~*~*~*~*~
"You touch me again, I'm filing battery charges!"
"Okay. Okay!" Blair backed off from the angry reporter, retreating toward the loft kitchen and the unimpressed solidity of his partner. Simon had a hand on the living room table, ready to move toward anyone that looked like starting trouble. "Chill, all right?"
Inwardly the guide was scrabbling for balance, trying not to stare at the ghostly gray fox wrapped around Ben Urich's feet like a drift of Manhattan fog. Slit eyes amber as the reporter's glasses glared at him over bared teeth. Great. Not just a spirit guide, but a ticked-off New York spirit guide.
"Sandy?" Megan, tip-toeing down the stairs from Jim's bedroom; now a hopefully quiet oasis of white noise generators for their exhausted witness.
"Viv okay?" Ben jabbed in first.
"Out as your proverbial light," the Australian nodded, rounding the table. "As soon as I assured her Joel would watch out for Esmond. I suggested a hospital; she refused. Forcefully. She seems certain 'they' will find her if she's within public walls, and I'm not so sure she's mistaken. That is one very frightened young woman." She arched an inquisitive brow toward Simon.
"Looks like you were on the money, Connor," Simon sighed. "What I don't get is why the two of you didn't have some warning."
"I don't know," Jim growled. "But...."
"But?" Easy, Blair told himself silently. Could be something simple. Could be something not really important. "But what?"
"Just before the fight... I thought I heard a falcon."
"At night?" Blair kept a tight rein on his own temper. "Jim, falcons don't fly at night."
"Falcons? Warning? Guides?" Ben's gaze cased the room in quick flicks, weighing the odds of getting to the hall door versus the three-story drop from the balcony. "Are you all nuts?"
"It's a long story." Blair rubbed at the beginnings of a headache. "What do you know about Sentinels?"
"Bunch of aboriginal legends," Urich said warily. "People with enhanced senses. Taste one drop of poison in a gallon of wine, track prints weeks old. Feel a pea under a dozen goose-down mattresses, probably. You were researching the folklore, before some idiots over at Rainier got hold of part of your notes and published 'em out of context. Made it sound like Ellison was the guy you'd been looking for, nearly got you both killed. Not to mention, nearly got you blasted out of academia before the whole fiasco got shoved under the rug. Big mess."
Guy does his research, Blair realized. Maybe this won't be so hard. "People like Matt."
"Say what?" Urich crossed his arms, looked at him askance. "Case you hadn't noticed, Matt's blind."
"Nice try." Jim's smile was feral as he looked at his guide. "He knows."
"All I know is, you guys are seriously ticking me off," Ben groused. "And if you got things under control here, I got a hotel bed calling my name-"
"Sit down," Simon said flatly. Pointed toward the table when the reporter's eyes narrowed. "Look, Urich. I don't care what you think or don't think. Hell, half the time I wish I didn't believe this stuff. But right now your partner's a danger to himself and my officers. So sit down and listen."
Ben glanced at them all, carefully dragged a chair away from the table to sit within an easy lunge of the hall door. "I told you. Matt's not my partner."
Megan snagged her own seat, folded graceful hands on the table. "But you did help him on the plane."
"So he was a little freaked," Ben shrugged. "Happens when you've never been on a plane before. What's that got to do with Sentinels?"
"Historically, every Sentinel had a guide," Blair said carefully. Looking at the reporter out of the corner of his eye, focussing past the angry fox to the link he knew had to be there. "Someone to look after him when he was using his senses. Someone to help him focus, keep him grounded, help him look after the tribe. And the other warriors who fought with the Sentinel." Come on, come on, it's got to be-
There. A shimmer of rainbow, spider-web in the first light of dawn. Thin, and new, and so fragile he was afraid to breathe. Oh. Wow. "You just met him."
"A few weeks ago. Black-tie party, before Kingpin put a hit out on Ambassador Natchios and the whole night went to hell." Ben's gaze was fixed on him. "What the hell are you doing?"
"So you don't know, yet," Blair said, half to himself. You don't know the hold he's got on you. You don't know you can reach out and find him. You don't know he's... yours.
"Murdock knows. Maybe he doesn't know it yet, but he knows." Jim stayed put with an effort. "His scent's all over you. Gargoyle. Leather. Rooftops. And blood."
"Matt? Mixed up with Viv?" Urich's fingers fanned air; a classic New Yorker's 'talk to the hand'. "What's he on, Banks?"
