but he needed more information before he could argue the point. "So other than the fact you've let this eat at you for months, why lose it in court?"

"Because the guy was right. My ability to make a judgment call is shot. That's why I need to quit."

Blair wanted to shake him. "Jim, the lawyer was an idiot. Your judgment is fine." Blair saw the eyes fade. Jim was sinking back into his own thoughts, and he couldn't reach him there. "Jim, would you look at me, please." Blair ached at the pain he saw reflected there. "I don't believe for one second that you've lost your nerve, but I'm not going to try to convince you right now. We can talk about that later. What's really important, is that it's not the disaster of the century. We'll survive. How could you let some misplaced sense of responsibility for my life make you believe any differently?"

"You gave up so much," Jim whispered, barely able to get the words out.

"And embraced so much more," Blair countered. He sighed as Jim shook his head, clearly rejecting that statement. "Jim, I'm not making light of how you feel. This is tearing you apart, and it kills me you've been dealing with this without someone to help, or at least talk to. You don't have to keep on keeping on for my sake. You're allowed to change, but you have to allow me to change along with you. You don't have to freeze things in place for all time to make it right."

"I don't believe that. You made a choice based on certain assumptions, and those involved me." All the energy seemed to drain away. He looked spent. "I'm so tired," he murmured.

Blair hesitantly reached out and gently massaged the bent neck. "Carrying the weight of the world will do that to you, my friend. How about if you share the load?"

Jim finally met his eyes. "It's a mess, Sandburg. I can't make it right."

"Let me provide the Ellison translation: you can't make it go away. That's a far cry from making it right."

Jim lowered his head, as if were too much effort to keep it up. "Okay," he said with a sigh. "We'll do it your way." Somehow, they both ended up sitting on the ground. Jim had drifted off, not quite in a zone, but not completely in the here and now either.

It started to rain. The steady beat of drops hitting the leaves blended with Jim's ragged breathing. There was nothing for Blair to do but wait.

*****

Galen Trent was not a man known for his patience. His session with John had gotten decidedly stormy before he'd seen the light. Unfortunately, by that time, Jim and Blair had melted away into the surrounding woods. He hoped to God Ellison was okay. The last time he'd seen a man with that look on his face, the poor soul had gone home and eaten his gun. Trent had never forgiven himself for not interceding in time.

The rest of the simulation team and the seminar participants had departed. John had other events planned, followed by a simulation debriefing later in the day. He'd been gracious enough when Trent had made it clear that he would stay behind to wait for the detectives from Cascade to reappear. He didn't quite get it, but John had left decent transportation and everything else Trent had asked for.

He'd started with Banks. Even over the phone, he liked the man. There was no mistaking that he was speaking to a kindred soul. Simon Banks was a good commander, who cared about his officers. He'd made no bones about the fact that Ellison hadn't been himself, that he'd been worried, and wasn't sure what the real problem was.

The first real glimmer had come when Trent had described the scenario, and Jim's reaction. Banks had gone completely silent.

"What?" Trent asked. "You know something."

No. Maybe. Was the hostage a woman, by any chance? We had an incident, I guess you'd call it, about five, six months ago. It wasn't our operation, but Jim and I were there, just to assist. I put Jim in a bad position. He said he was okay with it, but in light of what you've said, maybe I was wrong. Sandburg doesn't know.

"If you'll forgive me, Banks, those two seem pretty tight. Why keep Sandburg out of the loop?"

It's complicated. Sandburg was at the Academy - all I can say is that it was Ellison's choice, and until now I didn't see any reason to second-guess him.

"If my opinion counts for anything, you do now. If this had been a live situation, you would be dusting off your dress uniform for the funeral."

Do I need to pull Ellison out?

"He and Sandburg are wandering around somewhere. Unless he's likely to confide in anyone other than his partner, I'd leave him here. I think he'll feel an obligation to stay and finish out the seminar. If you bring him back, you might get his shield and gun on your desk, and that will be it."

