When Blair's eyes opened all he saw was light. First, from the white walls surrounding him, then from the fluorescent lights above. If this was the entrance to heaven, it certainly didn't feel like it-his head, his shoulders, and his left leg all still hurt like hell.

A slight noise startled him out of his self-analysis, and he watched as a woman walked into the room. She was a complete contrast to all this 'light' - dark hair, dark eyes, and even a black suit. She looked down at Blair with a purposefully blank expression, and greeted him, "Hello, Professor Sandburg."

[Professor Sandburg?] thought Blair, [Well, apparently, they know who -I- am...] Finding his voice with some difficulty, he got up the strength to ask her, "Jim?"

[Strange that his first thought coming out of unconsciousness is to ask about his partner, and not where he was...] "Detective Ellison is recovering. His injuries were minor."

[Injuries?] Memories of the accident came back to hit him full force. "Daryl...?"

"The boy is fine. He's being well taken care of."

Blair sighed with relief. His voice growing stronger, he asked the woman, "So are you people going to tell me exactly -what- kind of covert operation you are, or do I have to guess?"

[Doesn't beat around the bush, does he? It's almost like he expected something like this to happen...] "We are Section One, the most covert of anti-terrorist organizations. When the CIA can't or won't take out someone, they become our responsibility."

Finding his strength returning slowly, Blair tried to sound innocent as he asked her, "So why do you want me? I'm only an anthropologist."

The dark-haired woman smiled enigmatically. "Oh, you're much more than an anthropologist, Professor Sandburg."

Michael watched with surprise as Ellison's head snapped back spontaneously, the sound of his deep breaths filling the room. After Jim had recovered from the zone out and adjusted his senses to the environment around him, he didn't know - -where- he was, exactly, but he had definite hunches. Locking eyes with the figure in the dark suit, he greeted the man sarcastically, "I suppose you're the welcome wagon."

Instead of the punch he thought was coming, he was rewarded with pictures tossed casually on the bed next to him. Lifting his arms to retrieve the photos, Jim discovered, surprisingly, that they had not put restraints on him. Either they didn't know who he was, or anyone around him would be at least on his level in terms of physical strength and combat skills.

He decided not to chance anything, since he didn't know where his Guide was being held yet. Instead, he looked at the pictures in front of him. They were of a funeral. Two coffins stood side by side, both draped with an American flag and nearly buried under a mountain of flowers. A military honor guard stood alongside the gravesite, signifying that at least one of the deceased was military. His sight now focusing on the individual faces in the crowd, he began to see a disturbing number of them that he recognized. Old Army buddies. Everyone from Major Crimes, and a good contingent of people from other areas of the department.

There were probably other friends of his as well, but they were lost in the sea of people from Rainier. Faculty of all ages, students, and even the janitors from the Anthropology building were there. And, standing at the head of the coffins, was the motley crew that represented their family: Naomi, Sharon, Simon, Steven, and his father. Quickly he scanned the picture for evidence that it was a fake, but if it was a fake, it was an incredibly good one. Apparently, this was their funeral. His side, evidently, was staged, but...

Before his mind could fully process what he was looking at, he heard the man in the dark suit telling him, "Row PF, plot 9. They buried you together, if that's any consolation to you. Everyone seemed to think it somehow fitting that you be together in death as you were in life. Apparently, you were both well-loved, and well-mourned."

With tightly controlled rage evident in his voice, Jim glared at the man in the dark suit. "Where is my partner?"

"Professor Sandburg has not been harmed -"

Before the man in the dark suit could finish what he was saying Jim cut him off. "And the boy?" He didn't want to give away Daryl's name if they didn't know it already yet.

Coolly composed, the man in the dark suit replied, "Young Mr. Banks is safe, for the time being."

Turning to glare at his captor, Jim asked, "So what do you want from me?"

The man in the dark suit cocked his head as if to say something else, then his expression cooled to its normal stoicism. "We want you to work for us."

"Who is us?"

"Section One. We eliminate the criminals no one else has the nerve to go after."

When Blair nodded his encouragement, the dark-haired woman continued, "You and your partner have the highest cases solved rate in the history of your police department. Highly unusual considering your partner's traumatic background and the fact that you are not a police officer. After further investigation we came to the conclusion that you and your partner would be a highly valued asset to our organization."

The dark-haired woman's speech brought two things to light for Blair: 1) Jim's being held somewhere close by, and 2) either these people don't know about Jim's senses, they don't believe in them, or they know, and believe, and aren't telling. Both of these revelations brought him great comfort, as did the faith he had in their Watcher, Simon, who was surely worried sick about them by now.

[Simon...] Blair allowed himself a small sigh of relief. [As long as Simon knows we didn't die in that crash, he'd never stop looking for us. Probably would drag half of Major Crimes along with him...] Looking over to the dark- haired woman he warned her. "We won't be here for long, you know. There will be people looking for us."

The corners of the dark-haired woman's mouth turned upward just slightly, and Blair could have sworn she was fighting off the urge to smile. The woman's expression quickly darkened, though, and her eyes spoke more of pity than amusement. Quietly, she replied, "Professor Sandburg, no one is looking for you."

