NOTE: Light swearing, and some BA undertones, if that's the way you swing.

ALSO: I don't own anything, except the ladies and gents of IAB and the oddly convoluted way they seem to work.

"Inspector Calvin Forrester." he said extending his hand. "This is my partner, Inspector Augusta Santelli. Please, have a seat."

Detective Robert Goren, cleanly shaven and dressed in his best dark suit, shook Forrester's proffered hand, but only nodded at Santelli since she had not extended her own. He sat across from them and tried to not jiggle his knee He was nervous, more nervous than he thought he'd be. Lately, when he got nervous, his once orderly brain started accelerating his synapses; his thoughts jumbling one over the other, like inmates in a jailbreak stampeding toward the exit. Soon, he was overwhelmed and it was never long before he was back there, at least in his head - strapped to a table, begging for water, begging for her, begging for release. He forced himself to relax by tapping very lightly on the top of his thigh with a slow and steady rhythm, the way Dr Skoda had suggested. The staccato pace was a soothing metronome for his busy mind.

Forrester smiled charmingly as he sat down and gestured for Bobby to do the same. "Thank you for meeting us here, Detective. It turns out Major Case interview rooms are nicer than anything you'll find downstairs."

"Of course." Bobby inclined his head.

"Gus here also thought you'd be more comfortable in familiar surroundings." He jerked his head in her direction, but she didn't acknowledge him. Bobby could tell that Gus Santelli could give a damn about his comfort. She put on her glasses and opened her notebook. Without looking up, Inspector Santelli spoke for the first time. "We are waiting for your delegate then?" she asked, her voice a smoky alto.

"I won't require the services of a delegate at this time," Goren intoned. She glanced up sharply and he noted the subtle roll of her dark eyes. She disapproved of his decision, and of him.

She took her time really looking at him, taking in his pressed suit and recent haircut, her intense gaze not missing a single detail. He could tell she was not impressed by what she saw. The experience at Tate's had made his coloring sallow, and the stress of its aftermath had given his normally intense eyes a hollow look. He tried to take care with his appearance this morning, but he knew it would be some time before he looked like himself again. Santelli's brows scrunched together over the rim of her glasses presently atop a decidedly Roman nose that any Caesar would have envied. "Detective Goren, may I remind you that in these circumstances a union delegate is appointed to you for your protection? That it is your right as an officer to have a fellow officer present whose purpose is to act in your best interest?"

Bobby nodded. "I understand. I do… uh…not require the services of a delegate at this time."

Santelli didn't bother to conceal her eye roll this time. "And I supposed you don't have a lawyer, either?"

"No ma'am, I do not. I am prepared to handle this myself," he tried for contrite, but that wasn't his style so he failed.

She suddenly threw her pen down, the force of her frustration making it bounce across the page and roll near the end of the table. He scooped it up before it fell and handed it back to her. "Incredible. Sharpie, you see what we got here?" She clicked her tongue and didn't thank him for his chivalry as she took the pen back. "A bona fide martyr."

Sharpie whistled. "Not in the room five minutes with you, Gus."

"Your ability to read people is as astounding as they say, Detective," she said as if Sharpie didn't speak. "I handle dirty cops, shifty informants and even my fourteen year old kid's drama days, and rarely loose my temper. But nothing chaps my ass more than a fucking martyr." She looked over at her partner, who was settling back ready to enjoy himself, uncapping his pen and trying not to smirk. She scooted her chair back with loud emphasis.

Goren watched her head for the door and absently noted that she was tall. In her sensible low heeled shoes she stood just shy of six feet. Much taller than Eames. Bobby gave himself a mental shake. Dr Skoda told Bobby at their last session that he unconsciously compared every female, cop or not, to his partner. Bobby denied it at the time, but given his current reaction he made a mental note to tell the doctor next time the theory was probably sound.

With her nearly black hair worn back in a tight, low bun, Santelli had a stern look about her that made him think of overdue books at a library, but the kind where the librarian shot you for your violations. He'd put her in her late thirties and knew she'd been with the NYPD nearly 15 years, with some time in Vice and then Fraud before settling in at Internal Affairs. Her dark grey Chanel skirt suit showcased her long legs, toned so that her calf muscles were clearly defined as they contracted and released with every step toward the door. That and her light step indicated she had once been a dancer. He looked back at Inspector Forrester who was chuckling.

"She's direct," said Goren.

"You have no idea. Don't expect any apology for the language either." Forrester shook his head. "Vice. You know how they are." Bobby nodded. The two men had something in common. "I am impressed, though," Forrester continued. "You haven't lost your touch, reading people, knowing what buttons to press. That took, what, less than two minutes?"