You'll keep me informed if your opinion changes?

"Yes." Trent scanned the surrounding area. There was still no sign of the lost sheep returning to the fold. He might have to go looking. "I'll be in touch. If I were you, I'd do some more digging and take a fresh look at the whole hostage incident. Whatever happened has blown Ellison's confidence, even if he's managed to cover it until now."

*****

The rain had stopped. They were sheltered under the tree, but Blair could still feel the damp crawling against his skin. Jim shifted ever so slightly.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself," Jim answered. "Kind of a lousy place to wait, I guess." He looked up, and Blair was relieved to see the eyes clear and alert.

"I don't think you were exactly following a guidebook to get here," Blair said gently. "I was just along to take in the scenery."

"Suppose we should go back, huh?"

"Probably. We may be walking all the way to Olympia. I can't see anyone waiting around for us. I hope you know the way back, because I didn't have any bread crumbs."

"Bread crumbs," Jim scoffed. "Let's see John add that to one of his scenarios."

They headed back, but it started to rain again, not hard, but steadily. After ten minutes walking in the open, they were thoroughly soaked. It wasn't that cold, but it was damp and unpleasant. Jim was quiet, but he didn't seem burdened to the point of despair. For the moment, Blair decided that was progress.

As it turned out, transportation came to them, in the form of Galen Trent. About halfway back they found him camped out with an SUV, a thermos of coffee and an interesting array of communications gear. As soon as he spotted them, he started pouring a cup for each of them.

"I booted the rest of them back to Olympia. You guys ready?"

Jim accepted the coffee gratefully. "I owe you an apology," he said in a low voice. "I lost it."

"Not without cause, apparently," Trent answered. "We can talk about that later. For the moment, just get in the rig, and we'll see if we can get the two of you dried off a bit."

Jim settled into the front seat, while Blair lounged in the back. Trent cranked the heat up, and took the winding dirt roads at a slow pace, heading back to Olympia. He seemed content to take his time. Blair had a feeling Jim was in no hurry to get anywhere either. Wherever they ended up, it would just bring the inevitable moment of truth a bit closer.

Long before they got to the main roads, Trent pulled off to the shoulder and stopped the car.

"Well, at least you two aren't freezing any more, so we can talk for a minute." He looked sternly at Jim. "I have your Captain's blessing. As a matter of fact, I'm supposed to tell you to shut up and listen. That's a direct quote." Jim had the decency to look a bit sheepish.

"Good. I'm glad I don't have to argue with you over every little thing," Trent said. "After I got tired of chewing John's ass, I called your captain. He was pretty worried."

"You shouldn't have done that," Jim said in a flat voice.

"Banks is a fellow commander. If one of my people is in trouble, I want to know about it. I couldn't not call him. Banks is a good man. He's not going to act precipitously. He'll do the right thing."

"And just what is the 'right thing', as you put it?" Jim asked angrily. "Who gave you the right to meddle?"

"Jim, cut the attitude," Blair said, peering over the front seat. "The man's trying to help. Do you really think I wouldn't have called Simon the moment we got back into town?"

Jim's eyes glittered angrily. "Since when does my life become a community event? Damn you all." He made a move to get out of the car.

Trent flicked the locks. "Don't get any bright ideas about taking off there, Ellison."

Jim twisted in the seat, ready to take the confrontation to a new level. Blair caught him by the wrist firmly. "Stop, Jim. Stop it right now."

Jim slumped back in the seat. His anger had evaporated, replaced by despair again. Blair almost imagined he could see the light fading from his friend's eyes. Blair cautiously released his hold, hoping Jim wouldn't explode again.

"You're absolutely right about one thing, Jim," Trent said. "I don't have any authority over you. What I do have is a lifetime of been there, done that, for what it's worth. You have only a couple of choices. You can come back to the seminar, finish it out. You can hightail it back to Cascade and sit at home for awhile, because I guarantee that Banks isn't going to put you back on the street. He won't take the risk of getting you killed when your head isn't on straight. Your other choice is to turn in your badge and walk away. I'm driving you back to Olympia, no matter what you pick, so sit back and enjoy the drive."

