Jim Ellison had a headache and his back hurt. Actually the headache was probably due to the backache and the knowledge of what caused the backache -- which was that Jim Ellison was getting old. Too old to be chasing and tackling perps half his age -- half his age! -- without feeling the consequences thereof. Dammit. To add insult to injury, his partner was at the shooting range all morning, which left Jim stuck doing all the paperwork. Life just sucked sometimes. The ding of the elevator and the sound of an achingly familiar heartbeat suddenly lessened Jim's headache. He looked up and smiled when he saw his partner bounce off the elevator and head his way. Blair's hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and his eyes were sparkling as he made his way through the bullpen to Jim's desk. His jacket was tossed on the coat tree and Blair moved behind Jim to begin rubbing his shoulders and his upper back. "Hey, man. How's the back?" "Better now," Jim groaned, leaning back into the massage. He tossed his pen onto the stack of forms and closed his eyes. "I'm giving you just three hours to quit that." Blair chuckled. "Well, if you would stop it with the Superman stuff, this wouldn't happen." Megan, sitting two desks over, chuckled. She'd borne the brunt of Ellison's bad mood that morning and no doubt felt entitled to gloat. Jim couldn't care less, as long as those long, strong fingers kept digging into his aching muscles. "How'd practice go?" Jim asked, his voice muffled as his head nearly met his chest. "Pretty good," Blair replied. "Sixty-seven percent in the gold, four near bulls. I'm getting the hang of it, I think. Never thought I would, but it's really not bad." "Sounds like Sandy's giving you a run for your money there, Jimbo," Megan said, grinning. "You ready to lose your top gun status?" "As if, Megan," Blair laughed back. With a last firm swipe, Blair stopped his rubbing and leaned against the desk. "But I'm going to have some fun trying to keep up." "As long as it's anybody but you, Connor," Jim said, blowing her a kiss. "Ohh... better watch that stuff, Jimbo," Megan laughed. "Unless you really want a run for your money." "Yeah, yeah," Jim replied, trying to stretch carefully. "What I'd really like is to lose the prize for top paperwork writer." "Aw, poor Jimmy, stuck with all the paperwork," Blair said, grinning. He picked up one of the Beanie Baby pigs that adorned Jim's desk -- no matter how often Jim cleaned them off they kept mysteriously coming back -- and fiddled with the little cape it still wore. "Even Superman has to do paperwork, my man. Right, Superpig?" He laid the pig on his shoulder and gave Jim an eyebrow wiggle. Despite himself, Jim laughed. "Chief, you're weird. Why don't you quit fooling around and give me a hand with all this crap?" "I'd rather give you a hand with something else," Blair replied, sotto voce. Jim shivered a little at the smoky tone in his voice, then rolled his eyes. "Especially since the idea of a Jim Ellison flat on his back and helpless before me has such appeal." "You keep that up, Chief," Jim replied, his soft voice half aroused and half amused, "and I'm going to end up hurting my back even more." "Promises, promises," Blair said, laughing. He moved away from the edge of the desk, getting ready to sit in his usual chair, but was interrupted by a bellow from Simon. "Ellison! Get down to Evidence," Simon yelled from his doorway. "They need your signature on something you apparently forgot last night. Oh, hi, Sandburg," he added as an afterthought. "Aw, shit," Jim said, once again tossing the pen he had just picked up. "I'm never going to get this stuff done," he muttered. He rubbed his forehead against the returning headache and grimaced. "Stay here," Blair said softly. "I'll go down. I sign your name better than you do anyway. It'll give me a chance to say hi to Lindsey and see how the baby's coming along." Looking gratefully up at his partner, Jim reached out and squeezed his hand under the cover of the desk. "You sure?" "Yeah. I can see the pounding from here. You work on that paperwork, and when I get back we'll finish it. Then we can get out of here a few minutes early, maybe." Blair dropped him a wink and grinned as he walked away. Feeling better, Jim watched him go, trying not to ogle the firm butt walking away. As Blair reached the elevator he met Brown getting off, and they traded insults and hand slaps before Blair got on and the doors closed behind him. With a sigh, Jim turned back to the mountain of paperwork, grimly determined to get through it as quickly as possible. The soft chime of his computer announcing incoming mail made Simon look up and realize it was beginning to get dark. A glance out the window confirmed that there were clouds coming up, hiding the setting sun and threatening rain -- yet again. Reading his email, he saw it was another form for Sandburg to fill out on his quest to join the ranks of the Cascade police -- now wasn't that a funny picture, Sandburg an official cop. He'd have to stop using that old excuse, and Simon wondered if he even could. He chuckled and looked up. Sandburg was here, he'd seen him with Jim a while ago. But there was no sign of him in the bullpen at the moment. Standing and stretching the kinks out, Simon walked to the door and called for Ellison. "Hey, Jim, where's your better half?" he asked, smirking slightly when Jim -- buried hip-deep in paperwork -- looked up and gave him a grimace. "Ah..." Jim looked around, confused. "He went down to Evidence for me," he said slowly. "Shit. When was that?" "Huh?" Simon thought back. Oh, yeah. "That was a while ago. He's not back yet? Or did he go home?" "No, he's riding with me," Jim said, frowning. "How long ago did he go down? Where is he? Shit, Simon..." "Calm down, cowboy," Simon chuckled, walking across the bullpen to Jim's desk. Ever since the last kidnapping, Jim had been