"L.A., Simon," Jim said flatly. "Murdock's scent's not as strong as Vivian's, and hers isn't as strong as Callista's was. But it's there." The detective stared down at the smaller man. "No wonder the rumors say Daredevil's not human."
"Daredevil?" Simon looked at them aghast. "Murdock?"
"You're nuts, Ellison." Ben didn't flinch. "You saw the guy fight. You think a blind lawyer could do that?"
"Doesn't make sense. I know." The sentinel's voice was dangerously even. "But your friend can hear people lie. You think I can't?"
"Gentlemen. Please." Megan's smile was strained. "We really don't need to be arguing about this. Mr. Urich, if you're Matt's guide, he'll be here soon enough. If not...."
"Then you guys might as well put on the coffee, 'cause you're gonna be up all night." Urich grinned and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, the picture of East Coast smug. "No way Matt even knows where I am."
~*~*~*~*~
"So... you're no' an ex-girlfriend, no?"
Tired, sore, and nauseous from trying to follow a hint of White Diamond through an overwhelming stink of fish, Matt leaned into the cab's turn onto Prospect Avenue. Sometimes he envied ordinary people their lack of sensitivity; this far from the docks, the cabbie probably didn't notice anything beyond a hint of salt and seaweed. But she headed right for it. After she couldn't lose me through the traffic. I don't like it. "Do I look like an ex-girlfriend?"
"Just asking, mon," came the swift, Jamaican-flavored reply. "You can never be sure. Especially with the people heading for Prospect. I mean, this street...." The driver's heart rate hitched up a notch. "Ah, no offense, but - you're not on parole, no?"
"No. Why?" Weird. Very weird.
"Cop? FBI? One of those-" Radar painted a waving hand beyond the barrier. "No Such Agencies?"
"No, nothing like that." What on earth had happened in this city? And I thought New York was strange.
"Course, that's what you'd say," the cabbie's head bobbed. "Right. I got you, mon. Not talking about it, no."
Matt sighed. "I'm an attorney."
"Seriously?" Rampant disbelief rang through the driver's voice.
"Seriously." Matt slipped a business card out of his pocket by touch, inserted it into the slot in the barrier.
"Mon." The cabbie pulled to the curb, shaking his head. "Ellison is going to flip." Bills crinkled as he took his fare; a ten in folded in half on top of dog-eared ones. "What's up with this, mon?"
"Just a habit." I can tell you and your date had hot dogs, peanut butter cups, and a French kiss for lunch, but I can't tell denominations apart unless I feel the ink. Life is weird. Cane in hand, Matt closed the door, shutting out the driver's confused mutter as the cab pulled away. The conversation three floors up was much more interesting....
"She's still out?" The same dark voice that had threatened a bullet not long before, over a clatter of footsteps down loft stairs.
Blair sighed. "Simon. It's all right. She was just... scared." Curls whispered, brushed back by the younger detective's impatient hand.
"Throws bikers all over the alley and she was scared?" Simon blew out a breath. "Joel had better keep an eye on that kid."
Matt listened, sorting heartbeats from that odd, disconcerting fuzz overhead; like a black hole in reality. One, two, three, Ben Urich's....
He started, reaching out for scents of mint, stale cigarettes and damp New York trench coat, a surreptitious scratch of pen on paper. Ben. Definitely.
Odd. How had he known? It'd taken weeks for him to pick Foggy's heartbeat out of the crowd of others on campus. And they'd been roommates.
Then again, he had been listening intently on the plane, trying to drown the agonizing ache in his ears in that steady rhythm. Lucky guess, Matt decided. Who else would smell like New York?
"Windows locked?" Jim asked.
"Yeah," Blair acknowledged. "But try to listen around the white noise generators once in a while."
White noise generators? So that's why Blair's footsteps had appeared on the stairs, fading out of radar's fuzz. Not good. What do they know?
"Megan's staying up there to watch her," Blair went on, "But...."
"If she turns into that thing again, Megan might have to shoot her," Jim said bluntly. "She almost killed that man."
"Gargoyle, not thing," Ben shot back. "And she didn't."
"It wasn't for lack of trying."
"She's been shot, she's been running, she thought they had her brother - what the hell is with you, Ellison?" Ben paced toward the building interior, halted with a faint intake of breath; as if he were being glared at by someone far larger. "Anyway. She's out, at night; she ought to stay out. Captain Chavez says the shifts take a lot out of people. And she ought to know."