In response to Blair's confused expression, the dark-haired woman handed him a series of photos and replied quietly, "To everyone else in the world, Professor Sandburg, you, your partner, and young Mr. Banks are dead."

Blair looked up at the dark-haired woman in disbelief. Slowly regaining a tiny semblance of composure, he looked down to the photos he was holding in his shaking hands. The photos were of a double funeral. He could make out the dress uniforms of the cops, and some other men in (evidently) military dress uniforms. There seemed to be hundreds of others there, but the three people who immediately captured his attention were the blond-haired woman, the red-haired woman, and the black man in police dress uniform who were standing at the head of the dual grave. Sharon had never met his mother, and yet the two women had their arms around each other like old friends. And both women were obviously crying. This photo was either a very good fake or...or... In a whisper that even -he- was barely able to hear, Blair exclaimed, "Oh my God..."

Jim asked the man in the dark suit, "And what happens if I don't want to work for you?"

Blair asked the dark-haired woman, "So what happens if I decide I don't want to work for you?"

In separate rooms, at separate times, Michael and Madeline had the same response. "Then you, your partner, and your young friend Mr. Banks will all be canceled."

It wasn't hard for Jim or Blair to understand what that meant - do or die.

For all of them.

The man in the dark suit locked eyes with Jim, whose cold, emotionless expression now mirrored his own. As he backed up to leave the room he ordered Jim, "Get some rest. Your training starts tomorrow at 5 am."

The dark-haired woman looked down at the young man she was talking to and allowed herself to smile gently. She directed him, "Why don't you get some sleep? Your training will start in the morning, and you're going to need your rest."

As the woman opened the door to his 'cell', Blair called out to her, "Will I see you again?"

Turning her head to face Blair, the woman nodded.

Blair, in turn, asked her, "Can I have a name to call you by for next time, then?"

The woman smiled slightly in response. Her last words to Blair before she left for the night were, "You can call me Madeline."

Moments after Madeline left, the lights darkened in Blair's cell, and he took that as his cue to go to sleep. Knowing that, for now, Jim and Daryl were all right, and safe, it didn't take long for Blair to do just that.

Michael joined Madeline in the spot where she had asked for them to meet-a walkway that overlooked the special reflective glass ceilings in the 'first night' rooms. It was from that spot that Madeline watched Section's two newest recruits as they rested, while she pondered Blair Sandburg's curious reactions to his new life.

The brush of Michael's shoulder against her own brought her attention to the present. Without looking up, she calmly asked, "What are your impressions of Ellison?"

"Once he had ascertained the safety of his partner and the boy, he withdrew completely. He seemed to ask the questions he thought I wanted to hear, and that was that."

Madeline added that piece to the puzzle, then began to think out loud, trying to make connections. "Professor Sandburg is most definitely hiding something, of that I am certain. And his first concern was for his partner, as well. There's an unusually strong relationship between the two men." Drawing her conclusions, she declared, "I'm going to request that they be considered as one operative for the time being."

If Michael was astonished, he had the courtesy not to show it. This type of a team was unprecedented in Section - normally each operative was treated as one commodity. One highly expendable commodity. Not only were relationships frowned upon in Section, they were practically forbidden. You didn't form strong ties to someone when you might be killing them or sending them to their death the next day.

And yet Madeline was suggesting that these two be treated as a single operative? That their 'bond', for lack of a better word, be acknowledged and worked around? Unbelievable. "Do you believe that Brackett might have been telling the truth about them?"

"That Ellison has abnormally heightened senses? No, I don't believe that to be true. However, I looked at Ellison's records both before and after his partnership with Sandburg, and it is quite likely that if we tried to split up their partnership, Ellison would make Brackett look selfless. His relationship with Sandburg gives him a level of stability and emotional control that would not be there otherwise. Is there anything else you think I should know about Ellison?"

When Michael shook his head, Madeline dismissed him by stating, "Very well then, that will be all."

When Daryl woke up, the first thing he noticed was that his chest hurt. A lot. The second thing was that wherever he was, it was dark. As he started to open his eyes, it became very clear that this -definitely- was not a hospital. So what kind of a place was this?

As he sat up, his eyes started to adjust to the moonlight coming into the room through the small window. He looked around, trying to get a better glimpse of his surroundings. The room looked comfortable enough - it was supplied with a desk, closet, dresser, and what seemed to be a small work area. It reminded him a little of the college dorm rooms that were in the brochures his mother kept trying to force on him. On the desk was a computer that looked more powerful than anything he had ever seen before. His fingers were practically itching from his desire to try out the machine.

However, when he took one look at the desk chair, Daryl soon realized that he was not alone in the room. A tall, beautiful blond woman was sitting in the chair, her feet propped up on the desk. In the light that was reflected from the computer screen, it was clear to Daryl that she was dozing off. [Hmmm...If I could just sneak past her, maybe I could get some kind of an idea as to where I am...]