on edge... and even now, Jim was standing, looking for all the world like a dog at point. Simon could almost see his nose twitching. "He probably got stopped by someone and is BS-ing them. You know Sandburg." He turned towards his secretary. "Rhonda! Page Sandburg to call up here for me, would you, please." As Rhonda's amplified voice came over the PA, Simon turned to Ellison. "This can't be happening, not again," Jim was muttering, nearly bouncing in place. "Jim..." Simon gave him a puzzled look. "Stop with the nerves, okay? He's in a police station. What could possibly happen to him in a police station?" Jim gave him an incredulous stare, and Simon backpedaled. "Okay, never mind, forget I said that. Call his cell. He's got it with him, right?" With unsteady fingers, Jim grabbed the phone and dialed. Shortly, he turned the phone out so Simon could hear the recording, "...is out of range or has their phone turned off. Please try again later." "It was on, Simon. He called me from the range." Jim's voice was controlled but soft, and the panic in his eyes gave Simon pause. "Jim, it's okay." Glancing around, Simon asked the group in general, "Anyone remember when Sandburg left the bullpen?" "Sandburg?" Brown looked up and frowned. "He got on the elevator as I got off, coming back into the office. That was -- let me check the logs." He did, then looked up, frowning. "Damn. That was three-fifteen -- over an hour ago." Simon and Jim blinked at the detective for a moment, then Simon grabbed Jim's phone and dialed the number for Evidence. "Captain Banks here. Is my man Sandburg still down there? -- No? When did he leave? -- What? No, he went down for Ellison, over an hour ago. -- What?! -- No, you called me. For Ellison to come down and sign for something." Simon's frown grew thunderous. He could tell Jim was listening in to both ends of the conversation, as the man's face drained of all color. "No, I already paged him!" Abruptly, Simon slammed the phone down. After only a moment, he picked it back up, dialing quickly. "This is Captain Banks. Order a lock-down, possible intruder alert. Right now. And put out an APB on Blair Sandburg, missing from the station." Throwing the phone on its cradle, he looked around at his staff. "Brown, Connor, you're with us -- take the elevator, we'll take the stairs. Rafe, Thomas, up to the roof. We're headed down to Evidence." The sirens went off as they hit the stairs, and Simon could hear the PA issuing orders. He had a hard time keeping up with Jim, who was flying down the stairs so fast that if he slipped, he'd break his neck. Somehow they made it all the way down without injury and slammed out into the lower level corridor, headed towards Evidence. Lindsey Freeman was in charge of evidence lock-up; she looked up as they came charging around the corner and swallowed hard. "Captain Banks..." she started. Simon held up his hand to cut her off. "I got a call at about 3:15 from someone in Evidence... not you, Freeman... asking for Ellison. Something about needing his signature, that he'd forgotten it last night. Does that ring any bells?" "Captain, I'm the only one here today," she said, rubbing her swollen belly nervously. "Eddie and Sharon are out sick -- that bug that's going around. And, like I told you over the phone, I didn't call Detective Ellison." "Both your backups are out sick?" Jim demanded. She nodded. "I'm taking frequent bathroom breaks too, you know how it is. It's been kinda difficult today." She looked between the two men. "But I haven't seen Blair. Honest." Footsteps behind them made Jim and Simon turn -- it was Connor and Brown, coming down the hall from the elevators. "Nothing, sir," Connor said, giving Jim a sympathetic look. "I can't believe this could be happening again..." "Jim." Brown turned aside and leaned down, looking at something on the floor. "This was on Blair's shoulder when he got on the elevator." It was the Beanie Baby pig with the red cape. Jim swallowed hard. "Brown's right," was all he said. "All right, Brown, lock down this area. Freeman, don't touch anything. Connor, get Forensics down here to dust. Jim, you're with me -- we're going up to Monitoring Control." In the elevator, Simon reached out to Jim, who was standing stiffly, clenching his jaw. "I smelled him, Simon," Jim said, not looking at Simon. "As soon as I got down there. I could smell him. And gas too." "Gas?" Simon frowned. "You mean, like knock-out gas?" "Yeah. Faint, but there." "Jesus. Come on, let's go." The elevator stopped, and they ran down the hall to Monitoring. Captain Wagner, the man in charge of monitoring and securing the station, met them at the door. "Banks, Ellison. Where did your man disappear from?" "Evidence lock-up," Simon replied, nodding to the other captain. "We've pinned the time down to 3:15, plus or minus five minutes." "Goddamn." Wagner led them into the dark room. "We had a camera go out down there at that time. We had it replaced by 3:30, but..." Jim looked as if he wanted to hit something, and Simon, too, didn't seem that far from doing the same. "Show us." The tape showed Lindsey Freeman at her desk. At 3:12, she put a sign -- "Be right back" -- on the counter, then waddled off down the hall. Almost immediately, the tape began to break up, showing static, then the picture went away entirely. When it came back, the time stamp showed 3:28 and the hand of a technician replacing the camera. "We've been examining the camera. There're no obvious signs of tampering," Wagner said, "but we had no reason to think sabotage at all, until now." "Minus sixteen minutes," Simon muttered. "What else have you got? Anything out of the ordinary? Any deliveries in that time period?" It didn't take long for those tapes to be called up, and on the back loading dock, from 3:24 to 3:29, they watched three men wearing white coveralls load a large rolled-up carpet into a van. "Holy shit," Wagner