"What the hell do you want, Ellison?" Southern stood in his doorway, defiantly refusing to open it further despite the fact that he was out on parole and really didn't have a choice in the matter. Jim looked at him closely, noting the trembling hands that he tried to hide and the dots of perspiration on his forehead, even as Sentinel senses scanned the room for any threats.

"Now, is that any way to greet an old friend, Southern?"

"You're no friend of mine." He had to step back as Jim pushed the door open further and let himself inside. As he'd suspected, a pile of cigarette butts marked the spot where Southern had stood and watched the unmarked police car that sat outside his run-down rental.

"I'm hurt, Ronny. What about Kincaid, is he still a friend of yours?" Jim saw the flinch as Southern turned away.

Brown and Rafe were casually wandering through the house, poking and prodding as they went. Southern was trying to watch all of their movements as he kept up the conversation with the Sentinel and Guide.

"Garrett Kincaid is a great man. Someday he will lead us to a greatness this country has forgotten all about."

"Yeah?" Blair moved closer to Jim as he lowered his mental shields. "So, what's the timetable on that? You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

There was a flash of anger and fear before Southern started pacing and Blair whispered his findings to Jim, who nodded. "What's the matter? You and Kincaid have a falling out? I bet he wasn't real happy when you found a way out of prison and left all your white brothers behind."

Southern stood ramrod straight and wouldn't look at any of them. Behind him, Brown and Rafe came out of the hallway, a bulging duffel bag in Rafe's hands. Knowing how Southern would react to a black man touching his stuff, he handed it to Brown and let his partner take the lead.

Grinning, Henry Brown walked into the living room, swinging the bag around before he dropped it on a table. "Well, look at what we found. Looks like our boy has himself a bug out bag all packed and ready to go."

Jim stepped closer to Southern, forcing him to divide his attention between the Sentinel and the black man unzipping his bag and pulling out his belongings. "So, are you planning on slipping past your guards and meeting up with Kincaid, or are you running from him?"

"You got no right to be touching my property." Southern tried to grab his boxers from Brown, but Rafe stepped in his way.

"Why, what's the matter, Mr. Southern? You wouldn't happen to have a problem with a gentleman of the Negro persuasion rubbing his sweaty hands all over your clothes, would you?"

Picking up on the theme of Rafe's comment, Henry shook out a carefully folded t-shirt and wiped his face with it. "Yeah, with all this searching and seizing, I've really worked up a sweat. Maybe Southern would like to offer us a nice cold drink. I'd go for a big glass of ice cold Southern Sweet Tea about now."

The two cops laughed at their joke, but Southern wasn't amused as he grabbed some of his clothes and shoved them back in the bag. "Get your filthy hands off that."

"So, are you going to meet up with Kincaid like this? Black germs all over your clothes?"

Jim picked up on the spike in Southern's heart rate and breathing, while Blair got the emotions. Between the two of them, they knew the answer. "You ready to turn state's evidence against Kincaid?"

"Go to hell, Ellison."

"Did you hear that, Chief? You'd think someone that's made such a powerful enemy would be a little more interested in self-preservation."

"Kincaid still trusts me."

"Really? You're not the one that broke him out of prison. You just got yourself out, yeah, there's that self-preservation again."

Brown tossed a handful of clothes to Southern. "You know, Kincaid might find out we were here. Wonder if he'll think you were true to the mission or if you sold him out?"

Southern looked at Brown, then back at Ellison, his eyes widening almost comically. "How would he... You can't do that."

"Says who?"

"You're cops."

"Yeah, well..." Jim tilted his head toward Blair, who waggled his fingers at Southern. "He's just a consultant."

After reviewing his options, Southern held his wrists out. "Will you at least cuff me?"

-NCIS-

"Good morning."

Tim gave a shy smile before returning his attention to the food he was cooking. "Good morning, fried eggs all right?"

"Sure, I'm not fussy." Gibbs headed for the coffee pot, but stopped short when he saw the fresh squeezed orange juice that McGee was pouring. "Damn, that smells good."

Knowing that Gibbs wouldn't want him harping on about his senses making everything more acute, Tim just silently handed over a glass. It was all he could do not to laugh at the look of bliss on Gibbs' face at the first swallow.

-NCIS-

Getting Ronald Southern to talk wasn't the problem. Getting him to shut up however, was an entirely different matter. If it weren't for the steadying hand on the small of his back, Jim would have throttled the man and he wasn't even in the interrogation room, Henry Brown was.

Turning to look at the detective sharing the observation room with them, Jim felt compelled to ask. "They've been in there for hours, Rafe. Has Southern said anything useful?"

Rafe straightened his designer tie as he leaned back in his chair, glad his partner had drawn the short straw this time. "I guess it depends on what you consider useful. He's told us more about the financial backers of the Sunrise Patriots than we've ever known and ratted out every politician that has privately supported them, but he doesn't know anything about Kincaid's escape or what his plans are now. Sorry."

"Maybe he knows, but doesn't know that he knows."

