"Hey. You home?"

"Yeah. You all right?" David Sinclair could tell from just those few words that all was not right with his best friend.

"Not really." The man on the other end of the phone wanted to ask if it was okay if he stopped by, but he knew that it was the last weekday of his partner's vacation. Just that fast he had convinced himself that calling was a bad idea when he heard David respond.

"Come over. I'll put on some coffee."

"Thanks, David," Colby Granger said as he closed his mobile phone. He'd been sitting in his car in the parking lot of the Los Angeles Federal Building, the F.B.I.'s home in L.A. His boss, Don Eppes, was still upstairs finishing up with the C.B.I.'s Rachel Willons and had told him to call it a day. Even Don could tell that this case had upset the man from Idaho.

Colby had seen lots of death in his young life. Afghanistan had been a learning experience in the best and the worst ways possible. But knowing they were right there, so close to saving all of those people who the leader of the cult known as the Apostolic Saints, Abner Stone, had brainwashed and held hostage. . .it was proving to be more to take in than he'd expected. He needed to talk, and there was really only one person he could go to for that kind of conversation.

Within ten minutes, Colby Granger was at the doorstep of David Sinclair. He knocked on the door, knowing that his friend hated the sound of the doorbell to his condo. It was one of very few thoughts that he'd had in these last hours that didn't include the faces of innocent men, women and children who had died today because of the cowardice of Abner Stone. And maybe, just maybe, the F.B.I. had some hand in those deaths, too. He wanted to think that it wasn't true, but that's not how it felt. He needed someone he trusted, someone who would not judge, someone who, despite the fact that he worked for the F.B.I. himself, Colby knew to be objective, to talk it over with. There were other people he could have reached out to, but his relationship with his partner, with the person he considered his best friend, dictated that there was only one person in the world who could help him.

The door opened to the friendly face of David Sinclair. "Hey, man, come in," he said, patting Granger's back as he stepped through the threshold. "I talked to Don. He told me what happened. That's rough."

Colby stood in David's living room, frowning as his partner relayed these facts. "Did he say anything else?" Colby asked, confused as to why his boss and his partner had felt the need to talk.

"Just that there were a lot of lives lost today and that you seemed. . ." Sinclair paused, but decided to use Don's descriptive, "out of sorts."

"Did he call you or was it the other way around?" Granger asked accusingly.

"Does it matter?" David asked as he headed to the kitchen.

All of the fight, or what little there was to begin with, seemed to leave Colby with one long sigh. He went to the chair nearest the fireplace and sat down, sinking back into the soft cushions. "No," he admitted.

David came back in with a different kind of beverage than expected. "Here," he said as he unscrewed the cap from the bottle. He handed it to his friend, and then opened one for himself. "Drink," he ordered as Colby just sat there with the bottle in his hand. Granger raised his head and looked Sinclair in the eye. David saw sadness, confusion, anger. More. "Come on, take a swig, and then we'll talk." Colby did as he'd been directed, taking first one, long draught, and then another. He breathed in once, then twice, blinked rapidly, and finally spoke.

"God damn it, David," he said. He shook his head. "That kind of death, so many. . .innocents. . .that's not supposed to happen here." Colby dropped his head again, wiping his eyes quickly, and then he raised his head again. "That bastard killed those people. All of those people, in the name of God. It's. . .I mean, I've seen that, up close, that. . .that. . .blind faith. . .in Afghanistan. That's not supposed to happen here," he repeated. He put his head down once more, shaking it, just barely noticeable, back and forth.

"Colby, whatever it is that went on out there, it was not your fault. That man, he was insane, a megalomaniac who thought that a dozen martyrs more or less would help his cause. Stone may have had a God complex, but it sounds more like you and Don were dancing with the devil this time. You know that."

"You know what I know? I know that we were there." He raised his head, looking at his friend, and went on. "We were right there. We shouldn't have let this happen."

"We don't win them all, you know that," David explained calmly, hoping that if he stayed calm he could bring his partner down some from his current agitated state.

"Don't you think I know that?" Colby looked at David. "I'm not naïve. I know that. It just seems like we went in tentative on this one." Granger set his bottle down hard and stood up. He walked over to the window and watched the traffic go by. Sinclair walked over to him.

"You can't expect us to bat a thousand, buddy."

"Lately it feels like we're barely batting a hundred," Colby responded. He turned to his friend and said, "I guess maybe I am more naïve than I thought."

"No. Our success rate is higher than you think. This was a hard case for you." Colby didn't say anything. "I worked a similar situation once, in Israel. Everything's about religion over there, just about. We lost fifteen people, all Israelis, some children. An ultra orthodox sect set off a bomb. Our intel, it was good, but not good enough. Or at least not soon enough."

"I wonder sometimes if I'm really cut out for this."

"Granger, you can't think that way. First off, you are a great agent. Your instincts are outstanding. Speed, strength, accuracy. I don't ever want to think about having another partner. I mean, Megan is a fine agent, but you and me, what we have, our partnership is something special."

"I wish you'd been there, man," Colby said.

"Me, too. But there's no guarantee that the outcome would have been any different."

"I know." Colby continued to look out the window, and he continued to shake his head. David put his hand on his friend's back and forced him to face him.

"Come on. Go sit down. I'm gonna make us dinner."

"You are?" Granger asked, barely offering his friend a smile. David would take what he could get, knowing where Colby's head was this night.

"Don't say it like that. I can cook."

"If you say so."

"I say so." Colby took another taste of his beer and grinned a little more. David's own smile grew wide. "Oh, you're asking for it, bud."

"I'm shakin' in my boots, man," Colby said as he rinsed out the recyclable beer bottle, set it in the blue bin at the end of the counter, and then went to the fridge for another one.

"How many of those are you planning on having tonight?"

"As many as it takes."

"Okay. Then you're staying over."

"I guess I am," Colby agreed.

"Tomorrow's a school day for you," David warned as he started to chop garlic and onions after setting a sauté pan with olive oil on to heat. He knew that his partner was set to work Saturday this week.

"I know."

David knew that Colby knew that. He also knew that they'd resolved nothing. But maybe they weren't supposed to. Sometimes it was just about being together, understanding the hard times, one helping the other just to make it to the next day. Sinclair knew that Granger had done just that many times for him during their partnership. Though this could be seen as simple quid pro quo, their friendship had grown to something far more meaningful than that. David knew that he would do anything for his friend, and that he could count on Colby in the same way. He hadn't intended for their relationship to move in this direction, but it had. And he felt fortunate. He watched his partner as he sat and drank and so surely continued to think and re-think the events of the day. David grabbed the rest of the ingredients from the refrigerator and kept on working his magic in the kitchen as Colby sat at the dining room table, swirling his finger on the sweat of the bottle. He shook his own head this time, wishing he could help his friend more, and knowing that his friend would say he'd done what had been needed.

He wished the resolution felt more satisfying.

The End.