breathed. "You think?" "Get me the license plate and put a description out on that van, Wagner. See if you can figure out where they came from. Jim, you're with me." Simon raced out of the monitoring room and once again found himself flying down the stairs, heading for the loading dock. Jim hadn't said anything since admitting he'd smelled Blair and gas in the elevator, but his face was tight and white. On the loading dock, Simon watched as Jim closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. After a moment, his eyes opened and he turned, once again looking like a hunting dog. He walked back into the building, then turned, frowning, as if casting about for something. Simon followed him up the hallway and to the freight elevator, which was still on that floor. They lifted the gate and walked into the large cabin, and Jim sank to his haunches. "Here. Carpet fibers. They brought him to the freight elevator, then rolled him in the carpet. We need Forensics here." Jim hung his head and sighed. "He's gone." Simon pulled his cell phone out and called Forensics, then called Wagner to request the tapes covering the elevator and the hallway from Evidence to the freight elevator. "It won't do you any good," Jim said dully after Simon issued his orders. "There's no camera on the freight elevator." "Shit!" Simon closed his cell phone and aimed a vicious kick at the padded walls of the elevator cab. Jim didn't move. By dawn the next morning, all anyone had managed to do was hit dead ends. The snatch -- in broad daylight from police headquarters -- was not only daring but incredibly professional. The van was found, abandoned, after having been reported stolen. The cameras didn't get clear enough images of the phony workmen's faces for an ID. There were no fingerprints or any other forensic evidence -- the carpet was found in the van, and Jim smelled Sandburg on it, but there was nothing to point to where it had come from. Acting on the assumption that the kidnappers had wanted Jim, and wouldn't know that Sandburg would respond instead, Simon had all of Jim's cases pulled, and assigned Megan and Rafe to go over them -- but since that had been done the last time too, to little avail, he didn't hold out much hope. It had been a long, long night. By eight the next morning, Jim was lying on Simon's couch, at Simon's insistence. Jim looked like shit and Simon could tell he was nearing the end of his rope. Two kidnappings so damn close to each other -- it was like a bad joke. Blair had barely managed to get over the last one. At least Simon knew that Daryl wasn't involved this time -- a small blessing. Simon was talking to Joel in the bullpen when the captain from the Burglary unit stopped by. "Simon, you got a minute?" he asked, and came over when Simon motioned him in. "What's up, Greg?" Simon asked, wearily scrubbing his face. "Needed to let you know something," Captain Montgomery said softly. "We had a B&E last night, First Union Bank over on 19th. The safe deposit boxes were cleaned out. When we got the list of renters, your man Ellison was on it." Simon frowned. "Ellison?" "Yeah. Under his and his partner's name. I didn't want to call him -- I heard what went down yesterday. Any luck so far?" "No, nothing," Simon said, turning to look into his office. Jim was sitting up and staring at him, obviously listening. "It's been a real bear. Look, Greg, I appreciate you letting me know. Keep me in the loop on it, would you?" Montgomery frowned. "What, you think they might be connected? Your man disappearing like that?" "Maybe. I don't know. Just -- keep me in the loop. Okay?" "Yeah, sure, Simon." Montgomery nodded, frowning, and turned to leave the bullpen. Simon went back into his office and closed the door. "Jesus God," Jim was whispering, over and over. His face was shocked and pale. Simon pulled a chair over to the sofa and straddled it backwards. "You heard that?" Not waiting for Jim's nod, he continued. "You're not telling me something." After a moment, Jim turned anguished eyes on him. "Send a team to the loft," he rasped. "There'll be evidence of a break in. I doubt they'll find anything, but you can never tell." "What?!" Simon jumped up and quickly opened the door to his office, calling Brown and Rafe over and sending them out. Then he returned, his eyes snapping in anger and frustration. "What aren't you telling me, Ellison?" he demanded quietly, taking his seat again. "You need to notify the Feds too," Jim said, burying his face in his hands. "Try to get that team that was out here last year, you remember, when that amulet was stolen. I forget their names, Molder or something like that." "Jim. What aren't you telling me?" Lifting red-rimmed and haunted eyes to Simon, Jim said, "They're after the amulet. The piece that Blair and I were given to watch over." Simon's eyes widened and he drew in a deep breath, but he didn't say anything. After a moment, Jim continued. "There are four pieces. There's -- there's evidence that they were initially guarded by Sentinels, hundreds of years ago. We don't know where the other three pieces are, but Sandburg and I were given one by his old friend, Tobias. The one who was murdered during a burglary last month." "I remember," Simon choked out. "When we found out about it, we were worried, but then nothing happened. Now though..." "You had it in the safe-deposit box?" Smiling without humor, Jim replied, "Well, we had one of them. The first thing we did was to make several copies and hide them in various places. One of them was in the safe-deposit box. If the loft has been broken into -- and I'm sure it has -- they'll have realized they don't have the real piece." "Where's the real piece, then? At the loft?" "Simon, what you don't know can't hurt you," Jim mumbled, putting his hands back up to his face. Simon closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't believe this. Sandburg gets kidnapped