This chapter was written and revised under the influence of espresso shots at my book/cafe job and Journey at 7 in the morning, due to I couldn't sleep and went in to work early where I don't have to pay for the coffee.

A.N: I couldn't resist with the song.

Disclaimer: (does best imitation of Luke after learning that Darth Vader is indeed his father): "NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

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"R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Find out what it means to me"

-Aretha Franklin

Cheesy elevator music crackled overhead in the elevator. The doors 'binged' open and he stepped out, pondering at the location of their forensic department. Why was the crime lab stuck in the basement? Why did the crime lab get screwed all the way on the bottommost level? Even the morgue was one level up. Hell, the accounting people got a regular level. Somehow it didn't seem fair, as if they were trying to hide them from the world so that no one could see them.

Don smiled at the secretary, asking her if the female doctor was in her office or somewhere elsewhere in the lab. The girl nodded around her headset, pointing somewhere in the vicinity of the right hallway. Nodding in thanks, he set off to find her. They needed to talk and make an attempt to put their arguments and disagreements behind them. They needed to work together and the sooner the better. The Keslow case was still open, and they couldn't seem to find any leads.

Her door was open, the wooden plaque to the right reading 'Peyton Huntzberger, PhD. Assistant Supervisor' in black letters. Don stopped as the sound of voices reached his ears, not wanting to intrude. She wasn't alone and by his judgment the voice did not sound friendly.

"What do you mean 'what the hell am I doing here?' I work here now." That was her voice; she sounded tired and frustrated, but angry.

"Yeah, I get that. What I don't get is why you work here. You were the second in command. You were due to become Head Investigator in two weeks. Now I'm going to get it." That was a man's voice. A man's voice that was far too smug.

"You should be leaping for joy over that. You've been trying to beat me for the last eight years, ever since you transferred out here, and now you finally have. You're becoming Chief at the Crime Lab and me, Peyton Huntzberger, the Dr. Peyton Huntzberger… I'm stuck here." The sound of a book slamming shut came from somewhere in the office.

"I am thrilled."

"Then why are you here?" Don was glad to know that her icy tone was not reserved especially for him. She just used it on everyone who seemed to piss her off. "To gloat?"

"I suppose I am here to gloat a little, just a little bit. To see the mighty Dr. Huntzberger fallen is a sight to behold; given the chance to become number one in this whole damn city, only to have it snatched right from underneath her. It's quite a story don't you think?"

"If that's all you came to say, Laughlin, then I'm done with you. You can leave. I have other things to attend to this morning, instead of trading barbs with a pathetic excuse for a forensic scientist such as you. Forgive me that I don't show you the way out."

Wood scraped harshly against the floor as someone stood quickly. "Alright. I'll leave. But don't think you can come back. I'm in charge now and no one, not even you, is going to ruin that. Your days of ruling the crime lab are over."

"Laughlin, no matter who is head chief over there, I will always be better than you. Now get out, Laughlin. Get out of my crime lab and my building before I have you thrown out."

"I'll remember this when you need something. Don't come asking for favors, Peyton."

She barked. "Ha. You should know that the FBI doesn't ask for any favors from the police department. They don't ask. They take."

Don stepped aside as a flushed faced man came hurtling out of the doorway, heedless of his surroundings, nearly knocking him over in the process. Watching him stride away leaving trails of anger in his wake, Don waited a few seconds and then knocked on the glass before coming to stand in the door frame.

The petite blonde turned from leafing through a file and gave him a surprised look. "Agent Eppes," her eyes glanced around him at the open door. "You heard all of that didn't you?"

"Uh…kind of." He rubbed the back of his neck, his hand sliding forward through his hair to fall back at his side.

"Great. Sorry about that." The folder closed with a snap. Peyton moved to her desk and leaned back against it, using her palms to hold her weight. "I was actually coming to look for you, but he got to me first."

"Is all of that true?"

"Is all of what true?" She echoed as if she had no idea what had just transpired.

His thumb jerked back to the door, motioning to where the man had made his hasty exit. "All of that. What he said; you were supposed to take over, but got put here instead… with me." Things were suddenly becoming clear, the reason for Peyton's anger at Colby and him apparent; well, maybe, Colby deserved the tongue lashing after speaking repetitively with out thinking. Don could understand why she was angry, and he could relate. It didn't excuse her actions in trying to ignore his authority but it offered an explanation as to why she thought she could. He looked into her green eyes, seeing the internal conflict as she struggled with how she wanted to go about explaining the embarrassing confrontation he had overheard.

"Yeah…It's true. I was 'Peyton Huntzberger, PhD. and Assistant Investigator to the Los Angeles Crime Lab'. The current Head Investigator is retiring at the end of next week and I was tapped to replace him. But as fate is so often in want of screwing me over, I received a phone call from the powers that be in D.C. They didn't exactly ask. We were given two weeks to wrap up our open cases and to gain the clearance that we needed; Kathryn and I only needed to regain our clearance, as this is not the first time we have worked for the government. And now, here I am." (1)

For the life of him he couldn't think of anything to say. Racking his brain for a suitable response, he came up with nothing. Luckily, Peyton must have seen something in his expression and she saved him from having to speak.