"People." Wariness lurked in Ellison's tone. "I guess they can pass for that." A whisper of crossed arms. "Like your lawyer friend does."
"Pass for-? For the love of-" Urich bit out three words Matt recognized from the Kitchen; Eastern European and rude. "First off, where it counts, Viv's as human as you are. Second - I'm telling you, Matt's not a gargoyle."
What? Matt froze on the sidewalk, feeling his own heart race. First Hudson's claim, now this.... No. Not possible. Demona missed me. I know that.
But then, even Hudson hadn't thought he was like Vivian.
"Lie to yourself if you want." A panther's snarl. "You know he's coming for you."
"I told you." Ben didn't flinch. "You got a nice story about Sentinels, and Guides, and all kinds of weird stuff. And none of it fits. Matt came out here as a favor. We don't even like each other that much. He's probably back at the hotel right now, trying to figure out where I went. He's sure not following some screwy psychic lifeline to find me."
"Then how is he on my sidewalk?"
I thought you knew I was here. "Hate to break this to you, Detective, but you are in the phone book," Matt said wryly, tapping toward the stairs. Cotton, chemical dyes, silk, formaldehyde... clothing shop. Odd place to live over.
A silence upstairs. "The phone book."
"The little number you dial?" Matt hid a grin. Some detective. "For information?"
"The phone book?"
"Jim?" Blair's voice; worried.
Pausing on the second floor landing, Matt listened to Ellison's loft. Sounds of footfalls, tense breathing, scents of stress and worry. Not good. Ben didn't sound hurt, but he couldn't hear Vivian at all. And with that cold distrust in Ellison's voice.... We have to get her out of here. "I don't know what your problem is, Detective, but leave Ben out of it."
"He's part of the problem, Murdock," the detective growled. "And you know it."
"He's here?" Simon's hand patted low, near leather and gunpowder; ankle holster, Matt deduced.
"Oh man," Blair murmured, footsteps nearing the door. "Jim, stay calm, man. I don't think he came to fight." A shift in voice. "Does he feel like he came to fight?"
"Feel like?" Urich repeated, thoroughly exasperated. "How the hell should I know? I told you. We're not connected."
"Oh, man... worse than I thought. You're supposed to help center your sentinel. You feel him. Here, just let me-"
Matt tensed, suddenly on edge. Something wasn't right. Something-
"I said, don't touch me, Sandburg," Ben growled, feet pacing over hardwood. "He's not mine."
"Ellison, your only problem is about five-foot-six, medium build, with a short haircut," Matt listed, listening to the echoes inside the detective's lair. "Wore White Diamond perfume, a lot of leather and metal, and no socks. Had safety glass in her hair." He'd heard it fall, scattering crystal points of silver on the sidewalks. "Heavy gun; I'd bet on a 9mm. She ran, called someone named Palo for a pickup at the usual. Whatever that is."
"Caucasian, dark brown hair, brown eyes," Ellison said bluntly. "Black leather pants, vest with silver studs. Tried to trace the car registry; so far, it's come up as a little old lady in Corvallis who had no clue she had a classic Mustang. We've got an APB out. I thought you'd stop her. How'd you lose her?"
"I thought I'd rather stop Vivian." Matt stopped outside the third-floor apartment door, hands braced on his cane. "Your brunette ran toward a traffic accident, circled it twice, hopped on and off a bus, and dodged through a biker bar. I lost her near the cannery. You want to talk, Ellison? Or do you want to let the woman who set up that ambush walk?"
Warily, Simon opened the door.
Glass-topped table, Matt registered, taking in echoes of silicon and steel as he entered the loft. Hardwood floors. Not too much furniture; light wood and metal. Stairs leading up....
Up, into that disconcerting black fuzz. Perfume, gunpowder, rooftops. Vivian and another woman, whose scent lacked the wild aftertaste of hybrid gargoyle. Must be Megan. Jaw set against the irritating white noise, Matt advanced toward the hard resonance of steps.
A grainy echo of muscle stepped into his path. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To see Vivian." Matt kept his tone even, fingers barely touching the table as he passed it. Glass, he confirmed. Just a few more feet. And radar degrading with every step, the stairs' solid echoes wavering like water. If he walked up there, he'd truly be walking blind....