Jim didn't answer. He faced forward and retreated into himself. Blair figured it wasn't time to push, at least not yet. Trent started the drive back to Olympia. Before long, Jim was dozing again. Blair took it as another sign of how truly distraught his partner was at this point.

Blair leaned forward, hoping to speak without rousing Jim. "Thanks, Trent," he said. "Thanks for staying, and trying to help. I've been really worried about him."

"Sorry, my friend, but I think you're the one who still has the heavy lifting. He's not out of the woods yet."

"Still, I'm grateful. You didn't have to get involved."

Trent glanced in the rear view mirror. "Son, Jim Ellison isn't the only one who believes he's responsible for every damn thing that happens." He sighed, and looked at the man in the seat next to him. "I lost one in my command once, blew it big time. I thought I was respecting his rights as an individual, and tried to stay out of it. He took his own life. Jim reminds me a lot of him. This is my way of trying to make it right."

"Jim wouldn't do that."

"I didn't think Pete would either. He's still just as dead. I put flowers on his grave every year, and call his wife and kids, for all the good it does."

It was a long trip back to Olympia.

*******

 

Simon Banks watched the usual bustle of his bull pen. If Jim had some decisions to make, so did he. He silently cursed himself. Jim was the best cop he'd ever worked with, and with Sandburg, he was better. He'd allowed their combined abilities cloud his judgment.

Looking back, he should have known. Jim wasn't an open book, but the signs had been there. He'd chosen not to press the issue, because his best team was still his best team. It had been so easy to attribute everything to the blowup over the dissertation, Sandburg's struggles at the Academy, the adjustment when he came back to Major Crime full time.

Now that complacency was coming home to roost.

He looked at his desk, covered with schedules, budget proposals, overtime reports and case files. Like always, he was buried in the daily routine, putting the immediate before the important. It was so damn easy to do.

Galen Trent might be a voice out of the blue, but he was right. The whole hostage incident needed a new look. Unfortunately, Major Crime wasn't going to run itself, especially when he had one essential team suddenly camped out in Olympia on the verge of disintegration.

Time wasn't the only issue. He couldn't just show up in SWAT headquarters demanding answers. When the captain of another department showed up asking questions, it wasn't a ripple, it was a tidal wave. People clammed up. He needed some help with the legwork, someone who wouldn't ring enough bells to sound like a five alarm fire. Someone with discretion. Someone he could trust.

*****

A message was waiting for them at the room, informing them of the location of the afternoon session. Casual dress was specified. Apparently the remainder of the day would be spent touring public sites around Olympia to assess security concerns.

Jim read the message, dropped it on the table, and walked into his room, shutting the door behind him. Blair didn't need a translator to get the gist of that message. It came through loud and clear - leave me alone.

Blair considered his options. He could push the issue, and try to get Jim to talk to him. Unfortunately, on top of everything else, Blair knew Jim was profoundly embarrassed. An embarrassed Ellison was an angry Ellison. He would probably only make matters worse by trying to prod Jim right now.

That left more pragmatic considerations. Blair found the car keys and left a note that he'd be gone a couple of hours. It was a gamble, but he didn't think Jim would take off without him. He'd make a grocery run, and get gas in the car, just in case Jim decided to go back to Cascade. He quickly flipped through the phone book and located some addresses he needed. If he had to, he could sweet talk his way into the Olympia Police Department and use their computers to access the information he wanted. Jim might not want to discuss the details, but that didn't mean his partner was going to stay in the dark.

******

"Very good," John said, returning the files to the young man standing in front of him. "All the arrangements for this afternoon are complete?"

"Yes, sir. I'm just going to double check the ground transportation right now."

"Excellent. You did an exemplary job this morning at the simulations. Your teams are to be commended."

"Thank you, sir." The man started to leave, but then halted. "Excuse me, sir. Is there anything we should do about - uh, about the guys who left?"

