Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Blind Justice.

A/N: This is my first shot at a non-NCIS fic, so I have no idea how I'll go… I like Blind Justice, but it's the kind of show you decide to watch if you accidentally change the channel and there it is. It's much like CSI or Law & Order which I only watch if I'm bored. I do think that the concept is kinda interesting; a detective loses his sight yet is still determined to return to work, he solves cases with his remaining senses, etc. I was tossing up whether to do another NCIS fic using this story but I wanted to have a stab at this… I got the idea, believe it or not, when I was bored out of my brain and doing a crossword, one of the words in it was "cyanide" and thought, ooh that's a good story idea! Seriously, this fan fiction writing has warped my brain, I'm always coming up with new ideas, and still have a few lurking around, those evil little plot bunnies just wouldn't leave me alone! But it's never boring, and I've been told that story writing is good for you, it, and I quote – "heightens your creativity and releases stress." Okaaaaay then… And they call themselves a professional…. Pfft. Whatever the reason, I'm going to shut up now before I say something stupid…. Just read and reply, thanks!

Double Note: Wow... I just checked, and this is the very first Blind Justice fic - that ain't a good sign. Oh well, better make the most of it then...!

"C Is For Cyanide"

Chapter One

Detective Jim Dunbar sat silently in the squad room, a hand resting absent-mindedly on his seeing-eye dog's scruffy back. Hank was his name, a big German Shepherd dog that stuck by Jim ever since he got him. That was after a stint in hospital, rehab, counseling and everything else that went with losing your sight. Trawls of people filed through the doors of the hospital, talking about him while he was still in the room. He was blind, not deaf.

Three months earlier, he and his partner are called to the scene of a bank robbery. The bank robbers were armed with an AK-47. They're wearing body armor. Three cops are cowering behind a car out of ammo. Jim's partner had clear shot at the bank robber, he yelled for him to take the shot. He repeats himself four times before Jim himself decides to take the shot. He hits and kills the bank robber but the thief manages to get a shot out. Jim takes a bullet to the side of the head and is blinded for life. Jim was offered a desk job or early retirement but refused and sued the NYPD for his old job back. He won, got his old job back and was assigned to the Eighth Precinct in Brooklyn.

Nobody, not even his wife, believed in him. As part of his settlement with the city, he was ordered to go to psychiatric counseling. Nobody wants to partner up with him, and as you'd imagine it was a hard knock for him. He didn't know what he had expected. Did he expect that things would go back to normal, that people would treat him like the same old Detective Dunbar?

But finally that hell was over, all for Jim to enter another period of his life, one where all he could rely on were his dog and his remaining four senses. He couldn't even rely on himself anymore, all it would take was one too many steps when he wanted to cross the road and he'd be flat under the belly of a semi-trailer or a speeding yellow cab. He had Hank to look after him, but apart from that he was alone. No-one could understand what he had been thorough since the bank shooting; no-one could even begin to understand. Being betrayed by your best friend and colleague, it was too much, not to mention the fear that came with it. Anyone in their right mind would have been afraid. He could still hear the piercing sound of the bullet speeding past his head, one inch closer and it would have lodged in his skull, ending everything.

Sometimes he wished he had been that one inch closer, that it had all ended, but there was too much he would have left behind. Before all of this he was a successful detective, relied on by many - trusted. Now, even though he could not see the people around them, he could still sense their eyes locked onto him, waiting for him to slip up, make a mistake that would get him kicked out of the squad for good. He knew people didn't trust him, not that it was his fault, but Jim did understand how they felt. If he were in their position he wouldn't have put his trust in that of a blind man. Afterall, partners meant that you could rely on someone, trust them to have your back, how could someone without their sight be relied on?

He was partnered with Detective Karen Bettancourt, a young female detective with a knack for the job. She's got a way with people, but what took Jim back was the feeling he got when he was around her. Like she wanted anything but to be with him, partnered with him, relying on him in the line of duty. But really, that was just in the beginning, now Jim sensed that Karen was beginning to trust him.

Jim shifted in his chair, hearing someone enter the squad room doors at the rear of the room. He could hear their heavy footsteps as they dragged their feet, the hem of their trousers scraping along the floor behind their feet. He hear the sound of their trousers swishing together as they walked slowly, their jacket or trench coat muffling the sound of their shirt as they moved. Jim felt Hank tense under his hand, the muscles on his back tensing as he sensed the person bearing down on them. Hank let out a low growl as Jim turned towards the person. The shuffling stopped as Jim heard a sharp click and a sliding sound.

