"Seven-oh-five," the clock under Jim's hand confirmed that he had overslept. Groaning, he put his hand to his head. Why had he agreed to move from beer to whiskey? Jim felt ambivalent about facing his brother this morning. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and the room spun lazily as he stood up. He needed aspirin and water and he needed it fast, so he'd be okay by the time he had to navigate the street and the subway. He stepped into the living room - and found himself pitching forward. His right hand stopped his fall with a heavy whack into the hardwood floor, his left hit something that skittered away and then smashed into the steel pole. The sour smell of stale beer rose to his face.

Anger flared. "Bobby? Bobby!" He expected his brother to groan from the couch but - nothing. Was he standing somewhere watching Jim flail around in the discarded quilt? Hank pushed his nose into Jim's face, and whined. Jim reassured his dog that he was okay and then, closing his eyes, he turned his head slowly, listening for the telltale sounds of a breath or creak in the floor. But there was nothing. Jim's forehead wrinkled as he stood. These days all he needed was a moment of quiet and he could locate Christie in the apartment. A stranger should be easier if anything.

But all was silent. "Hank, here. Forward." With Hank pressed to his left leg, he skirted the broken beer bottle and checked the couch. It had been pushed away from the table but was empty. "Bobby?" Jim checked the bathroom. It had been used. The toothpaste tube emptied under his foot and various bottles had been opened and tossed into the sink. But Bobby wasn't there.

Jim stopped - his coat - Bobby had talked about his big leather coat last night and how he had won it in a pool game. "Come, Hank, front door." Jim and Hank skirted the apartment, avoiding the small furniture that had been shoved unthinkingly out of Bobby's way and into Jim's. The coat stand held only Jim's coat. The big leather one was gone. Jim breathed a sigh of relief; he could get on with his day unimpeded.

On the way to make Hank's breakfast, Jim banged his shin painfully on the lower pot drawer that had been left open. What on earth could Bobby have needed from there?

The hangover reasserted its grip as he got Hank his breakfast. The smell threatened Jim's stomach, and he avoided the kitchen after that. The rest of the apartment wasn't much easier. The remains of Bobby's breakfast littered the dining table, the milk that had been left on the kitchen island went flying when Jim went to place the breakfast plate in the sink, and one or two beer bottles must have been perched on the edge of the bench - now they too lay smashed to the floor. That probably meant there were glass bits from the bedroom door to the front door. Jim considered crawling back into bed.

Using the broom to push a path through the clinking glass and sop of beer, he reigned in his anger at the chaos his unthinking brother had left for him. He tried to justify his brother's carelessness. Bobby wouldn't know what it was like for Jim, he'd never lived with a blind person, wouldn't realize how long it would take Jim to find everything and put it back to order. Bobby had always left messes in his wake; at least this one had no bodies, no blood, and no crying mothers.

But when he found Hank's harness dismantled on the couch, Jim stopped trying to delude himself. After twenty minutes of searching, Jim was fuming again. The rigid handle was missing, rending the whole harness useless. Jim faced the fact, even if Bobby had stayed and watched him trip and fall, watched him searching for shards of glass on the floor, or seen the emotional impact of his carelessness, he wouldn't have lifted a finger. Hell he probably would have laughed.

Jim put in a call to Karen but their Loretta Hay hadn't showed as of 7:30 am. He bit his lip and asked her, "Do you think you could pick me up this morning?"

Karen was a little taken aback. "Sure, is Hank alright?"

"Yeah, no, no he's good; I'll explain when I see you."

Karen stepped into the Dunbar apartment and gasped; the place was a mess. She'd never seen it like this. "My God, what happened?"

"Bobby happened," Jim said by way of explanation, and Karen's eyes darted to his face, worried about what she might find. But, other than the lump on his head from yesterday, and a couple of small cuts on his hands, there were no signs of any struggle. "He came over and we had a few drinks. I guess he kept drinking after I went to bed. But, this doesn't matter." Jim swept his hand around, indicating the mess. "He also dismantled Hank's harness and the grip is missing. Without it … I can't…it's useless to me without it." Jim stopped, suddenly wishing he hadn't asked her to come. But there was no other way. "Maybe you can see it. I've searched everywhere." He stood with his hands out, looking embarrassed and frustrated.

"No, no, it's fine, Jim, let me look around." Karen resisted the urge to shift the furniture back to where she knew Jim normally kept it. She knew he'd prefer to put things right himself.

"What an asshole," Karen's voice showed her disgust.

Jim waited, head hanging a little, while she searched through the mess around the front door where he normally kept Hank's gear and looked in the obvious places it might be hiding from Jim.

"Geez, what a pig!" she said again as she stepped over pile of potato chip bags behind the couch where Hank waited. She noticed he was wearing most of the harness. "Where were the bits you have found?"

"Here on the table." Jim used his cane and made his way around a chair and a couple of whiskey bottles. He ran his hand over the table top again.