"No. I'll handle that situation personally. Thank you for asking. Please see that I'm not disturbed. Until this afternoon, please carry on as planned."

"Yes, sir."

John waited until he was alone before opening his laptop and accessing his computer in DC. Such an intriguing turn of events deserved a little additional research. He couldn't have been more surprised when Ellison's name had surfaced on the seminar list, sent as a last minute substitution. He should have known to do some checking immediately.

He spent the next hour in quiet study. It had been so long ago that he'd watched Captain Ellison debriefed after the Peru fiasco. Their best interrogators had a go at him then, all on friendly terms of course, but they'd never really figured it out. Captain James Ellison, Army Rangers, left the army with a reputation for outstanding achievement, inspired leadership, and a lot of unanswered questions. Now, years later, Detective Jim Ellison was apparently cut from the same cloth. Twice named Officer of the Year, an astounding solve rate, and a lot more of those unanswered questions. And then less than a year ago, more strange allegations involving Sandburg. If only he had more time to follow that line of inquiry. His curiosity was well and truly piqued.

Obviously, he should have paid more attention when Ellison's name had come up the last time, when Oliver met his demise. At the time, it seemed little more than an unusual coincidence. It had been nearly ten years since Ellison had first come across his radar screen. How odd that their paths seemed to cross repeatedly.

John leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. Maybe it was time to do more than just observe James J. Ellison from a distance.

*****

"Hey, Jim!" Blair called out, fumbling with the keys as he maneuvered into their suite. The sound of the shower answered his question. Actually, a shower sounded like a pretty good idea, now that he thought about it.

Blair unpacked his bags. His last stop had been to bring back lunch. Coffee, roast beef sandwiches, macaroni salad, potato chips, and chocolate brownies appeared on the table. This was Jim-food. Now matter how upset he was, Blair could be pretty confident that Jim would be tempted to eat this stuff. If Jim had decided to bag the seminar, they could just take it with them, or hit the road as soon as they'd eaten.

Jim emerged from the steamy bathroom looking more relaxed, but still tired. He was wearing jeans with a sweater. "Is that lunch I smell?" he asked.

Blair laughed, hoping this was an indication Jim would be a little more communicative. "Of course it's our lunch you smell. It's not as if I can sneak it past you and eat it all myself. I found a great deli down the street."

"That's not the only place you went, Chief."

"No, it's not," Blair answered as calmly as he could. There was no point in trying to lie. Jim would know, and it would just make things worse. "I went down to City Hall, flashed my badge and borrowed their computers for awhile." He got the reaction from Jim he expected - a frown. "After all this time together, you shouldn't be surprised. If you won't tell me about what happened, I'll find another way."

"Okay. I'll accept the inevitable, even if I don't like it." Jim sat down at the table. "Do we have mustard? Wow, chips!"

"Of course we have mustard. Two kinds. Would I let you down?" He watched Jim's eyes sadden, obviously taking the reference in another direction. "Jim, I can tell what you're thinking. You haven't let me down either. Get that thought out of your head."

"I wasn't going to discuss this," Jim said. The air of good humor had evaporated.

"Kind of like ignoring the elephant in the corner, isn't it?" Blair asked. He handed Jim his sandwich. "I got extra cheese for you. I thought you deserved it."

Jim fiddled with the plastic wrap on the sandwich. "I think we should stay. Finish the seminar."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, although I hate the thought of everyone knowing I'm a head case."

"I don't think anyone really realized except for Trent, if that makes you feel better," Blair said, trying to reassure his friend. Jim seemed to accept that, and they both dug in to their meals. "Did you know the hostage thing had an IA review?" Blair asked.

Jim looked genuinely stunned. "No, not at all. How did you find that out?"

"File was flagged when I went digging."

"You mean hacking," Jim said, his voice laced with disapproval. The two men weren't in total agreement about the ethics of computer access.

Blair shrugged. "I told you, I'll get what I want one way or another. I didn't want to risk getting caught trying to get into IA stuff, so I thought I'd ask you first."