"I don't think so." Ellison's heavy hand reached out of sound's static, fell on his shoulder with a dig of fingers into sensitive nerves. "Not until you talk about that woman I thought you were going to stop-"
Strike!
Slip under the nerve grip; turn it back on its wielder in a quick pressure of fingers between bones, a leap forward that yanked his opponent off balance and let Daredevil push off the wall vibrating under the stairs, flipping him up and back-
But the detective rolled with the fall, coming up in a dangerous crouch. A growl; his hand darted near the scent of leather and gunpowder.
"Damn it, Jim!" Simon shouted.
"No guns!" Blair yelped in the same breath.
Got that right. Blood singing in his ears, Daredevil struck out with his cane; right wrist, shoulder, fingers. Almost smiled as the detective dodged the full force of the blows. He's good.
A faint echo whispered through static; the quiet ring of cloth pants against glass.
But not good enough.
Daredevil leapt, caught hold of the edge of a hanging industrial light for one wild, creaking instant, swung-
Crash!
Shards flew past in a crystal spray; Ellison latched onto his arm, tried to lever him into the steel tangle that had been the table frame. Brushed metal caught his sleeve, threw him off for a critical fraction of a second. Long enough for Ellison to wrestle his cane clear and sink a breath-stealing punch to the ribs.
No leather, Daredevil reminded himself, gasping. Move!
Curl and cartwheel upright; ignore flash-fire bites of pain from scattered glass. Dive and roll over the fabric loveseat, evading grasping hands; hear a creak of bearings, and shove the wheeled table into his opponent's path, TV and all.
"Oh, man!" Blair's groan was almost drowned by the second crash. "This is not happening... Ben, do something!"
"Like what?" the reporter shot back. "Pray?"
Blurs thudded into his body; hard, close-combat strikes, meant to take down a fighter once and for all. Daredevil dodged, parried, wove around the taller man in a twist of arms and blocks. Wished for the cane frustrating feet out of reach; the deadly sticks that would tip the balance irrevocably in his favor. Too good. Need some distance... before we kill each other....
"Both of you!" Simon's voice; a drift of cigar smoke. "Stop this now!"
A white crackle; electric shock, and-
Sound went dark.
~*~*~*~*~
There goes our furniture budget, Blair thought inanely, trying to make sense of the carnage spread over his living room. "Did you see...?"
"Some kind of white flash when your captain grabbed them?" Ben picked his way through the glass and wood splinters, took the pulse at Matt's neck. Blew out a relieved breath. "Yeah. I'm going to take a wild guess and say this never happened before?"
"I don't know," Blair said numbly, working his way in to check his own partner, then Simon. Okay. They're just... out. You can handle this. "He's been having some problems lately. Computers acting up, phones dying on him... I mean, I thought I saw his aura flaring once or twice, but it could have been just my imagination. I didn't think anything like this would happen...."
"You see auras." No question in the reporter's tone.
"Ah... a little," Blair admitted. "Sometimes." Not nearly often enough, if this was any clue. "It's weird. He looks a little... faded."
"Been working on a story or two in the city tunnels." Urich got his arms under the limp attorney, started levering him up out of the glass. "Couple people down there are supposed to throw things when they get ticked. Some kind of electric shock; melts glass, can take a person down for hours. A few of the witnesses said it wipes the guy who throws 'em out for a while." He picked off a few splinters, blew sharp dust off his fingers. "Stantz over at the Ghostbusters calls 'em levin-bolts; says every once in a while you find people who've got 'em. Though sometimes they don't know they've got 'em 'til they blow their top big-time."
"And Simon thought we were weird," Blair muttered, helping the reporter lift his partner onto the sofa when it was clear Urich was having a hard time moving the man. Whoa. This guy's heavier than he looks.
"I heard the crash, what-" Megan hustled down the stairs, eyes visibly bugging as she took in the wreckage. "Good Lord!"
"Simon's going to kill me." Blair stepped back, gauged which of the two cops was in more danger from broken glass; reluctantly moved toward his captain rather than his sentinel. "Somehow, I don't know how, he's going to figure out this was my fault. And then he's going to kill me."
The inspector stepped around glass, slipped under Simon's other arm, shaking her head. "What happened?"
"You want my guess...." Undoing a light blue shirt collar, Ben peeled back cotton to expose Matt's scarred shoulder. "I'd say this happened."
