It's one of the more hectic days at Platt's desk, and while the bustle used to scare him into waiting, dancing on the sideline for a clear path, he's gotten used to it. Now he just pushes to the front, because Voight is impatient to get this done, and it really only will take a second for Platt to sign the requisition form. He doesn't take that much notice of the guy pushing in beside him, glancing behind him just for a moment as Platt sends the guy packing, feeling a twinge of sympathy before focusing back in on just getting Platt to sign the thing.

"Okay, it's really not that big a deal. You just take that little pen –"

His sentence is jerked into a yell when he feels the arm yank him back around the neck, and he feels the cold clack of the muzzle of a gun at his temple and for a moment it's like someone has somehow hit pause and fast-forward at the same time, and he can't breathe and the world is a whirl of colour without shape, distorted and the blur of the beige walls almost looks like sand, and his lungs are full of sand, he can't breathe, can't breathe – are you in love with him – and he knows he's dissociating – yes – and then sharply, loudly in his ear "Are you going to listen to me now?" and Sargent Platt comes into focus, and he's staring down the barrel of her revolver.

He still can't really breathe, his raised arms feel numb, but he can hear the chaos, see it, and at least he's firmly in the District, not the sand. He swallows hard, fighting only a little pressure from the arm around him – the guy isn't really trying to choke him, just hold him. And then Voight is there, Burgess and the other officers are shuffling people out, and he's stumbling backwards with his captor, staring down entirely too many guns until "Sargent, I got a shot," and he's sure Roman is a good shot, but that is so not happening. It's the snap he needs to slip out of the shock.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, easy," he shouts out, and Roman draws back from the shot just barely. Voight steps in, and Mouse shuts his mouth, eyes flickering around the room, watching the nervous officers, waiting for his moment, and mostly waiting for Jay. He listens to what the man is saying, using the words to distract him from the press of the gun against his head, and remembers the twinge of passing sympathy he felt for this man, and in the sands a gun pointed at you meant enemy, but now all Mouse can hear is desperation.

There's a moment, when the man drops the bag, sliding it towards Voight that Mouse feels the gun fall from his temple, the arm slip away from his neck and he thinks, I could run, but he doesn't. And the next second he's caged tightly again and he thinks maybe he's lost his mind with the death threat echoing in his ears, but he reassures Voight anyway. Desperation, remember? Voight takes the bag and goes upstairs and Mouse feels the loss; Voight's not a warm and fuzzy man, but Mouse respects him, trusts him. Platt, Roman, Burgess – they're good police and Mouse likes them well enough, but they're not his people, not the way Intelligence has become, and the minutes alone with the sensation of the guns trained on him tick slowly.

And then – are you in love with him? – Jay's coming down the stairs, and Mouse can tell that he's freaked, his eyes are wide and he's pale. But seeing Jay hardens Mouse's resolve. Even more than Intelligence, Jay is family, Jay is his people, and it's galvanizing, like that last second they would always check eyes before moving out with their unit. So when Jay asks if he's all good, his answering "We're cool," is truer than when he said it to Voight. This he remembers how to do, because Jay is on the other side, and they know how this works together. He meets Jay's eyes once more through the blinds, last glance, last nod, and then he's alone with a man and a gun.

He pushes as much as he can at the man – Frazier, Jeff Frazier – but he still knows when to quit, backing off into silence and counting his breaths, waiting on his unit. The wait stretches out, longer, longer, and they end up on the floor across from each other, Mouse studying his captor. Frazier, Jeff Frazier, handles the gun familiarly, carelessly, sweating with darting eyes, but steady hands. Finally Mouse decides it's time to break the silence.

"When did you serve?" It doesn't get him much, trading a little piece of his story for a little piece of Frazier's, but it's something. It will bind them together, the way it always does, shared service. Mouse has become more real in Frazier's eyes, it would be harder for him to kill him. Although Mouse is increasingly sure he really doesn't want to hurt him at all anyway – but remember Hollingsworth? – so he leans back against the wall and keeps watching. Keeps waiting.

It's increasingly unnerving, the kind-of silence between them, and the muffled chaos outside their isolation. And then Voight is calling through the door and Mouse stares at Frazier, willing him to listen. Frazier rises slowly, pulling Mouse up, hooking his arm once again around Mouse's neck, and touching the gun back to his head. Just listen to Voight Frazier. But Mouse can tell that Frazier doesn't trust Voight, believes it's a ploy to get a gun on him. And maybe it is. But Erin shouts out next.

"You were right. Sarah didn't run away. She was kidnapped, along with this girl and at least three other girls we know of." Erin's voice is a relief he didn't quite expect, more than Voight, and not only because it means that Jay is probably out there too. Frazier's breath catches, Mouse can feel it in the man's chest against his back. Mouse nudges aside the curtain, and Erin is the first thing he sees, and it's a damn comforting sight after several hours in that lonely room. But Frazier still hesitates, until the battered girl – are you in love with him? – speaks up, timid and quiet, and Frazier cracks the door, but when she starts she can't seem to stop, speaking right over Frazier's question, the words breaking her open in front of them. Frazier's arm slips a little around him, and Mouse knows he wants to believe that they will find her, wants to hope that finally someone will help. Frazier edges little by little forward, until Mouse can see the whole room. SWAT and officers line the walls, too many guns, too many guns, but – are you in love with him? – Mouse focuses in on Jay. There he is, still, steady, focused, gun trained on Frazier, locking eyes with Mouse.