"Yeah, it's pretty fucked up if you ask me."

"Look. I want to apolo-"

She held up a hand, forestalling him. "No, don't. I'm the one who needs to be apologizing," to say he was shocked was an understatement; she had blamed him yesterday for everything and Don had not pegged her for the type of person who would admit they were wrong easily. "I was rude and uncouth. I shouldn't have used your agent before checking with you first. It undermined your authority as a leader; I wouldn't have appreciated it had the roles been the reverse. I promise not to do it in the future before coming to you first. I've been so angry over this whole situation, which you see why now, and in my mind I've been wrongly blaming you for it. My mind has symbolized you as the reason why I'm here and there is no justification or logic behind that. I suppose I thought that if I could prove that we could not get along, then I could go back to my old job and be promoted. I see now that that is not going to work. It would appear that you and I are stuck together. I should be pleased at this. It is an honor to be asked to work for the FBI, but I'm not, and until I get to that point it's going to be hard."

Her words were true and more than what he had been expecting. She appeared to have done a complete turn around from yesterday and he wondered what had caused her to do so. "Look... We've been behaving poorly…and immature. I haven't done anything to make this easier on you, and honestly, I haven't cared until now. It's hard. I'm the boss. I'm the man and have been for the last five years. It's hard to open up and trust you." (2)

The corners of her mouth twitched into a grin that resembled the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, a story that he remembered his mother reading to him. "I've been a bitch, and you've been somewhat of an ass. But mainly, I've been a bitch. That's why I want to call a truce. You don't have to trust me just yet. Trust is something that has to be earned and it would be an understatement if we didn't expect that to take time. But we're both leaders, you and I, and we lead by example. Our teammates follow our examples and get their cues from us. If we can't get along then neither will they. If we're too busy fighting one another than that leaves no time for me to figure out the 'who' and the 'how' and no time for you to find the bad guys and bring them in. That doesn't exactly work for me and I don't think it works for you either."

Don weighed her proposition. He didn't know if starting over would fix things between the two of them. But she was right. They couldn't afford to waste time over this, while the murders and criminals alike walked around freely. "A truce then? A white flag?"

"A truce…or rather a time out. For now. We can manage to forge some type of respect for one another. You are an impressive federal agent with an impeccable record. I can respect that."

"Respect." Don found himself looking at the walls, taking in the decorations: an Oriental sword, pictures of foreign places, some ancient looking pottery that strongly resembled something from Central America. His eyes alighted upon a row of frames next to the shelves of books; they were shiny silver frames that reflected the fluorescent lights. Upon closer inspection, he saw that they framed her degrees (high school, college, graduate school) and accolades. They were for things that dealt with science, both chemistry and psychics. One of them, he vaguely recalled, was an award that Charlie had won a few years back. He didn't know much about the realm that his genius brother revolved in, but he did know that an award like that was given to people like his brother: geniuses. 'Really smart people'. People who at the age of three could do complex numbers in their head. Who exactly was Peyton Huntzberger?

"So, do we have an accord?" He blinked. When had she gotten that close to him? Her hand was extended, waiting for him to shake on their 'deal'. He took the proffered limb, murmuring a soft 'yes'. "So, that was why I was looking for you. Why were you looking for me?"

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"My specialties don't exactly lie in the audio/visual aspect of the forensic world. My expertise lies more in ballistics and genetics; we had an audio forensic," she put a slight emphasis on the word 'had', "But…Uh…They wouldn't let me bring him with me. The ATF snatched him up. They have him doing some raids and stuff down in Mexico with them."

As she tapped away on the keys and toggled with the mouse, Peyton prattled on to him and the empty technical room. It was stifling hot, due to the numerous computers and motherboards. The hum of the fans intertwined with her words creating a lulling sensation that made it hard to focus on what she was talking about. "…I don't know where Arty is…he's the one who runs this stuff."

Don didn't know what good any of this would do. They and the video techs had already combed through the surveillance from Keslow's house. Nothing had shown up. The tapes were completely black except for the time and date. The film was too dark to pick up anything. The lights had malfunctioned on the cameras or someone had deliberately messed with the iris and the lens. Don had his money on the latter.

"…All those Hollywood types are paranoid enough to have about ten cameras, give or take a few. Hopefully, his ten odd cameras picked up his kidnapper." She continued to speak, oblivious that he was only partially listening to her.

"We've already gone through the tape from that night. There wasn't enough light to pick up anything."