Laying Simon on the loveseat, Blair blanched. From that pink scar, someone had tried to put a sharpened steel rod through Murdock's heart. And missed. Can't be more than a few months old. "Oh, hell. Hypersensitive touch-"
"And your partner dug in but good." Urich's tone was level, but not friendly.
"Sorry."
"What for? You didn't grab him." The reporter eyed Murdock, then Jim. Swept his gaze over the wreckage. Sighed. "Inspector Connor? I'm gonna ask you for a favor." He held up a room key. "Could you get our stuff? I don't think I'm going anywhere tonight."
"So now I'm a delivery service?" The Australian cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Hey." Urich shrugged. "You want to help Sandburg sweep up this mess before somebody slices their throat, be my guest."
"Oh, no," Megan said wryly, watching Blair start swinging a broom with resigned fury, sweeping up fragments of plastic and metal that had been a TV set. "I couldn't bear to tear myself away from this spectacle of carnage. It's quite fascinating the amount of damage Jim's capable of when he puts his mind to it. Especially when he has such willing accomplices...."
Blair leaned on his broom. "Megan. Please?"
"Nice lady," Ben observed, holding the dustpan steady as the loft door closed behind her. "Doesn't take no flack from nobody. She'd fit in just fine in the Kitchen."
"Hey. No stealing Major Crimes detectives. We need all we've got." Blair shoved in glittering glass. "So now you believe me?"
"Kinda. Maybe. Well...."
Blair opened the storage room under the stairs, dragged out a heavy metal trash can. "So what doesn't fit?"
Swish. Swish. Rattle rattle clang! "Look," Urich said, dusting bits of glass into the trash. "Your research said they're born with the senses, right?"
"Far as I can tell, yeah. Though in a culture which doesn't believe in Sentinels, they seem to end up repressing them until they undergo a prolonged period of isolation, at which point there's apparently a massive sensory eruption-" Blair cut himself off. "Ah. Sorry."
"'S'okay," Urich shrugged. "You should try getting an explanation out of Dr. Spengler sometime." He worked his way around the hall door, clearing fragments toward the main mess. "So you're saying they shut it off 'til they hit a spot where there's nothing else to pay attention to, then they lose it. And that's the problem. Far as I can tell asking around, Matt's always been like this." The reporter stared at shattered circuits, not seeing them. "Not that there's anybody left to ask from before he went blind. Kingpin took care of that."
"That could have been it," the anthropologist said slowly, clearing bits out from under the stove. Nineteen years? Nineteen years as a Sentinel with no Guide? "Kingpin...?"
"Rose left at the scene where Jack Murdock was beaten to death," Ben said matter-of-factly. "Case is still open. Not that anybody thinks it's ever gonna get closed. Not when the only witness was the vic's blind kid, who got there just in time to hear a car pull out." Laying down the tangle of metal table legs, the reporter blew out an angry breath. "No jury's going to buy a car ID'd from just the engine noise."
"Oh, man." For a heartbeat Blair tried to picture what Jim would have been like, had someone slain the father he still cared deeply about, despite all their arguments. Add the whole territorial component, a threat to your tribe you can't do anything about, can't get the tribe elders to take seriously.... "So he went vigilante."
Urich took off his glasses, met his gaze eye to troubled eye. "That going to be a problem?"
Aha. "I don't know. Is it?"
"I don't know anymore. I just... I don't know." Ben glanced away. "About this Guide thing. I'm just your average guy, Sandburg. Nobody special."
"He came with you," Blair said softly. "He left his territory to come with you. Trust me, he wouldn't do that for just anyone."
Urich shrugged it off. "He came 'cause there might be a leak in WitSec. And Elektra might be there. Which means he's going to patch it come hell or high water."
Maybe. "Think they'll be out for a few hours, huh?" Blair patted the couch near Matt's head. "Come on."
"And do what?" Ben asked warily, not moving.
Easy, Blair told himself. He's already freaked. Don't scare him off. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'd like to see if we can do something about your friend's sense of touch. Hopefully before we run out of furniture."
~*~*~*~*~
Blackness. Noisy, sharp, echoing blackness....
Hey, kid. Matt? You listening?
Warm hands, gentle on his arm. Warm heartbeat, steady and strong as a river. Almost enough to drown the roar of a strange city, the sirens and gunshots and screams of pain.