for the second time in six months and now I find you're hiding some sort of super secret amulet. What is it, the Ark of the Covenant, or something?" "I don't know," Jim replied, his face still buried in his hands. "We're not sure what it does, if all the pieces were united. We don't want to find out." "Fuck." "Yeah." Watching Jim's shoulders heave as he struggled to get himself under control, Simon had a flash of sympathy. "You doing all right?" he asked quietly, putting one big hand on Jim's shoulder. "No." Jim took a deep breath. "My senses are all over the place, Simon. It's like I'm on hyper drive or something." "Protection instincts kicking in?" Simon asked softly. "I guess. I don't know. Blair would..." Jim swallowed noisily. "This is worse this time, for some reason. I don't know why." "I don't suppose you could use that -- that connection thingy you guys are supposed to have?" "Considering how well that worked the last time, no, I don't think so." Not knowing what to say or what to do made Simon feel incredibly helpless. "I'm -- I'm going to call the Feds. Let me get the name of those two who came out last year, and see if I can get them on the case. You want something? Some more coffee?" "No, if I have any more I'm going to float away," Jim replied, his attempt at humor only sounding sad. "I'm going to hit the can. I'll be right back." After a few minutes research, Simon came up with the names of the agents who had come out over the amulet last year -- Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. He even had their direct numbers; but unfortunately, Scully was on maternity leave, and Mulder's line was answered by someone who didn't recognize the agent's name. Blowing out a frustrated breath, Simon called his friend, A.D. Walter Skinner, hoping to reach the man. He didn't; but from his secretary he did find out more information on Fox Mulder. The agent was missing and presumed dead. So much for that. Out of desperation, Simon called the local Fed office and spoke to the local A.D., Ellie Kirby, who promised to send someone over shortly. Jim, looking like a lost ghost, wandered in during the last half of the conversation, and stood looking out the window, his hands behind his back at parade rest. Hanging up the phone, Simon pulled his glasses off and rubbed his tired eyes. "They'll be sending someone over shortly, Jim. Neither of the two agents you talked to last year are available -- one's on maternity leave and the other's missing, presumed dead. I've left a message with my friend Walt's secretary for more info, but I think we're SOL there. What do you think, Jim? Jim?" Jim didn't move, and it looked, from Simon's perspective, as if he was barely breathing. Snatching his glasses up, Simon leapt to his feet and walked over to his friend. "Jim? Are you there, buddy?" Holy shit -- it was one of those damned zones that Sandburg was always talking about. "Jim! Come on, man, snap out of it." Simon touched Jim's face and patted his cheeks gently, trying to break through. Jim's eyes were open but not focused and he didn't respond to any stimuli. Beginning to panic, Simon rushed to the door and beckoned Connor. Puzzled, she stood and let herself be pulled into Simon's office. "Connor, you've got to help me," he frantically whispered. "Jim's in one of those zone things that Sandburg's always talking about. I can't get him out of it! Did Blair ever tell you what to do? You've got to help me bring him out of it!" "Me?" Connor squeaked. "Sandy's only talked about them once or twice, I don't know what to do!" "Well neither do I, and the Feds will be here soon! Come on, help me figure out how to snap him out of it." Simon closed his office door, drew the blinds and pushed Connor over to Jim. She stood between him and the window, waving her hands in front of his face. "Come on, mate, you're scaring us here. Ellison!" With a grimace, she drew back one hand and slapped his face, hard, but not so hard that he woke up. "Damn. That didn't do it..." Wracking his brains, Simon dredged a bit of information up. "Sandburg said that he does this when he's... he's concentrating, right? Concentrating on one sense. Right?" Megan furrowed her brow in thought. "Yeah, I think I remember that. One sense, huh? Well, let's hope it was sight..." She put one hand behind Jim's head and the other over his eyes, cutting into his line of sight and blinkering him. "Jim? Can you hear me, mate? C'mon, you daft bugger, come out of it..." After just a moment, Jim seemed to sag and then shook his head. "Connor? What are you doing?" he asked, his voice raspy. "And why does my cheek smart?" Both Megan and Simon sighed. "You did one of those zone things, Ellison," Simon said gruffly. "We were trying to get you out of it." "I zoned?" Jim looked between them, incredulous. "I haven't zoned in -- shit, in over a year. Or more." Simon's phone rang and he went to answer it. "Just make sure you don't do it for another year, all right? Banks. Yeah, Brown. What do you have?" Both Connor and Ellison watched him as he listened. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Forensics there yet? Okay, keep me advised. I've got the Feds on their way here now. Thanks." Simon put the phone back with a sigh. "You were right, Jim. Brown says the loft is trashed. They'll need you to verify that nothing's missing, but he said it didn't look as though much got taken." "I'll know if they got any of the others as soon as I walk in," Jim said, sitting heavily on the sofa. "Other what? Do you know what's going on, Jim? Why was Sandy taken?" Megan looked between the two men blankly. Jim didn't seem inclined to reply, so Simon filled her in on the amulet. She nodded when he talked about it. "I remember, the Owichika Amulet. Sandy told me a bit about it. You've got one of the pieces?" Jim nodded. "Well. There's some motive... but it still doesn't explain why they took Sandy." Both Jim and Simon looked at her and she nodded. "Think about it. Were they after Jim? If so, why? And why rob the bank and wreck the loft after taking Sandy, thinking he was Jim?" "She's right, that doesn't add up," Jim said softly. "If they realize they don't have me, they should be on the horn, trying to get a swap, Blair for the piece of the amulet. But they haven't." "So maybe they still want you, specifically?" Simon said, and shuddered. "Do you think we'll hear from them for a swap then?" "I don't know!" Jim nearly shouted, smacking the leather sofa hard with his fist. "Goddammit, I don't know." Megan sat down next to him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. "We'll find him," she murmured. The Feds came and went, taking copies of certain case files with them, but making no promises and, oddly enough, not pressuring for any of their ideas. Jim signaled to Simon not to let on about the amulet and, grumpily, Simon agreed. Simon wouldn't allow Jim outside the building without at least a two-man escort, which at first irritated the hell out of Jim. But on a run to the loft for clean clothes, Jim's senses picked up a tail, and, when Joel confirmed it, he started to get pissed. They tried to set up a trap for the tail, but whoever it was, was far too good -- they almost managed to turn the tables and trap Connor, Simon and Joel. Jim finally listened after that; after just a quick look at the devastation inside the loft, he let Brown pack a suitcase for him and went back to the station. Not that he would have wanted to stay at the loft -- the catastrophe was thorough and heartbreaking, even in a quick look. The sofa was largely destroyed, as were the chairs, the bed upstairs, even portions of the walls and floors. From his quick look, Jim told Simon that two more of the fakes were removed, but he assured him the original was still intact. From the station, Simon arranged for a constant watch on the loft and also arranged for a cleaning service to come and get started on the repairs, not telling Jim he had done so. Rafe escorted Jim down to the locker room and waited while he showered, shaved and changed, pretending not to notice the pain on Jim's face. Jim was grateful for that; for some reason, this situation was infinitely worse than last year, when both Blair and Daryl had been missing. He wasn't sure why, but suspected his stupid Sentinel instincts were in overdrive. By late afternoon they were all exhausted, short tempered and punchy. Jim had moved beyond growling at everyone to ignoring everyone, not that that was much better. Simon arranged for Jim to go to a safe house for the night, and when Jim didn't even fight him over it, he must have figured Jim had lost it. The house was a small one in a busy neighborhood, and what looked like half the force was guarding it. Ellison might not be well-liked, but he was a cop, and Sandburg was well-liked. The police had good reason to watch over the hurting Sentinel, but Jim refused to let himself think why. It also surprised him when Simon followed him into the house and set himself up in the front room. "You don't have to stay, sir," Jim said, aware that his voice was a monotone. "There's enough firepower around here to start World War III." Simon shrugged. "Indulge me," he said. Then, from his overnight case -- where had he found time to get that, Jim wondered -- he pulled out a bottle of Scotch. "I think we both could use a bit of this tonight. I know I could." Jim swallowed. "Yeah, I could drink a bit." Pouring Jim into bed wasn't difficult; Simon was only slightly buzzed, but Jim, having drunk nearly three-quarters of a bottle of fine Scotch, was limply, completely plastered. And depressed, but it didn't take him long to pass out, and that's what Simon had been aiming for. Watching Jim try to push his fear and panic down had been rough, but listening to Jim try to avoid talking about Sandburg had been heartbreaking. Simon looked down at his best detective, snoring on the small bed in the bedroom, and shook his head sadly. They needed help, and they needed it now. But it didn't look as though help would be coming from the Feds; Simon had been getting the run-around all day, and not even Walt would return his calls. Something else was going on -- Jim realized it almost immediately, although Simon didn't want to think about how -- and Simon had the sinking suspicion that the situation was only going to get worse before improving. He sat down in the living room on a comfortable chair with a grunt, wiping his weary eyes behind his glasses. What a nightmare. After a few moments, he reached for his big day planner and phone book. It only took him a second to find the names he wanted -- it was the middle of the night over there, but that wasn't important. What was important was that they needed help, all the help they could get. Picking up the phone, Simon dialed. Jane Leighton was having the most wonderful dream. A man, who looked like a cross between Fabio and Harrison Ford, was wooing her passionately, tremulously admitting to her that he couldn't possibly live without her, begging her to come away and be with him forever. Of course, she was all ready to agree, when she felt something small and soft rub up against her leg. She looked down to see an arctic fox staring up at her -- if foxes could have expressions, this one would be smirking. "What?" she asked it, exasperated. The fabulous hunk of male -- still holding her -- let out a groan, and she turned back to him -- only to discover he was no longer a cross between two of her favorite fantasies, but was, instead, merely Jim Ellison. Huh? He moaned and pulled away from her, sinking to his knees and holding his head as if it pained him. As Jane watched, he slowly changed into a beautiful black cat, which lay before her, panting, clearly in pain. Far off in the distance, she heard the equally pained howl of a wolf, and