Both Rafe and Jim turned to look at Blair, but it was Jim that asked. "Ya wanna run that by us again, Chief."

"Locations. Have him start pointing out every fox hole they've ever dug, every safe house they've ever used. Kincaid had to go somewhere until he could meet up with whoever helped him escape. Maybe we'll get lucky and find a clue as to his next step."

"You're brilliant." Jim pulled him close for a kiss while Rafe went out for a map.

-NCIS-

Garrett Kincaid had been on foot for several hours after the head gasket had blown on the junker car he'd been given. "Damn towel heads can't even steal a decent car." Even more than a fresh car to steal, he wanted money and food. Sliding down an embankment toward a small business, he saw a chance. Spotting the owner of the establishment made it all the sweeter.

-NCIS-

If Gibbs were honest with himself, he'd spent a miserable night so far away from his Guide. He had more flexibility in his own home, but he had woken several times that night on the verge of falling out of bed, subconsciously drawn to the figure sleeping one floor below him. The dreams about Shannon didn't help either. Just before daybreak he'd given up and laid on the floor, directly above the living room sofa, for a few hours of almost restful sleep.

Now Ducky was here, fussing over McGee's shoulder, and Gibbs just wanted him to finish and leave them alone. Since that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, Gibbs busied himself looking through the groceries Ducky had brought with him. Tim had spent almost two hours painstakingly tapping out the order on his phone, one handed, and had it paid for and ready when Ducky had arrived at the store. Everything was fresh, organic and looked expensive, which reminded Gibbs that at some point he and McGee would need to discuss how to split the finances involved in living together.

"Well?" Gibbs turned as Ducky was packing up his medical bag.

Ducky didn't pull any punches. "Dragging you back inside yesterday certainly didn't do his shoulder any good, Jethro. It's quite inflamed and I've warned Timothy that if he doesn't take it easy, he could end up back in the hospital. Now, since I've given him a heavy dose of pain killers, an anti-inflammatory and a strong boost of his antibiotics, he will probably sleep most of the day. Let him."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard."

Almost rolling his eyes, Ducky settled for a glare. "This is for your own good, too, Jethro. You need him back on his feet if you ever plan on being back out in the field."

In truth, Gibbs was still struggling with the idea that his own recovery and movements were dependent on someone else. "Yeah, I got it."

-NCIS-

Jim and Blair were at their desks at Cascade PD when Taggert waved them into his office. "We might have something." Sentinel and Guide were on their feet immediately, the detectives they were working with right behind them.

Taggert waited until they were all in his office and closed the door. "There was a pretty violent robbery near the I-5 interchange. Might be our boy, but the video is really grainy. This is all we've got. He ripped the camera out of the wall about halfway through the attack. Forensics is working to clean it up, but it's going to take a while."

Rafe frowned at the image as Jim leaned closer to study it. "Other than violent, what ties it into Kincaid?"

"Vietnamese store and deli, owners are immigrants, Trang Huu Lanh and Trang Hien Lien. They didn't put up a fight, but he beat the hell out of them anyway. Wife's in a coma, husband's on life support until the family can gather to say their goodbyes."

"Damn it." As an immigrant himself, this hit close to home for Rafe. He turned to the pair, watching as Blair's hand rested on Jim's back, grounding him.

Eventually, Jim leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, it was him, all right. How long ago did this happen?"

"Earlier this morning. State Patrol has it secured for us, though." At the captain's words, the four climbed to their feet as Henry looked at the address they'd been given.

"I think I've stopped there before. They were nice people."

-NCIS-

Since Tim was asleep on the sofa, Gibbs sat at the table, staring into his coffee cup as Ducky brewed himself some tea. Eventually, Ducky joined him at the table. "You don't seem all that happy to be home, my friend."

"Yeah, I'm home, but basically under house arrest, Ducky. I didn't ask for any of this."

"You're telling me that you never once suspected that you might be a Sentinel? That when you were in boot camp and everything became much sharper and clearer, that it never crossed your mind?

"It was different then, I had..."

Ducky shook his head sadly when Gibbs wouldn't even say Shannon's name. "Timothy is your Guide now, Jethro." When Gibbs just shook his head, Ducky reminded him of something that Gibbs hadn't admitted to himself. "Subconsciously, you chose Timothy years ago, long before your heightened senses started to return."

"No, it had nothing to do with my senses. It was because..."

"You were drawn to him in a way you didn't understand." Ducky finished for Gibbs before giving him a pointed look. "You stopped raiding my office for aspirin when Timothy joined the team."

Gibbs stilled, having never made the connection before, and Ducky patted his arm before standing up. "It will only be a few more days, I'm sure. Court the lad a bit. Lord knows you've had enough practice with all the ex-wives you've got floating around."

"Damn it, Ducky." Gibbs stood, knocking his chair over in the process. "I'm straight, how in the hell am I supposed to manage this?"

"He's your Guide, Jethro. When the time comes, you'll know."

"I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"

Neither man noticed that the Guide in question was awake on the sofa in the next room.