Without turning, she waggled a finger towards him at his lack of faith. In exasperation his fingers moved toward his hairline, itching to run through it. "Ah! But you haven't had me go through the tapes yet. I learned a few things over the years through my buddy. Normally, we would take the fuzzy and distilled images and run them through filters that sharpen the pixels, producing a clearer image. However, we would need something to go off of in order to do that and you're telling me that we've got nothing. But, there is this program, that is relatively new, that uses complex math algorithms and a human feature database that can give an outline of any human feature that it picks up from the film. I forget what the math is called, but it works sort of along the same principle as a bat's sonar; technically it's called biosonar. A bat can't see and uses sonar to determine where its prey is. A bat can also determine, roughly, what exactly its prey is. The algorithm doesn't use sonar, obviously, but it works along the same line. The algorithm feels out the shapes and categorizes them, trying to determine what they are. The human feature database cross references with the algorithm's findings and determines if it's human. Just because we cannot see them doesn't mean they are not there; they're just hidden from our sight, because of the lack of a light source. It has a success rate of about eighty percent provided that you have some human profiles to cross reference with it. You do have a list of potential suspects right?"

"Yeah," he flipped through the folder in his hand, until he came to the list he wanted. "Megan went through e-mails and letters from any employee that Keslow received over the last few weeks, as well as the list the prosecutor's office sent over. Colby and David are running down the ones that Megan tagged as most likely to kidnap him."

Her eyes narrowed at the screen. She tapped a few more keys and the screen went black. Don moved to look over her shoulder, wondering at what the program was doing. He'd never paid much attention to the other side of investigative work, never cared much on how the blood was collected or the DNA matched. He didn't have time to think about those things. He only needed them delivered in his hands so that he could make the connection and hunt down the name on the paper. But, what she was doing sounded interesting.

Peyton touched a corner of the screen where a line of white numbers had showed up. "That's the time clock of the tapes. This screen will show us the footage and if anything is caught it will show up." She turned and pointed to the flat monitor to the right. He guessed it was the program; numbers, commands, and equations flew over the screen. "Now, the math and the database will pick up on anything that it recognizes as possibly being human. We have distinct features in our bodies that naturally separate us from other objects; plants, animals, trees, rocks. The military and the CIA use it quite frequently for night time excursions and terrorist surveillance."

The concept sounded familiar to something Charlie had developed for a past case. Charlie. Don had thought to ask for Charlie's help before this, but he was away at a conference in San Diego and wasn't due back until later today. If her program turned up blank then he would go to Charlie. He could always find something, no matter what the situation.

"It could take a while for the program to find-"

"What is that?" Don pointed to the screen to the left. The blackness of the screen was lighting up around the right side of the screen. His fingers circled it. The screen to the right, running the program, was jumbled with those equations and such; Don had no clue as to what they meant, but she did. 'tap, tap, tap'. She banged away at the keys, doing something that he hoped was going to help him. An outline began to form in the same area. "What are you doing?"

"Telling the program to enhance the area. It's picked up on something." 'tap, tap, tap'. How did she type so fast without messing up a command or equation? "Give it a minute." True to her word, the image continued to lighten up. It wasn't filling in the image. Rather, it was outlining it. In a matter of minutes the outline of a man's face and upper body had replaced the blackness of the left side of the screen. "If you have a good enough profile of the people on your list you should be able to run an analysis on them and compare them to this one. It should find a match if it is a co-worker of his."

Don snatched the outline from the printer. "Yeah...Good. I'll get this upstairs and see if it matches anybody."

"The program will continue to run throughout the entire surveillance footage. I'll let you know if he turns up again or anyone else. It's possible that you catch him leaving the same way, and even with Keslow in tow."

It looked like he didn't need Charlie this time. Hoping that this matched one of Megan's finds, Don moved to leave the room, stopping as he remembered her. They were being nice now. "Thanks."

She smiled and waved him off from over her shoulder, already returning to study the screen. 'tap, tap, tap'. They could be nice and get along. He found himself thinking that she wasn't that bad when she wasn't at his throat. Plus, she'd helped him find a potential lead. He could be nice to anyone who could do that.

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A.N: This chapter is done. Weeeeeee!! Finally, I can move on with the real stuff and hopefully Peyton and Don will play nice now. Though there is no guarantee with that, for some reason they just don't listen to me. Next chapter will start in with the serial killer and technically, what the story is supposed to be about. And it will also feature Charlie, who I decided went away for the Keslow case here. Don't ask why. He just needed to go. So he took a vacation, which to him is going to a conference.

(1) I've been told by my father, who used to work for the CIA, that when you leave a governmental agency and no longer work/consult with them, your clearance is taken away. That is kind of to be expected.

(2) That is a line from the episode One Hour, Season 3. Don is with his therapist and says this. I borrowed it for this chapter. He can have it back now.

(3) I don't pretend to be a math major or a science major. So, any math or science is done through research and may be altered and tweaked a bit to fit my needs. There is a program that sort of does what this one does kind of. I just tweaked changed it a bit for me, as is my right as the writer. R&R please. They are like espresso shots... Which is basically like taking speed...(not recommended for anyone who has never done them before, is going to drive, or is going to sit in class and listen to someone.)