But it was nowhere around the mess Bobby had slept in either, and Karen stood up, "Is there any way he would've taken it?"

Shaking his head, Jim turned in consternation. "What for? I mean it's a piece of leather and steel."

She watched him struggle with the thought. "No, he's not usually cruel for the joy of it, it'll be here. He's just left it somewhere unthinkingly. Let's check the garbage."

Karen shrugged and followed Jim toward the kitchen. She winced as he banged into the edge of the coffee table. But it wasn't in the garbage.

Jim's shoulders sagged. He checked his watch, "What do we have on today?"

"Hopefully Loretta Hay first off, and then I guess we follow up from there."

Jim nodded. "Okay, I'll make some calls from the car, maybe I can get a replacement couriered out."

But to Karen, he looked worried. Jim was an excellent detective, but he was very dependent on Hank. Even with Karen as a sighted guide, this would seriously impede Jim and weight heavily on his mind. Sabotaging his work like this was criminal. Karen sent a silent curse to his brother.

"Let's go." Jim slapped his thigh and Hank trotted up. Jim took his leash in hand and headed to the door.

Karen twirled, looking over the minefield of broken glass and displaced furniture that Jim would be coming home to - and that's when she spotted it, up on top of the fridge, poking out a little way.

"Jim, look." Karen stepped up and took down the u-shaped metal grip. "It's here, on top of the fridge."

"On the fridge?" Jim held out his hand. His relief was obvious as he curled his fingers around it. He touched the fridge and up, over his head where it had been stashed. "Here?"

"Yeah, probably put it there while raiding the fridge."

"Well, thank goodness we didn't order pizza," Jim joked as he re-attached the grip.

Back at the squad, Karen watched as Jim moved through his arrival routine. As he pulled his cane from the inside pocket of his coat, a sheet of paper fluttered out with it and blew over and under her desk. She stooped to retrieve it. Take Care. Two words, big letters. "Ah, Jim, there's a note, fallen out of your pocket, here." She held it out.

Jim turned, uncertain, and then held his hand out.

"It says, Take Care, big letters. No signature or anything." She put it in his hand.

Jim nodded, crumpled the note and threw it in his trash can. "Thanks."

"From your brother?"

"I guess." Jim shrugged, owing her some sort of explanation. "Written really big?"

"Yes."

Jim smiled, "He probably thought it'd make it easier for me to read. Like, shouting on a note." He dropped into his chair and opened up his laptop.

"Jim," Karen said, her voice dropping to a serious tone, she wasn't going to take the brush off, "does this mean take care or is it a threat?"

"I have no idea," Jim sighed and shook his head. "He came over last night; we talked. I don't think he'll show up again."

"Okay, but don't hide this, if it's something…you know?" Karen stopped as Marty and Tom turned into the squad. "Morning guys." Karen's phone rang. "Bettancourt… yes, Boss, we're on our way." Karen shut her phone, "Jim, that's the call, our alibi just showed up."

"Good, let's go get her," Jim said, as eager as ever to get on with finding their perp.

A short time later, laughter bubbled under the surface of the squad room; getting such a fast break was unusual and something greatly appreciated in the 8th Precinct. …And the way she spluttered when she realized she'd just contradicted herself?" Marty was having fun, remembering how Loretta Hay, The Alibi Girl, had put on such a show. Trying to justify why she'd been used as an alibi by both suspects. In unraveling the mess, it had turned out she was sleeping with both men and had shot Mondeo when he threatened to tell them. Both Fellini and Andretti had suspected Loretta had killed Mondeo, covering up for her by calling her their own alibi. Both of them had been sleeping with other women on the night in question but were very hurt to discover her two timing, and gave her up.

Faced with the two men accusing her she had fought like a she-devil, threatening to divulge all sorts of details about their illicit sales. The details were enough to put all three away for a long, long, long time.

"That was priceless, Marty. You should be TV cop. Then everyone could enjoy it." Jim grinned to take the bite out of the comment.

"Oh yeah, I can see it now," Tom joined in with a deep announcers voice, "Selway and Russo- True Blue." He held his hands wide as if framing a banner.

"What's this, Selway and Russo?" Marty looked aghast. "Who said anything about Selway?"

"You gotta have him, Marty. You know, for some class, some groove." Jim failed to keep a straight face.

"Groove, huh?" Tom tossed a wadded paper ball at Jim. "You're kidding right?"

Eyes sparkling, Karen joined the fray, "Nah, I think Bettancourt and Dunbar has a better ring to it, and at least we're both eye candy."

"Eye candy?" It was Jim's turn to be shocked, "I thought this was a cop show? You know hard hitting interrogations, perps brought low to sniveling puddles of fear, strong men with guns." He stopped, having prodded himself unintentionally in the still open wound.