"News to me. You're sure it wasn't just the normal review that happens whenever a suspect is fired upon?"

Blair shook his head. "The normal stuff is there, too. This was definitely a separate investigation."

"They didn't talk to me." Blair could see the wheels turning. "That seems really weird, since I was one of the guys who actually took a shot. I wonder if Simon knows."

"I plan to ask him at the first possible moment," Blair said. "To be more correct, I'll ask him after I get done yelling at him for sending you up there with a rifle in the first place, and then not telling me about it."

"Simon did what I asked him to do, Chief."

"Then I'll yell at you first, and yell at him second. Same difference to me."

Jim munched on a potato chip. "I guess that means the elephant isn't in the corner anymore. Do you think we could have this discussion tonight?"

"Does that mean you're agreeing to talk about it tonight?"

"I guess. Right now, just getting through the day seems like a big priority. Trent called while you were gone. Apparently we're going on field trips all over Olympia. You have enough time to shower if you hurry."

"I'll accept that brush off, because a hot shower sounds like nirvana. Just get this straight, Jim, you're not off the hook."

Jim nodded. Blair figured that was good enough for the moment, and headed for the bathroom.

*****

The air blowing in from the Sound was chill, and a steady drizzle added to the damp. What a wonderful way to enjoy the typical spring weather in the Northwest. Jim noticed that Blair pulled his coat tighter. He'd tried to talk him into the loan of a sweater before they left, but Blair had turned it down. Now he was probably chilled to the bone.

This was their third stop of the afternoon. They'd been divided into teams of two, and given a problem to solve at each site. They were gathered in a tight group around John, supposedly listening to him describe their next task. "Sorry about the weather, but it actually works to our advantage," John said with a smile, not looking the least bit sorry. "How many times have security plans been developed with too little time, too little information, under lousy conditions?" A low swell of grumbling made the answer to that question obvious.

"Here's your situation. In two days, this will be the site of a park dedication." John started to point around the area. "Speakers dais over there, dignitary seating, a couple hundred elementary children who will be singing Washington, My Home, which in case you don't know, is the state song . The governor will be here, and representatives from the federal government, and major media coverage. Assume there's been a threat made, vague, but credible. You've been called in to provide security in light of the threat. The powers that be have already decided the event can't be canceled. I'll give you two minutes to ask questions, and then twenty eight minutes to develop a plan. You've got it all - parking, adjustments to the layout and seating, security screening. Ceremony starts at two, expected to last about an hour. Design a plan for what you'd want, and a plan for what you're going to get, which is about five officers for half a shift. More if you plead, and promise your firstborn child. Questions?"

"How long will traffic be re-routed, and where?"

"Up to you," John answered crisply.

"Estimated crowd?"

"Don't know."

"Access to the site?" someone else asked.

"You decide. All the teams have maps." John's watch beeped. "Question time's over. Clock's running." The group dispersed.

"Shit, this is worse than the last one," Blair said. "Not to mention that the damp is freezing my brain or something."

"I pity the person who'd have to do this for real," Jim said, shaking his head.

"Okay, crowd," Blair said, his brow furrowed. "We've got elementary kids, otherwise known as chaos on the hoof. That means we have school buses, and parents to watch every kid."

Jim studied his map. "We'll have to arrange a drop off route and park the buses way over here. Since there's been a threat, I'd put the kids way off to the side, try to keep them out of harm's way if something goes down. Contact the schools and ask them to send extra chaperones or something."

"Yeah," Blair agreed. "And send every school maps of where they're loading, unloading, sitting - the works. We should have someone on-site with extra copies for drivers and teachers if someone gets mixed up."

"Whoever it is, they can't do anything else. That eats up one of the five officers right there. If the schools have DARE or resource officers, maybe we could request they attend."

"Good thought," said Blair.

"We need an emergency evacuation plan, too." Jim was studying the map again. "God, what a nightmare. There must be six or seven ways to get in here, and that doesn't count just hiking in over open ground."