He could smell the scent of perspiration on the person as he pushed his legs closer to the seat, taking his hand of Hank's back and sliding it up towards his neck where he gave the dog's collar a gentle tug. Hank got up from his spot underneath Jim's desk and padded over to the intruder, panting slightly.

Jim jumped up out of his seat, "Who's there?" he asked in the direction of the intruder. The shuffling began again as the man suddenly started chuckling.

"Bit jumpy this morning are we Dunbar?" the voice asked, a humored tone entering his voice. Jim relaxed as he recognized the voice, that of Detective Marty Russo.

Russo laughed again as he walked over to the back room of the precinct, shutting the door behind him with a thud.

"Hank." Jim called. The dog padded back over to Jim, brushing himself against Jim's leg as he pushed past him to sit back under the desk. Jim sat back down in his seat, picking up his dark sun glasses and placing them on the bridge of his nose. He didn't know why he was so jumpy, he wasn't usually like this. But something made him uneasy as Russo entered the room, the strange click that he heard. Jim knew straight away that it was the sound of the safety being released on a pistol, that wasn't the problem. The problem was, why was it making him so uneasy? And why had Hank growled at a man he knew well? Maybe something strange was going on.

Maybe he was just paranoid.

Jim leans back in his chair as the door once again is flung open, Russo trudges over to his desk, muttering to himself. Jim listens as Russo picks up a folder and hurriedly flicks through it, slamming it down on his desk.

"Dunbar. Case. Get a move on." Russo calls out loudly to Jim. Jim feels the urge to yell back at him for his ignorance.

"Where's Karen?" Jim asks him, turning in his direction.

"Detective Bettancourt will be in later. Held up somewhere, I s'pose." He grumbles quietly. You didn't need your sight to know that Russo was pissed off at having to be paired with Jim, he could hear it in the tone of his voice.

The door swung open once more. Jim could smell perfume, a floral scent mixed with something like vanilla.

"Karen." He said, relieved that she was here. He was also glad to get rid of Russo.

She smiled, "Yeah, How…?" she began before shaking her head, "Never mind."

Karen shot a look at Russo, "Got held up. So, what have you got for us?" Russo handed her a folder.

"Woman in her mid-30's was found dead this morning in upper-Brooklyn. Suspected suicide." He proceeded to tell her, Karen's eyes skimming the first page of the file, confirming what Russo had said. "Poison." She said, frowning at him, "What did she use?"

Jim hears Russo let out a deep sigh, "Cyanide."

Karen's eyes widen, "Really?" she asks rhetorically, "So why are we investigating?"

Russo sighs again, propping himself on the edge of his desk, "I said suspected. We don't know for sure. The guy who notified us said she was like any other mother, stressed and tired, but not suicidal. Plus he had your card, Jim, he wanted you to head up the investigation."

Jim's head shot around at the mention of his name, "She was a mother?" he asked, more interested in that than anything else. Russo shoots Karen a bemused look, "Yeah… and he had your card. You are to head up the investigation." He repeats slowly, not impressed.

"I'm blind, not deaf." He tells him, giving Hank an absent-minded pat on the head, "Okay, so who is this guy?"

"Someone named Smith - John Smith." Russo says skeptically, "An alias, more than likely. And a pretty pathetic one at that. That's another reason we're investigating, Dunbar."

Jim nods, "Okay, then," he paused, whistling for his dog, "Hank!" Hank trots over, nudging his master with his snout. Jim attaches his seeing-eye dog's harness and grasps the handle. He hears the back door close as Russo heads out.

"Hey Jimmy." Karen calls to him, reaching out to link arms with him. Jim smiles at her warmly as she leads him to the doors. He's traced this path over and over before and knew it well, he didn't really need Karen to lead him. But he wasn't about to tell her that, anyway, he enjoyed the company. Unknown to Jim, Karen returns his smile as they head out the door.

A/N: Reviews please people! This being my first Blind Justice fic I have no idea if it's any good, but there will be more to come! And don't worry, I haven't forgotten my in-progress NCIS stories, "With Grace" and "Allegiance", I'm getting chapters out asap. I'm also attempting a Stargate SG-1 fic, one about Cassandra, but that's not ready to post. R&R