Work with me here, Murdock. Patience, tinged with a hint of humor. Not that you ever make it easy for anybody. Foggy's crystal clear on that.
Foggy? Matt frowned, pushed at sucking darkness. What about his partner?
Ah, that gotcha. Easy. He's okay. Just listen. A stroke of fingers down his arm, careful and cautious. Think about dials, all right? You got four of 'em. One's marked hearing, one's marked touch....
He could picture them in his head; silvery shadows on black, dotted in Braille like his watch. Hearing, touch, scent, taste; and interwoven with them all, that odd, comforting coalescence of senses he called radar.
Radar? Startled stutter of fingers. Okaaay... five. Now, you feel the dials? Know where they're set?
Weird question. Scent and taste were there, touch throbbing high, sound wavering as it always did, radar mostly anchored, but shivering back and forth with sound....
What d'you mean, they're not supposed to go past ten? Well they are, Sandburg, let's deal with it.
Scents wafted away, fading into a background of mint and harbor air. Taste faded, the burn of blood from a tooth-nicked lip turning to a subtle flavor of copper. Touch-
'Kay, this one's stuck. Guess that's why you had those damn painkillers in your bag. And believe me, we're gonna talk about that.... Easy, Matt. Turn it down one notch at a time. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen... that's it. Keep going.
A shocked murmur roared in sore ears. Something shoved at his dial, almost enough to pull him clear of the floating blackness.
Sandburg! That oddly familiar voice, suddenly harsh. You're the guy who's supposed to know what he's doing. If Matt says it bottoms out at six, I believe him.
Another murmur. Just as painfully loud as the first.
So none of 'em go down past six. Yeah? So? Your point?
Ben?
Whoa, Matt. I got you. Just stay put. Don't think we got all the glass yet.
Distantly Matt felt himself wince. Hearing hurt....
Aw, man; this one's all over the place. Up, down - heck, I think it's shimmying. Matt, how on earth do you sleep nights?
Sometimes he didn't. That's what the sensory deprivation tank was for; to shut out the world those nights he absolutely had to sleep before court.
And that's you all over. If nothing else works, hit it with a bigger hammer.... Wry irritation faded into a tentative question. How's that?
Peaceful. So quiet. Almost as restful as the night Elektra had stayed, wrapping his tattered soul in the comfort of knowing he was truly loved.
Resting his head against that calming heartbeat, Matt let sleep steal over him.
Hey, Matt? You want to turn loose of my arm? Sandburg! Stop snickering, damn it!
~*~*~*~*~
"Frank?"
Phone to his ear, Special Agent Frank Mulroney glanced into the controlled chaos of late night-early morning in the Organized Crime Task Force's bullpen. Shut his office door. "Kay. I've been trying to track you down half the night! Where are you? Do you have any idea there's-"
"A want, yeah." Agent Kant's voice had a barely audible quiver; the kind you got staying one step ahead for a few days too many. "Wrong place, wrong time. Things blew. You know how it goes."
"Things blew?" Mulroney shook his head. Granted, undercover work could go south in a hurry, but... "Attempted homicide, Kay. Suspect. Enough's enough. Come in."
"Hey, I didn't draw down on anybody. And you didn't see that thing." Humor rang through Dorcea's voice, faded into brittle calm. "I'll be okay, Frank. Just cover for me a little longer."
"Cover for you? Ellison saw you, Kay-"
"And ten to five, he's got your witness wrapped up nice and pretty." The undercover agent's voice was light, almost playful. "And he didn't tell you, did he?"
Why that grandstanding- Mulroney stopped himself. Took a deliberate breath. This was his agent who was in trouble. What Ellison had or hadn't told him about Vivian Cannon wasn't important. What share of the glory Major Crimes did or didn't get - wasn't important. Not against Dorcea's life. "Kay. I'm telling you, come in."
"Not happening, Frank."
A shiver went down his spine. Something was wrong in that strained voice. "Kay-"
"I'm getting Ig, Frank. You want to help? Meet me."
Writing down the address, Mulroney hesitated. I should bring in the team-
No. Kay was his agent. His responsibility.
But if she's turned-
Kay? Not a chance. She gloried in taking the bad guys down.
Still... he had a witness to protect.
So call them. After you get Kay out of there.
Grabbing his raincoat, Mulroney caught himself midway through an absent sign of the cross. Rolled his eyes, remembering way too many Sunday classes before the Academy, and finished with a shrug. What the heck. It couldn't hurt.