Blair looked over his shoulder. "What about restricting access to a couple of roads, and getting a parking plan published in the paper?" Jim nodded, and he wrote it down. "How in the world would we screen for a weapon, or a bomb?"

"Check the site the morning of, for a start." Jim shook his head. "Damn, it's impossible. We've got woods, which would be a perfect hiding place. Then there's the water. Someone could drive up with a damn boat and lob in a grenade."

Blair kept madly scribbling on their shared yellow pad, trying to keep up. Their allotted time disappeared, and before they knew it, John was calling them back. Clustered together in the rain, John gave them a few minutes to organize, and then they were supposed to present their plan to the group, followed by question and answer sessions. Everyone was getting pretty surly, so the Q and A's at the last two sites had been brutal. A couple had descended into shouting matches. No one was cutting their fellow participants any slack.

This would normally be the kind of thing Jim handled, but this time he shook his head. "Go for it, Chief. I'll chime in if you need me." Blair wasn't too happy with that. "Come on, Sandburg," Jim coaxed. "If you can bluff a hundred or so freshmen, you can bluff anyone." After a moment, seeing Blair was unconvinced, he added, "I can't handle another one, okay?"

Blair's eyes softened and he nodded. Jim felt another wave of guilt. Was it possible for Jim Ellison to miss any opportunity to take advantage of his partner?

After listening to a few groups rattle through their hasty preparations, Blair whispered, "I can do at least that well. Even we thought of that." When it was their turn, with one last glance at Jim, he moved to the front and let fly. Jim remained in the back, standing a bit off to the side. He was bone tired, and sick at heart. It was rotten to put Sandburg on the spot, but he'd like as not decapitate someone if he had to go through another grilling. This day couldn't be over soon enough. He was dreading the evening even more. He'd given his word - he needed to come clean with Sandburg, about everything.

Jim tried to focus all his attention on his partner. Blair was doing a great job. They'd thought of several things that hadn't been considered by other groups, which was good. Maybe the questions at the end wouldn't be so tough.

A low voice next to him interrupted his thoughts. "For one so new to active duty, your Detective Sandburg has quite a bit of polish, Captain."

Jim narrowed his eyes, and stared warily at John. The guy hadn't drifted over to stand beside him by accident. "I haven't been a Captain for a long time. So what's your rank now, John?"

John wasn't looking at him. He was watching Sandburg instead. "In my line of work, rank is just an annoyance. As I said, Jim, a very impressive young man. I'd like to know him better."

Jim could feel every hair on the back of his neck rise. He had a momentary flash - Fort Benning, talking about Peru, repeating over and over that he couldn't remember. He felt more than saw an image of John's face, a much younger John. Then it was gone, lost, beyond his reach, except for the certainty that he wanted to keep Sandburg away from this man.

"Sandburg is none of your concern," Jim snapped, barely restraining himself.

"I don't know," John said with a slight smile. "Good mind, fine education, fresh ideas. Maybe I should offer him a job."

He was gone before Jim could utter another word.

******

Joel Taggart smiled easily. Running the Bomb Squad for all those years put him in contact with plenty of SWAT personnel. He'd known Philip Janders, currently second in command at SWAT, for a long time. They weren't friends really, but they'd always gotten along well. Philip hadn't batted an eyelash when asked to spend part of his afternoon shooting the breeze.

Even though he spent most of his time in Major Crime now, the Bomb Squad consulted with Joel regularly. If they needed to update training procedures, buy new equipment, realign personnel, Joel was usually called in. His replacement respected his experience. Since the Bomb Squad and SWAT were often called the same incidents, it hadn't been hard to set up a meeting, ostensibly to review coordination protocols.

It took almost an hour of skillful maneuvering to bring the conversation with Janders to the desired destination - reviewing operations during the past year that had involved other departments.

"How about this one, Phil?" Joel asked flipping open the one file he really cared about. "Good Lord, we had everyone in on this one. Was coordination a problem?