her fox replied by yipping. That yipping went on and on... Until she woke up and realized she was hearing the phone ringing. "Shit," she muttered, reluctant to move from her warm bed but knowing -- somehow -- that the call would be important. With a heavy sigh, she pulled herself from under her quilt and slid her feet into the fuzzy slippers Marty had given her the previous Christmas. Her robe was draped over the end of her bed, and, still muzzy from sleep, she pulled it on as she made her way to her cousin's bedroom. Marty was sitting on the side of her bed, speaking into the phone. "Aye, sir, I remember. Is something wrong?" When she saw Jane standing in the doorway, yawning, she put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, "It's Captain Banks, Ellison's boss from Cascade." Shaking her head with foreboding, Jane sat on the bed next to Marty and listened in. Her cousin obligingly tilted the phone out so she could hear better. "...didn't know who else to call," Banks was saying. His voice sounded funny, but it could be the international connection. "All right, sir, but what's the problem?" she asked again. "It's Sandburg," Banks said. "He's been kidnapped." Jane gasped. "It was a real professional snatch, from headquarters in broad daylight. And there's... well, there're other things, other factors that I can't talk about over the phone that are causing problems. Jim's... not handling it well. I just got him roaring drunk and poured him into bed." "Faith," Marty murmured, wrapping one arm around Jane and squeezing. "D'you have a suspect then?" Marty asked. "No, nothing," Banks replied, sounding weary. "There's been nothing, and it's been over twenty-four hours. Well, except for the fact that the loft has been broken into and trashed, and I've got Ellison in a safe house with a good portion of the force guarding him." Marty and Jane looked at each other. "I -- I need someone with your special abilities MacLachlan," Banks said quietly. "Can you come?" "We'll come on the first available plane," Marty said firmly. "I'll need to clear it with Graham, my superior, but as soon as that's done, we'll be on the road." "Thank you," Banks said, sounding very relieved. "How can I reach you?" Marty asked, and Jane jumped up to get her cousin paper and pen as Banks read off email addresses and cell phone numbers. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, MacLachlan," Banks said, then rang off. Jane looked at her cousin. "The phone ringing woke me from a dream, cuz," she said quietly. "I saw Jim and his spirit guide, and heard Blair's." "What a load of shite," Marty murmured. "I canna believe this; Blair just sent us an email on what happened to him a few months past. Are the lads cursed or something?" There was nothing Jane could say to that, and finally, Marty spoke again. "What's the time? Blast. We'd be getting up in a bit anyway. Think you could fire up that beast of yours to get us good tickets?" "Yeah," Jane said, rising and heading back into her room. "At least we shouldn't have any connection problems at this hour. You calling Graham?" "Not for a wee bit, I'm thinking," Marty replied, pulling her own robe on then heading to the kitchen. "I'll make us some tea." "Sounds good." Jim woke slowly, aware of a pounding in his head and a sour, queasy feeling in his stomach. Without thinking, he reached out for Blair but his knuckles hit a wall instead, which brought him to full, pulse-pounding awareness rather suddenly. Blair was gone. Again. And someone was after the amulet. Goddammit, he'd never wanted to be a guardian of that thing anyway... "Jim? You awake? I've got some stuff for you here, mate." A soft voice behind him -- Megan. Painfully, Jim rolled over -- aware that he was in a single bed still fully dressed from the evening before -- to see Megan's sympathetic face. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a big glass of water in the other, and a packet of Alka-Seltzer between two fingers. Sighing, Jim pulled himself more or less upright and reached for the water and the medicine. Megan put the coffee on the small bedside table and perched on the single bed opposite Jim's. She remained blissfully silent until Jim had finished the medicated water and was starting on the coffee. "Not to put a bad face on it, mate, but you need a shower." Jim grimaced at her and gratefully slurped his coffee. "Where's Simon?" he asked, surprised that his voice still actually worked. "At the office," she replied. "He told me to let you sleep. It's almost noon. We need to get some food into you and then get you back in the saddle." Carefully putting the coffee down, Jim scrubbed his face with both hands, trying hard to keep from sobbing in sheer frustration. "He shouldn't have let me sleep," he mumbled. "Jim, you needed it," Megan said softly. "We all did. And there's been -- well, there's nothing new." She sighed. "We've got coppers out all over town, shaking every tree and rattling every cage. Nothing. Except a remarkable reduction in crime." "Well, there's that, then." Steeling himself, Jim picked up his coffee and finished it. "Let me get a shower and change, Connor. Then we can head in." "Not until you've eaten," she said, adamant. When he would have objected, she raised her hand. "Sandy's trained me well, mate. You are going to eat. I am not going to risk a scalping from him that I failed to care for his Sentinel." She smiled sadly at him and stood, then gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks, Megan," Jim rasped as she walked out of the room. He knew she stopped and looked back at him from the doorway, but he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. He did feel more human once he had showered, shaved and changed, and choked down the toast and eggs Megan forced on him. He was surprised when she joined him in the truck, and equally surprised to find an escort of two unmarked cars all