Be all right, Kay. Please.
~*~*~*~*~
Somebody turn off that jackhammer. Simon blinked, winced. Since when did Ellison put in ultrabrights?
"...Think he's coming out of it - Simon?" Blair's voice, close and worried; familiar fingers rested against his cheek. "You okay?"
"Coffee. Mug," the captain of Major Crimes gritted, blinking away faint sunlight. Keeping his eyes half-closed as he looked around for the source of the destruction. Sour-faced detective, check; clenched jaw speckled with sticking paper like the aftermath of a punch-drunk barber's shave, balled up in the yellow leather chair around a quilt as if Jim were trying to strangle it in its sleep. And on the couch....
One way-too-agile, hostile attorney, bonelessly sprawled over the cushions, deadly cane placed near to hand. Simon sighed. "Full mug."
He heard a New Yorker hiss under his breath, flicked his gaze toward the kitchen in time to see Urich pick a translucent shard out of his knuckle. "Ellison, with all the times Blair says this place has turned into a war zone," the reporter grumbled, "Why did you two keep a glass table?"
Jim's lips twitched. "I liked it."
Urich rolled his eyes. "Piece of advice? Pyrex."
Simon's eyes narrowed. Naah. Jim couldn't actually be considering that. "Sandburg."
Blair looked down at his captain's growl, yanked his fingers out from under Simon's cheek. "Ah, if it helps, Ben and I think we figured out what happened."
"What?" Besides World War III in the living room. Simon frowned, trying to pin down hazy memories. Jim and Murdock had been gleefully trying to kill each other, he'd wanted to strangle them both - no big surprise, when Sentinel instincts reared their not-so-useful side - and then....
Sparks, and rage, and a sudden chill-
And the warmth of coffee steam, shoved under his nose. "Coffee first," Urich advised. "Then you can freak him out."
"Ben. Sentinels and Guides are natural phenomena. I mean, we see people with better than average senses or people-reading skills all the time. This is just... a little exaggerated."
Urich shot the anthropologist a skeptical look.
"Okay, a lot exaggerated," Blair admitted. "With a lot of variation, and-"
"You can stop playing possum," Jim said evenly. "I heard your breathing change two minutes ago."
Murdock latched onto his cane, sat up in a casual shrug. Patted his shirt pocket for the dark glasses to cover sightless blue eyes. "Didn't want to start another fight. I know how I am before my first cup of coffee."
"I'm... sorry about that." Jim's words were stiff, forcing their way through a tight jaw. "Didn't know you were hurt."
"Not a good idea to grab strangers. No matter how good you are." An auburn brow lifted. "Special Forces?"
"Ranger." Jim's shoulders eased. "Who taught you?"
Matt paused. "He called himself Stick. He was blind."
"Not possible," Ellison said flatly. "I know about blind-fighting. You lose your balance, you lose your focus on where the enemy is... what are you doing?"
Cane balanced across one finger, Matt smiled. "Proving a point." Deliberately he let red-marked metal dip back and forth, never quite sliding off. Flexed his fingers with steadily increasing speed, the cane turning from weaving staff to spinning blur, thrown aloft-
And caught, light as a butterfly snatched from air.
"Touch, Detective," Matt said, not even breathing fast. "It's all the balance you could ever ask for."
Simon whistled. Glanced speculatively at his sentinel detective. "You could do that?"
Jim frowned, speculative. "Not yet."
"Maybe someday," Blair admitted. "I'm not sure. Matt's had a lot more time to practice. And-" he hesitated.
"And?" Jim prompted.
"Matt's not a Sentinel."
"But you said...." Ben glared at the anthropologist in a way that promised serious payback.
"Sentinels have enhanced senses. Which you obviously do," Blair nodded toward the attorney. "Only, along with that hypersensitivity comes a sensitive immune response. You wouldn't believe the lists I've had to come up with... anyway. Ben says you lived through a massive chemical assault."
"The accident," Matt said softly. "I remember."
"Matt?" Ben. Patient and wary as any reporter stalking a story.
"It was a clear day. Blue sky over the Kitchen, something to see. I was running on the docks." The attorney's jaw was set, hidden eyes looking into old pain. "They were moving something illegal, I don't know what. The forklift missed me, but.... The last thing I ever saw was a biohazard symbol." Matt gave them an abbreviated shrug. "About a week later I woke up with Manhattan yelling in my ears. I thought I was going crazy."