Janders shook his head. "Oh, man, I remember this one. It was a mess from the first moment. Are we talking just between us here, Joel?"

"If that's the way you want it," Joel answered calmly.

"Things were pretty rocky right about then." He noticed Joel's puzzled expression. "It wasn't general knowledge, but Captain Hollace was sick for a long time before he admitted it and took medical leave. He'd been taking a lot of time off, things were pretty slipshod. Hollace didn't want to accept he wasn't up to the job, and wouldn't specify who should take charge if he was gone or just not available. We had a lot of infighting going on."

"That's crazy," Joel said, his brow furrowed. "Every department is supposed to have an emergency chain of command."

"Of course they are, but whenever someone had to take over, Hollace would ream him out when he came back. Some real critical guys got frustrated and transferred out, and Hollace never reorganized, if you get my drift. We'd slacked off on training, shifts were screwed up. It really showed on that particular incident."

"What really happened?"

"Ah, shit, Joel. What didn't? Like I said, the shifts were screwed up, and we didn't have a full complement on. Hollace, when he wasn't so sick, was always careful about his balance of old hands with young guys. That day we were lacking experienced personnel, the equipment either wasn't ready or wasn't available. I was off duty, but one of our kids realized they were over their heads and called me. I was the one who told him to call for assistance from other departments, but no one was organized enough to use them correctly when they got there. It went badly because we handled it badly."

"Phil, if that's true, there should have been a major blowup. If there was, I didn't hear about it."

"We still off the record, Joel?" Janders didn't say a word until he got a slow nod from Joel. "Hollace covered it up. I think they call it creative writing when you take it in college."

There was a long silence. "Phil, that's one hell of a revelation. You can't sit on something like that," Joel said. "Lives are at stake, both ours and the general public."

"Who says I am? It's been months, but Hollace is on leave, right? There haven't been any more total disasters. We're back on track, or at least we're getting there."

Joel toyed with his coffee mug. "There's something you're not telling me."

"Anything else I can't discuss, if you know what I mean."

For the sake of propriety, they went through the motions of discussing a few more incidents. Joel thanked Janders for the coffee and his time. The bull pen in Major Crime was virtually deserted when he walked into Simon's office and shut the door. With just the two of them there, Simon didn't beat around the bush.

"What did you find out?"

"Plenty, right up till when he said 'I can't talk about that'. What can't you discuss at a police department?" Joel asked.

"Undercover," Simon answered automatically. His frown deepened, and after a moment's pause he added, "Damn, IA. If IA has it, no one knows anything. Now how are we going to work around that one?"

*****

Jim's hoped-for escape didn't materialize. Instead of releasing them to their own transportation, John hauled the seminar participants, soggy clothes and all, to a lodge out on the Sound. It was a rustic site, apparently used for conferences and retreats. Broad decks wrapped around the imposing log structures. In better weather, they would have probably been outside, enjoying a barbecue or something. Instead, they were lead to a common room with comfortable furniture oriented around a large circular fireplace. In deference to the damp weather, the flames were already leaping high.

Blair didn't miss a beat. Dragging Jim behind him, he snagged a loveseat close the fireplace and dropped into the upholstery. He immediately propped his wet boots up on the stone hearth, soaking in the warmth.

"Oh, man. This feels great. I'm sick of hiking around in the drizzle. Isn't spring supposed to be warm?

"You're forgetting where you are, Chief," Jim said with his only chuckle of the day. "Spring is warm in Florida. Spring is warm in Arizona. Spring anywhere north of the California border is wet, with no guarantees as to temperature."

Others followed Blair's example and pulled various furniture up closer to the fire. Cheese, crackers and other snacks miraculously appeared. Two men Jim recognized from earlier circulated, taking their order for drinks. Jim opted for a beer; Blair chose an Irish coffee. Quiet conversation swirled around them. Some of the hostility that had marked the sessions earlier in the day seemed to dissipate.