the way from the safe house to the precinct. At his questioning look, she shrugged. "We had a few -- uh, unsavory types hanging around, asking questions about you. Hired muscle." She grinned at him. "The fellows needed a bit of exercise anyway." Jim actually chuckled, which surprised him. "You get anything from them?" "No, unfortunately," Megan said, with a sort of smug disappointment. "Not for lack of trying. Though Simon wouldn't let us use the rubber hoses." "Well, damn, Connor. I thought you could get around that by now." He smiled at her and she patted his arm. Major Crime was a hornet's nest. There were uniforms everywhere, and it seemed that everyone in the precinct managed to stop by at some point to see Jim or to ask after Sandburg. Jim spent most of the day in Simon's office or in the adjacent conference room, going over old case files, searching for information on the other pieces of the amulet. At one point early on, Simon pulled him aside and spoke softly to him. "I received an email from my friend in Washington," he said. "From his own personal Hotmail account. Encrypted. Man, I never thought I'd be glad of the day when Sandburg taught me how to use PGP. Anyway, he had a little bit of news for us." "Spill, Simon," Jim said, anticipation coiling in his stomach. "You remember how your amulet case last year ended?" "As I recall, it didn't," Jim replied. "Whatshisname, the one who's dead now, he said he knew who had it but said that the guy was untouchable." "Mulder. The Fed's name was Mulder, and Walt tells me he might not be dead, but he's definitely missing. And the untouchable guy, well, he's definitely dead now. His name was Krycek and, from what I get reading between the lines, Walt nailed him personally. About a month ago." Jim blinked. "The dates..." "It would have been about a week before your friend Tobias was murdered." "Jesus, Simon." Jim shook his head and leaned against the wall. The floor suddenly seemed very unsteady. "Then whoever this is..." "Yeah. You get the picture. It might be that whatever piece this Krycek had now belongs to whoever has Sandburg. And if he gets your piece..." "He'll have two. Or more. There are, or at least were, two in the hands of private collectors, but who knows where they are now. We don't even know who the 'collectors' are." Jim closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself and think. "Listen, I called in the reinforcements last night," Simon said, his voice concerned. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I didn't get the email confirming their arrival until a couple of hours ago." "Huh?" Jim said stupidly. "Reinforcements?" "MacLachlan and her guide -- what's her name, Julie?" "Jane," Jim said, blinking stupidly. "You called Marty and Jane?" "Yeah, last night, after I poured you into bed. They'll be here some time after six or so." Simon looked abashed at Jim's surprise. "I -- I didn't know who else to call, Jim. You zoned. You have any idea how freaked out that made me? And if this is going to be as weird as I think it already is, we're gonna need all the help we can get." Jim bit his lip and looked at his shoes. "Yeah. Yeah. It's all right, Simon. I -- I'm glad you called them. Thank you." Simon smiled sadly. "I just hope they can help." "Well, they won't hurt," Jim said, realizing that he was looking forward to their arrival. The flight had been long and bumpy and exhausting. Marty spent most of it slightly zoned on a music tape, but Jane had no such resources available to her. She tried to sleep, but a wailing baby in the back of the plane kept her from doing more than dozing. They landed in Cascade, local time 7:30 p.m., which was some godawful time back home in Scotland. Bemused, Jane wondered when it was that Scotland had become 'home' and Cascade a place she visited every now and then. She certainly didn't miss the rain she saw sluicing against the windows of the plane as it inched in to the waiting gate. Not wanting to fight the flow, she waited for the majority of the passengers to disembark before rising and stretching, then reaching down and shaking Marty's shoulder. "Come on, cuz," she said briskly "We're here." Marty shook her head hard and yawned. "Aye, we are. Well, then, let's get going." At the end of the gate stood a tall redhead with a homemade sign: "Marty and Jane." The two women walked right up to her and Marty smiled. "Megan. Nice to see you again, lass." "Hullo, Marty, Jane," Megan said, shaking both their hands. "Wish it weren't under such circumstances, but I'm glad to see you too." "Same here, Megan," Jane replied. "Let's go down to baggage and get you out of here," Megan said, leading the two women away. "How's Jim doing then?" Marty asked as they wended their way through the crowd. Megan sighed. "Not good, really. He's been in rough shape, I'm afraid. We're going back to the loft. Simon had a cleaning crew go through it, and, though we had Jim at a safe house last night, there's really no sense in keeping him there." "Have you had any word from the kidnappers?" Jane asked anxiously. "No, none," Megan said, her voice reflecting her frustration. "There've been a couple of thugs hanging around, and we had a tail at one point on Jim, but they're all hired muscle. They don't know anything." "Damn," Marty muttered. The drive back to the loft was uneventful. Getting off the elevator on the third floor, however, they found Simon impatiently waiting for them at the door to number 307. "Thank God. Jim's zoned again," he hissed. "I can't get him out of it." All three women dropped the bags they were carrying and rushed into the loft. Jane and Marty both gasped as they took in the devastation -- it was clear it had been cleaned, but most of the furniture was still slashed and the books, curios and plants that had lined the walls were largely missing or destroyed. The hardwood floor was scarred and even bricks were missing