Mouse sees Jay's sideways glance at the SWAT guy on the stairs, follows his gaze to the familiar posture of a sniper steeled for the shot. He swallows, takes a breath, checks the room, and locks eyes again with Jay. Ready. He waits a beat, and Jay nods, just barely, just enough. Mouse plants his feet and moves, and it's been a while but he'll never forget, never, and the gun is in his hand – grab yank twist – and the grip is warm from Frazier's hand, and there's a freeze frame moment, just a split second because here he is again with a gun to someone's father. And then everyone is moving, Jay's rushing in and Mouse flicks the safety, hands up and out of the way and Frazier is in cuffs on his knees. And while everyone is still in motion Mouse makes a split second decision. His fingers still know the moves and he could do it in his sleep – one second he's holding a gun, and the next it's a hunk of empty metal, and he's got a little extra loose change in his pockets. Jay turns to Mouse.

"What took you so long?" It comes out sharp and gruff, and someone else might mistake it for anger. Mouse knows better.

"I believed him."

When the chaos settles, Mouse is surprisingly okay. The adrenaline wearing off leaves him with trembling fingers and a few shaky breaths, but Jay stands beside him, hand on his shoulder and it passes soon enough. Mouse watches Frazier being taken away to holding, head down. When the team leaves to find Ulrich, he sits at his desk a moment, staring at the screen. Then he's pushing up out of his chair, down the stairs, pausing just a moment before rounding the corner to the holding cells.

"We're not gonna stop looking for your daughter. I just wanted you to know." He's not expecting Frazier to say anything, but he does. And this is the reason he never went to that support group they gave him a pamphlet for when he came home, this right here, because don't he and Jay have enough of the war to carry around with them already? And Frazier's words are pressing on his chest, and he doesn't need this, doesn't want it, but he can't bring himself to hate Frazier for it – desperation, remember? It hurts and he can barely force the words out, but he does.

"We're gonna find her. I give you my word." And maybe that promise isn't his to make, but he'll make it anyway. He thinks it's over then, and he starts to leave when Frazier speaks again.

"I'm sorry. For dragging you into this. Man to man." And this time Mouse doesn't have any words because there's always been something about apologies like this that knock the wind out of him the most, and all he can do is nod and get out of there. The weight lifts the farther he gets from the holding cell, and back at his desk he can breathe again. It happens fast after that, and Frazier gets to hold his daughter again and Mouse leans back in his desk when he hears, and smiles.

When Voight calls him into his office later, he braces himself, slipping automatically into military posture.

"You did good in there today." The compliment catches him a bit off guard.

"He wasn't a killer, sir, just desperate." And then Voight goes where Mouse was expecting. He waits, patiently, trying to keep his face impassive. He's sure Voight has figured it out, but he's not sure what he'll do. So he says little – "It must have been empty the whole time" – and waits.

"Then go ahead and reflect that in your write up," Voight says. And Mouse nods, unable to help the twitch of his lips in a smile, grateful and relieved.

"Yes Sargent."

Of course Jay is waiting for him down in the tech room, passing him a beer as he comes in.

"Wasn't loaded, huh?" Mouse almost chuckles, taking a swig of the beer before voicing the thought that had been swirling around all day.

"You uh, you remember when Hollingsworth got kidnapped by those hajis?" Jay raises his eyebrows, both a yes, and a 'where are you going with this?' Mouse puts down his beer, leaning over and pulling open the drawer, gathering up the clinking bullets. "When we finally tracked him down what did we do?" Jay nods.

"A lot worse than put a gun to someone's head." It's not a happy memory, but he knows Jay understands. "Hey, to extenuating circumstances."

They stay long enough to finish a couple of beers before heading home to their own apartments. Mouse is apprehensive about going to bed because he knows that at night things have a way of catching up to you, even if you didn't know you were being chased. But he turns off the lights and bundles up in his blankets to mess around with a program he's working on, and tells himself that it'll be fine. He's fiddling with a line of code that just won't cooperate when the phone rings and he picks up, still clicking at the keys.

"Yeah."

"Mouse, hey," Jay says, something off in his voice. Mouse shoves the computer off his lap, sitting up straight. He's confused, because he knows that Jay was feeling as okay as he was when they left, and it's too early for any surprise nightmares to be the reason for the call.

"What's going on?" he demands, ready to fling aside the blankets and leap out of bed.

"I'm fine, Mouse," Jay placates, and Mouse relaxes ever so slightly back into the pillows. "I just got a call from Erin, passing along the heads up. There was a bomb planted in Voight's car – nobody was hurt, but it was close. He was getting ready to go out to dinner with Justin, Olive, and the baby. Erin says our guy is almost definitely James Beckett, guy Voight put away years ago, just got out. We're not doing anything till the morning, but be prepared – we're not touching anything else until we get this bastard."

"Shit."

"Yeah. You still doing okay?" Jay asks.

"Yeah, you?"

"I'm good." Mouse huffs out a breath.

"Tomorrow's gonna be a shitshow," he says.

"I know. See you in the morning?"

"Yeah, goodnight Jay."

"Night Mouse."

AN: You know the drill: reviews will make you my favorite person in the world