John broke in to announce that dinner would be served in half an hour, and that it would be a working session. Their goal was to produce guidelines for developing security plans under a tight timeline. His hope was to have them back at their hotels by nine.

Jim groaned. "Shit. No doubt we'll have to rehash every dumb move made today."

"Relax, Jim. Don't get worked up over nothing." Blair followed his partner's gaze across the room. "Did John say something to you to get under your skin? You've been watching him like he was an axe murderer most of the afternoon."

"It's nothing. I was just ready to call it a night, that's all."

Blair wrapped his fingers around his coffee, enjoying the warmth that radiated through its smooth sides. He recognized 'it's nothing' as the usual code words for 'don't ask'. "Are we still going to have a chance to talk?" he asked in a low voice.

"Didn't think you'd let me off the hook for that one." Jim answered.

"Don't make it like that, Jim. I'm worried about you, not running an inquisition." Blair watched the room for a few minutes, allowing his mind to wander. Small groups were clustered around the room. Most people were deep in their own conversations.

Jim finished his beer and helped himself to some cheese and other goodies. Blair passed on teasing him. Jim had the kind of metabolism that allowed him to pretty much eat anything. Besides, he knew from experience that stress generally upped his friend's calorie requirements. It didn't take a genius to realize that only Jim's stubborn pride had kept him going through the afternoon. They really needed to be off somewhere by themselves, sorting things out, rather than trying to solve the problems of the universe.

"You want to call Simon when we get out of here?" Blair asked. "Or will it be too late?"

"About the IA thing?" Jim asked. Blair nodded. "I don't think he knows, but we can call. Simon's kind of a night owl since the divorce. Do you really think it's necessary? I don't think I'm ready to talk to Simon yet."

"You don't have to talk to him," Blair pointed out. "I want to talk to him." He would have elaborated, but the group was called to dinner.

Rather than seating them in small groups, John had the tables so they formed a large hollow rectangle. There was nowhere to retire out of the limelight. Writing materials were laid out on a nearby table, so John apparently wasn't kidding about it being a working dinner. Jim, still thinking about their earlier conversation, slid into a corner chair as far from John as he could get. Blair was just getting settled next to him when Galen Trent slid into the corner chair next to Jim. Blair greeted him with a certain amount of relief. At least Jim would be bracketed with people he was comfortable with until they could get out of here.

*****

Simon pulled the blinds on his office, the universal signal for everyone in Major Crime that it was time to stay out of the boss's office. He and Joel pulled chairs up to the small conference table.

"IA," muttered Simon. "I haven't heard a whisper about this. Have any idea what they're poking around for?"

"I can't be sure," Joel answered. "Apparently Captain Hollace wasn't really up to the command before he finally took sick leave. That could be one possibility. You don't have to own a real active imagination to know lots of things can go wrong on a rudderless ship."

"What else?" Simon asked grimly.

"It could be something specific to the hostage thing. Phil Janders pretty much said they blew it - personnel was assigned improperly, something about equipment. Whoever rolled on the incident knew they were in trouble, called Janders, and he told them to put the call out for reinforcements."

"Which is how Simon Banks and Jim Ellison end up in this fiasco in the first place." Simon shook his head. "I can see how that would spark an internal review, but it's a big jump to IA."

"Janders implied there was more, and that it was part of the reason Captain Hollace went on leave."

Simon considered that statement, thinking out loud. "Hollace isn't at the scene. The only contact he has with the incident is after the fact, during the formal report stage." He scowled. "So what was in the report that rung IA's bell?"

"My thought exactly," said Joel. "Everyone has incidents that go wrong. IA gets involved when you violate procedure, or try to cover it up. Janders made a comment about creative writing."

"So something goes in the report that isn't up to snuff, and IA takes more than a passing glance," Simon speculated. "Next question is, what did Hollace try to slide by them that IA caught?"

Joel shook his head. "No, Simon. Who are we going to ask? That's the next question."

*****

The session was winding down, and none to soon. Jim was having a tough time.