Goren glanced back at the door and then back at Forrester. Bobby was familiar with Forrester's reputation, but had never met the man in person. He had the golden rugged looks were a throwback to old Hollywood and would be more at home as Butch or Sundance, rather than in a police station. He'd come up through the SWAT Team and was known as an expert marksman. Bobby supposed that's where the nickname Sharpie came from.

"I actually didn't know. Wasn't uh, wasn't really trying." Bobby said.

Forrester smiled. "Lucky guess, then. Would love to see when you are actually trying." He seemed to struggle for a moment before speaking. "Listen, Goren," he said earnestly. "Before this starts, I wanted to say that I admire your work. I read almost everything we see downstairs, and I gotta say you've closed some amazing cases, just incredible investigative work. I always look forward to reading your latest episode."

Bobby smiled, thinking about where the credit really belongs. "My partner, uh. She's the one that does them. The reports. I hate paperwork"

His eyebrows rose. "Really? Gus does ours, too. I understand it has to get done but it distracts from the important stuff." Another thing they had in common, then. Forester cleared his throat. "The current situation is unfortunate, but I didn't want to start before you knew that I admire the hell out of what you and your partner have accomplished."

"Is this off the record?"

Forrester gave a shout of laughter. "Hell man. I'm IAB. I can't take a piss off the record."

"Oh. Well…um…thanks,"

"The Randolph case, what six years ago? Seven? You and your partner cracked that school patrol ring, just amazing. Could have been an open and shut, but you hustled her like a pro. And of course, we all remember the fiasco with that asshole Frank Adair." Sharpie shook his head. "I've worked with some of you Major Case darlings, but we tend to give your internal cases to our rookies since there's not much cleanup for IAB to do. Real good work man, real good work." Bobby nodded at the compliment. Forrester was going to be the good cop here, then. That left Augusta, Gus, to be the bad cop. Great, he pissed off the bad cop already.

"That said. Gus and I are going to pursue this to the end. Whatever it takes, whatever the outcome." His tone was deadly calm, his blue eyes serious as they stared straight into his.

Bobby nodded again. "I understand. And I appreciate your candor."

There new rapport was broken when Gus returned followed by Mike Logan. Mike shut the door and took the seat next to Bobby.

"Detectives, I am sure you know each other." She flipped her index finger back and forth between the two. "Detective Logan here has agreed to act as your delegate going forward, Detective Goren."

Bobby was surprised, which didn't happen to him often. "I said… well…um…I don't need a delegate." He said again. He looked at Forrester and decided he was going to be no help. The man leaned back, his chair balanced on its back legs. He had big grin on his face, and was looking smugly at his partner. She glanced sideways at him, the unspoken communication strong and his approval for her actions obvious. Bobby suddenly missed Eames keenly.

"Well, sir, I need you to have one," she said as if he were five. She sat down and picked up her pen again. She pressed hard on the paper; the audible sounds of pen to page rang in Bobby's ears as a reminder that these two had not just his career in their hands, but his life. "This is as much for my protection as it is yours. This investigation will not be compromised because you decided to don a hair shirt, lock yourself in a closet, and flail with reckless abandon." The pen jabbed in his direction forcefully, a direct extension of her sharp look. "You can do that on your own time. I won't have you whining later that we took advantage of you"

"The Scarlet Letter," mumbled Bobby automatically.

She ignored his comment, but he didn't need her to confirm the reference. "I have deputized Logan here," another gesture with the pen, a Uniball Vision Elite, fine point, green ink, toward Mike "to act on your behalf."

"And, ah, what if I refuse?" Bobby said. He realized the question was moot, she had that steely look in her eye, the same one Eames got when she corrected his assumptions. No, she would have hung her purse on the hook, Bobby. He wanted to hear what Santelli had to say anyway.

She smiled; a little thing that was more a tightening of her facial muscles rather than an expression of amusement or joy. "It doesn't matter, he stays. As my guest, as your delegate, it's all bullshit semantics. Whatever you may or may not have done, it's no longer just about you, Detective Goren." She flashed a completely different grin at Logan, full of warmth and light. He smiled back with raised brows. "While he hasn't gone through traditional departmental training most union representatives have, he has sufficient real life expertise which works just as well, if not better." Mike inclined his head.

Forrester leaned forward with a thump as the legs of his chair hit the ground and shook Logan's hand. "Hope you're wearing your dancing shoes, Logan." He brought out a small tape recorder and opened his own notebook. His pen, Bobby noted with some interest, was a blue Sharpie with an ultra fine point.

Logan's smile turned predatory. "You know I always got an empty line on my dance card for you, Sharpie." Logan looked over at Goren. "Hey pal, I got your back. Gotta watch yourself with these two. They are the slickest rats in the basement." He smiled at the two inspectors. "Said with the utmost respect, of course."