"Been there," Jim murmured.
"The point is, you woke up," Blair said seriously. "I don't think a Sentinel would have."
Interesting to know, Simon thought. But he was a lot more interested in what Sandburg wasn't saying. "So how did I end up out cold?"
"You threw a levin-bolt," Urich said dryly.
Simon blinked. Made sure his glasses were firmly set. "A what?"
"Ah... a bio-electric charge," Blair said reluctantly. "It's... kind of a manifestation of overexposure to psychokinetic energies."
"Melts glass, fries gadgets, and apparently knocks ticked-off Sentinels out cold," Urich quipped. "Pretty neat. If you can keep from toasting stuff accidentally."
"Another of your articles?" Matt leaned back, unconvinced.
"Columbia. Some poor prof in the English Department finally blew his top at Dean Yeager and flattened his tires. I got witnesses on that one."
Matt stifled a chuckle. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."
"So they say." Urich grinned crookedly. "And the dean couldn't even toss him. Genre Lit's never had so many students sign up."
Overexposure to psychokinetic energy, Simon thought. I knew it. I knew the Sentinel stuff was going to bite me one of these days. "Sandburg...."
"Told you," Blair sighed.
"Not his fault, Captain." Urich leaned on the couch by Murdock, suddenly serious. "Kind of exposure we're talking about comes from a place, not a person. They didn't get you. Cascade did."
Not fair. He'd moved to Cascade to get away from the weirdness in California. This is not happening. This is not- Simon halted his train of thought, catching the pair of glances toward the loft overhead. "She's awake?"
Jim nodded. "Joel said they'd call if we had any word on the APB. I checked in with Dispatch. No luck." A panther's grin. "But Henri and Rafe are working on the guys we scraped up off the pavement. Turns out they can tie one bright boy by the name of Johnnie to the chop-shop by his vice-grips. And he knows it-"
The phone rang.
"Ellison and Sandburg," the answering machine's terse message reported in the detective's voice. "Leave it. I'll get back to you."
"Or if you're lucky, I'll get to you first," Blair's voice added.
Beep. "Twelfth and Stanford," Mulroney stated. "I'm bringing in a witness in your case, Ellison. We've got to talk." Click.
"Mulroney-" Jim lunged for the phone, made a fist at the brring of an empty line. "He's in trouble."
"All I heard was him in a car," Matt noted.
"That's why he's in trouble," Jim said flatly. "Mulroney's got a thing for using landlines."
"Frank doesn't like the idea of crooks picking his conversations out of thin air," Blair nodded. "He carries a cell phone. He'll pick it up. But he never makes a call from it unless he's got no other choice."
"As in, he doesn't want you to catch his witness before he does," Simon snarled. "What are the odds we'll find the perp shot resisting arrest?"
"I don't know, Simon." Picking up his keys from the basket by the door, Jim frowned. "He sounded... worried. Upset."
"Someone's in trouble, and it's not him," Matt agreed.
The captain growled. "So let's find out who it is."
"Please," their witness' voice groaned down the stairs. "Not without breakfast."
"Second the motion," Urich nodded.
Simon stared up at the tousled young woman in Megan's borrowed bathrobe peeking over the railing, lowered his voice. "She heard that?"
"It's not like you're a block away," Vivian yawned. "What's breakfast?"
"Ah... healthy," Blair said brightly. "How about an algae shake?"
Viv threw a pillow at him.
"You two keep an eye on her," Jim said in an undertone. "We'll be back."
~*~*~*~*~
One of these days, they'll finish cleaning up this site, Mulroney thought, picking his way through the leftover rubble of the burned warehouse. Yeah, right. Probably about the time I make Assistant Director. "Kay?"
Leather and studs unfolded from behind a chunk of still-standing, charred wall. Thin sun gleamed off the dark metal in her hands, painting gold over the 9mm. "Well, well. Look what the phone dragged in."
I should have called for backup. Frank tried to shake off the nervous chill. "Kay, what's going on?" She's expecting trouble. From where? "Why would Calabrese show up here?"
Her smile flickered. Eyes widened slightly, glancing over his shoulder.
Behind me- Mulroney whirled.
Black leather, muzzle-flash - pain!
As lead drilled into him from two sides, Frank knew he'd made his last mistake.