Karen noticed and helped smooth over the awkward moment before Marty could get in there and have a poke. Jim hated to be reminded of the loss of his weapon at the best of times, to have done it himself, well, maybe it showed he was getting over it. "Yeah, eye- candy, that's the only reason people really watch these shows," she said.

"Then it's got to be Russo – I'm the one who is tall, dark and handsome. And Selway, you can be in it. " Marty waved his hand toward Tom. "After all, I gotta have a sidekick, right?"

Karen and Jim both laughed into the back of their hands. Tom wondered when they'd merged into clones, their mannerisms were spookily similar right now, and began bowling heavy duty paper balls destined to cause bruises on his partner.

"Anyhow, as I was saying, before my sidekick started beating up on me," Marty's smile widened as he dodged another missile. "It's gotta be Russo and Selway because no one would believe a blind cop – no offense Jim."

Jim just nodded in agreement. What was there to say? He put in his earpiece and started to do his wrap report, distancing himself from their games.

But Karen fought for their team. "No, I think it would be a great show, more drama than action, interrogation scenes, tension in the squad room…"

"Jim sitting thinking for hours on end," Marty butted in.

"A short Italian detective always putting his foot in his mouth," Tom couldn't resist adding. "You could call him Shoeso."

Marty laughed out loud, "A black guy, with a huge afro, chewing gum and talking jive talk no one else can understand…"

Karen put her hand on her hip. "You two done?" Then she straightened, her face fell into nonchalance and she cleared her throat. "Boss," she said under her breath.

They filled Lieutenant Fisk in on the recent turn of events and showed him the woman's confession. "Good job. Who's taking her to central booking?"

Karen glanced at Jim's screen, noting he was near the end, "Ah, we will. We've almost finished our reports," she spoke up, poking her tongue out at Marty behind Fisk's back.

"Excellent." Fisk shut the door to his office, unaware of the byplay behind him.

"Actually, Karen, you got a point. Those shows, they only work when there's a good looking female in them, so you can be part of the ensemble," Marty conceded graciously.

Karen raised her eyes and tossed her head at her partner.

Marty answered her unspoken question, "I'll think about him. I'm not sure he wouldn't be a show killer."

The banter evaporated as they got busy completing paperwork.

Karen got Jim's signatures onto the reports and dropped them on Fisk's desk. Then she returned to her partner who was in his classic thinking pose. "Jim, I kinda promised we'd take Loretta Hay to central booking."

"No problem." Jim packed up and signaled Hank that it was time to go.

Karen called the front desk, and they arranged to bring the woman to her car.

"See you guys," Karen called back as they headed out, then to Jim. "I thought we could stop by that new place we found for lunch."

Jim nodded his agreement. "Good thinking."

After they left Tom leaned over the desk toward Marty, "Come on, he can be in our show."

"I said I'll think about it," Marty glared as if it were a real decision and not a new running joke they'd found to play with.

"You really think I should grow an afro?" Tom ran his hands over his head, turning right then left and it was Marty's turn to start with the paper missiles.

Jim and Karen finished processing Loretta Hay and got back in the car.

"Lunch?" Karen asked, pulling out from the curb.

"Sure." Jim turned from the window to face her. "Eye candy?"

Karen felt the blood rise in her face. "Is that what you been thinking about for the last hour?"

Jim grinned, "I know you're pretty, but I never thought of myself that way."

"Well don't go making plans for a modeling career." If Jim could have seen Karen's smile he would have dug deeper.

As it was he made an exaggerated slump down in his seat, pretending embarrassment. "Oops," he said.

Lunch was good; freshest sandwiches in town, great coffee and Karen couldn't walk past the cake offerings without ordering at least two slices. Ostensibly one each for them, but, since she was choosing, really they were both for her, and he was allowed a little - maybe.

"We should tell Tom and Marty about this place. Marty would love that chocolate cake," Jim said as they left the car and headed for the squad room.

"Not unless he includes you in his show." Karen sounded like a protective mother. "We need a blonde to bring in the audience. Mind you, we might have to wait 'til that bruise on your head has gone." She wished the words back as soon as they left her mouth. Jim's expression closed over at the thought of his brother. "Jim, the mess in your apartment, you need a hand with that?"

Jim frowned, shaking his head quickly, "No, not at all. I'll have it ship shape by the end of the night."

"You need someone to check for glass after you do?"

"You think I can't clean a house?" Jim cocked his head, working hard not to be offended.

"No," Karen tried to be patient but sometimes he has as hard headed as a bull. "I'm thinking about Hank. You can wear shoes, what about him? How are you going to know you've found it all?"

Jim's lips went tight, and his expression closed, getting a cleaner in could take a few days and endangering Hank was definitely something he couldn't do. "Fine. If you want to pick me up again tomorrow, you can check."

"Is your brother likely to show up tonight?"

"Nope, and it was ten years between visits last time so…" Jim was confident Bobby was out of his life.