from one wall. Jim was sitting on the remains of the sofa, gazing at something in his hands, and both Marty and Jane hurried over to flank him. Jane nearly sobbed when she saw what Jim was holding -- what was once the beautiful glass wolf she had crafted for them. It was in three pieces, and he held it in his hands, hardly breathing. She reached out and gently took it from him, then cradled one of his lax hands in hers. Marty did the same with his other hand, and their anguished eyes met over his bowed head. "Jim, Jim, it's Jane," Jane said softly, stroking the hand in hers. "Don't worry about the wolf, Jim. I'll make you and Blair another. You need to come back now, you need to be here for us, so we can find Blair. Jim? Come on, Jim, you can do it." "Jamie?" Marty whispered, stroking his hair. "It's time to come home now, lad." Jane continued talking softly, and shortly, Jim's shoulders began to sag. He blinked and took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly as he pulled out of the zone. "Jane?" he whispered, and once again Jane and Marty's eyes met -- Marty's filled with tears at the lost tone in Jim's voice. "Aye, Jamie, it's Janey and Marty, we're here for you, now," she murmured. Jim lifted his head and turned towards Marty, then towards Jane. The devastation in his eyes nearly broke Jane's heart, but she knew she had to be strong for him, not vice-versa. She gently pulled his head down to her shoulder and, though she knew he wouldn't cry, she soothed him as if he were wracked with sobs. With Simon's help, Jane got Jim situated in the mostly restored bed upstairs. Despite the drunken sleep he'd gotten the night before, he was completely and utterly exhausted, and they hoped he would sleep a while, safe in his own bed. Neither Jane nor Marty were up to anything major -- as it was nearly dawn, Scottish time, and they were exhausted -- but both wanted Simon to fill them in on what had been happening. Marty brewed tea with what was left of Blair's stash while they talked quietly. Megan helped Jane make up the futon in the spare room, as well as a couple of camp cots that Simon had brought over. "Megan will stay here with you in the loft tonight, as well as two teams on permanent stake out, one in the front and one in the alley," Simon told her. "The phone is tapped; if you get anything, we'll have a tape of it." "I take it there's been no news then, since Meg picked us up?" Marty asked him, leaning wearily against the kitchen island. "No, none at all." Simon sighed. "We only got here about half an hour before you did. I'd hired a cleaning service to pick up the worst of the mess and try to get the place back in some semblance of order -- there's really less damage than it looks." "You'll have to tell us about these mysterious 'other factors' now, Cap'n," she said, spooning tea into the pot and waiting for the water to boil. "What was it you couldna' say over the phone?" Simon walked around the island and sat heavily in one of the two remaining kitchen chairs. "It's -- an amulet. Connor knows what it's called, the owa-something. Last year, Jim and Blair were primary on a case where a piece of this thing was stolen from the museum here." "I remember that," Jane said, returning to the kitchen. The kettle looked ready to boil so she lifted it off the burner and poured water into the waiting pot. "The Owichika amulet. Blair sent me an email that talked a bit about it." "Right. They were primary on the case, but the thing was never found," Simon said, nodding. "The Feds were out here, and they apparently discovered who had stolen it, but the guy was one of those untouchable, unfindable types. Name of Krycek." Marty inhaled sharply, and Simon twisted to look at her. "Alex Krycek?" she asked softly. At Simon's slow nod, she shook her head in shock. "He's been on every alert list Interpol has sent out for the last five years," she said. "I'd heard tell he was dead." "You heard right," Simon confirmed. "I had that confirmed this morning. His death, apparently, coincided with the death of Blair's friend, Tobias McFee. This Tobias was the one who, last year, turned over his piece of the amulet to Jim and Blair, for them to guard." "How many pieces are there?" Marty asked, looking between Simon and Jane. "Four," Simon said, and Jane nodded in agreement. "Jim and Blair had theirs hidden, and had copies made and hid those, too. We know whoever has Blair has a couple of the copies, but Jim confirmed for me that the original is still safe." Simon blew out a sigh and ran his hand over his head. "Not that he'll tell me where the original is." "That's probably for the best," Marty said. "Why would anybody go to so much trouble over a stupid amulet?" Jane asked, her quiet voice filled with frustration. "Oh, I don't know," Simon said, rubbing his eyes. "Jim says there's some damn legend, something about the end of the world if the thing is ever put back together. Frankly, ladies, I'm sick and tired of this mystical shit. If I find the thing, I'm liable to melt it down for scrap." Marty snorted in amusement, and Megan rolled her eyes. Jane simply looked thoughtful as she sipped her tea. "Well, we're here now," Marty said, yawning. "Let's get settled, lass, and let these people get their rest." "I'll be staying," Megan said. "By the by, I know you didn't bring anything, but I've got my backup Sig Sauer if you want it." She put a small satchel on the table and pulled out the deadly instrument. "That would be a kindness, Meg," Marty agreed, taking the gun and checking the clip. "I thought you Brits didn't carry weapons," Simon said, sounding amused. "Just because we don't carry doesn't mean I can't use, Captain," Marty said primly. Then she continued, her voice grim, "And I won't hesitate to, to protect Jamie." "Good." Simon nodded, looking satisfied. "I'll sleep better tonight, then, and be over here with breakfast at dawn." "Aye, sir."