The sunlight was surreal in contrast to the darkness that had threated to overwhelm her. The alarm hadn't even gone off yet, and she flicked the switch before it could. It was surprisingly quiet for New York City. As she got up to make coffee, her cell phone chirped to life.

"Eames."

"Deakins. I need you on a scene right away. We have a hostage situation at a bank... A judge is in there, with a handful of people."

"I'm on my way."

She towel dried her hair, put on a pair of black pants with a blue fitted dress shirt, throwing a black jacket over top. She glanced longingly at the coffee maker before grabbing her keys and heading out.

"I'm Detective Eames, this is Detective Goren.. what can you tell us?" She squinted up at the officer, her partner, in sunglasses, looked around.

"Some nut case with a gun." The man sighed. "I doubt he knows one of his hostages is a Judge. Not that it really matters, but at least she's not a specific target."

"Thanks. We're gonna see if we can wrap this up for you guys."

"We appreciate it," His brows were raised in dubious surprise at her confidence, but he wasn't going to contradict her.

"Coffee?" Goren handed her a cup.

"Thanks." She looked at it, then sipped it. "Where'd you get coffee from?"

"One of the ..." He gestured vaguely.

"Detectives! He's making demands!"

Goren and Eames turned.

"He's demanding to speak with .." The officer scowled in confusion, "Our 'leader' but gets angry when we try to put him in touch with our captain, or .. or.. the mayor."

"What do we have on this guy?" Eames looked up at the young man.

"He's.. uh.. his name is Earl Harkam. He's a retired postal worker."

"Great. The old stereotype is true."

"Uh, yeah," The kid shifted. "He's been unemployed more than he's been employed,"

"Can I see that?" Goren pointed to the file the kid was holding. Taking it gently, he flipped through it. "Eames.. his work history... he's Schitzophrenic, or Bipolar. Given his demands, I'm going to assume he's Schitzophrenic."

"Do you want to inform them that he's paranoid, or do you think they've figured that out?"

"Whatever," Goren sighed and turned towards the bank. He slid the file into his coat and walked up the steps.

Eames took a deep breath and followed.

"Feel like sharing with the rest of the class, today?"

"He wants to talk to the person "in charge" ... I'll be that person."

"Oh, and I thought you had an inflated ego.."

"Eames, he needs someone to fix whatever he feels is wrong. He needs someone who's going to understand his demands. That person is not a public figure, and giving him a name like.. "Captain McMahon" doesn't fit his idea of "someone in charge" ... we're talking deep dark government secrets. Black helecopters. That kind of stuff."

"Oh, fun. I'm glad I wore black today." She pitched her coffee into a trash can and unsnapped the leather strap that kept her gun secure at her hip.

Goren didn't say anything when he walked into the bank. Eames stayed just outside.

"Are you in charge?" A man said, shakily. He held a shotgun over fifteen frightened hostages. It appeared that no one was injured. Goren could look around without being noticed. The sunglasses helped.

"That's not what I'm here to discuss, Mr. Harkam." Goren spoke in a low monotone. "My identity is unimportant. You've gotten my attention. What do you want?"

"I want you to turn it off." His voice shook despite his efforts to seem sure.

"I don't think so." Goren turned to leave.

"Wait!" The man raised the gun, but Goren turned slowly. He sighed and looked at Harkam. "Please?"

"It can't be done here."

"You're trying to trick me."

"You're a thorn in my side, Mr. Harkam, but I'm not deceiving you. The procedure cannot be done here."

"I'll kill them." Harkam waved the gun shakily.

"And achieve what? You wanted to talk to me, I'm here. But I cannot be swayed by threats of violence. Even if I could,

it wouldn't change anything. The procedure cannot be done here."

In a split second, Goren was on the ground, and Eames had shot Harkam. Disarmed, and wounded, he was quickly apprehended. The shots came later, like sickening echoes. Bang.. that was Goren hit. Bang Bang That was her return fire.

She slumped next to him, waiting for the eternity it took for the ambulance to arrive. He looked at her, confused, blood on his hand and lips. Her eyes welled, but no tears spilled out, and she held his hands tightly in hers.

"Bobby.. Bobby.. Bobby..." She whispered, like a mantra.

As his breathing slowed and stopped, his eyes glazing, a sob wracked her, and she pulled him to her, her right arm cradling his head, her left holding him against her. The sirens sounded strange, and she heard them distantly. They weren't the regular wail, but a buzzing noise, pulsing. Louder, and louder.

She was breathing hard, and it took her a moment to turn the alarm off. She lay in the silence of her bedroom, hearing her coffee maker click on in the kitchen. Her cell phone rang, making her jump.

"Eames."

"Okay, so toasted bagel with flavored cream cheese and coffee, or danishes and coffee, OR we go to a diner today, because we don't have to be in until ten."

"What?"

"Toasted bagel with--"

"Bobby?"

"Yeah. ... You okay? Did I just wake you up?"

"No.. I.. well yeah. I had ... weird fucking dreams," She muttered.

"Tell me about it. Sorry I woke you up last night."

"What?"

"Nevermind. I'll see you in a half an hour?"

"Yeah." She clapped the phone shut, and leaned foward, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.