No dice. The second one of his feet made contact with the cold hardwood floor, the tall woman's eyes instantly flew open. Daryl was frozen to his spot, too nervous to think or move.

Now wide awake, Nikita got her bearings, then remembered quickly where she was and why she was here. Her eyes wandering over to the bed in the corner, she realized her young charge was awake. Flashing her kindest smile, she greeted him, "Good, you're awake."

Blindly, all Daryl could do was simply nod. Nikita walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair. Offering her hand, she introduced herself, "Hi. My name's Nikita."

As his nerves started to calm down, Daryl's ability to speak returned to him. Shaking Nikita's hand he answered her, "My name's Daryl. Where am I?"

Nikita sighed, trying to find a way to make this as easy on the boy as possible. "This is a special school, Daryl. It's going to be your new home for a while."

Daryl looked back at her, confused. He watched the moonlight playing off her blond hair, and decided this was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It didn't mean, though, that she wasn't some psycho nut criminal out to get Jim or Blair or his Dad-not like -that- hadn't happened to him before.

In response to Daryl's confused look, Nikita asked, "Daryl, do you remember anything about the accident?"

Daryl thought back to the last thing he remembered before waking up in the room. "I remember being in the back seat of Jim's truck, then..." His breath started to catch in his throat as Daryl remembered rolling in the truck with disturbing clarity. He didn't remember coming to a stop...he also didn't know if his friends were alive or...

Nikita put a hand on Daryl's shoulder in an effort to soothe the increasingly distraught teen. When he jerked back from her touch, Nikita continued to reassure him, "Daryl, both of your friends are okay."

His eyes blazing with fear and fury, Daryl screamed, "Then where are they!"

Moving in slightly closer, Nikita replied, "They're not here. Daryl, it's kind of hard to explain..."

After he took a deep breath to calm down, Daryl cut her off, asking Nikita, "Well apparently I've got some time on my hands right now, so why don't you give it a shot?"

Nikita sighed. This was the part she -wasn't- looking forward to. "Daryl, we didn't expect you to be in the truck with Ellison and Sandburg..."

[Well question one answered,] thought Daryl, [They -were- after Jim and Blair...]

Nikita continued, "But after we heard about some of the your adventures, we decided it might be worth it to invest in training you, as well."

Daryl was confused. "Wait a minute, what do you mean, training me -as well-? Training me to do what?"

Carefully and cautiously, Nikita explained about Section One and the Academy. As Daryl listened to Nikita's explanation, he didn't know whether to be angry, scared, or excited. On the one hand, they had nearly killed him by causing that car accident, kidnapped him and his friends, and were now holding them essentially as hostages. And apparently, their initial impression of him was to simply kill him outright, a fact which did little to reassure him.

But on the other hand, they -hadn't- killed him. Instead they were offering him the chance to live the life that James Bond only got to live in the movies. Apparently, they saw some sort of potential in him - which was more than he could say for his mother. There was just one question plaguing his thoughts at that point, and he asked it. "Nikita, what happens if I don't want to work for Section after I graduate?"

Nikita swallowed hard, then replied quietly, "They'll probably kill you."

[Wow.] Daryl drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. At least Nikita was being honest with him. "And you're telling me that Jim and Blair are being trained to work for the Section too?" Nikita nodded. "Will I be able to see them?"

Nikita shook her head. "Probably not. They're not going to be allowed away from Section much until they complete their training."

"And how long will that take?"

"Two years."

Daryl swallowed hard. Two years before he would even have a chance to see his friends again? And even then, the opportunities to see them would be few and far between. His thoughts traveled to his father. [God, he must be worried sick...] Looking up at Nikita, Daryl asked, quietly, "Nikita?"

"Yes, Daryl?"

"How much does my father know about this?"

[Now for the tough part...] "Daryl...everyone from your life before this, other than Jim and Blair-they all think that you're dead."

Daryl gasped, the look of shock evident on his face. Considering everything Nikita had been telling him, he should have expected this, but still... "Even my parents?"

Solemnly, Nikita nodded. Getting up from her chair, she went to the desk, picked up a stack of pictures, and returned. "We had these taken at your funeral."

Daryl flipped through the pictures with an almost detached curiosity. Sure enough, the pictures were of a funeral. They were taken from some distance away, but as he flipped through the photos it wasn't hard for Daryl to see the faces of his grieving parents among the crowd. What surprised him, though, was the number of people from Major Crimes who were there. It seemed to him as if every face he ever remembered seeing in the department was there, with two notable exceptions. And Daryl had some idea as to where they were.

Daryl looked up from the pictures, staring blankly into space. The disbelief evident in his voice, he told Nikita, "I keep thinking that this is all some sort of bizarre dream. That any moment now I'll wake up and I'll be in front of the campfire with Jim and Blair or at home, in bed, waiting for dad to wake me up."

Nikita smiled, and squeezed the boy's shoulder, trying to be as reassuring as possible. "That's normal. For weeks I kept waking up and wondering if I was going to be in prison again when I opened my eyes. And for a couple of months I debated which would be worse, waking up in prison or waking up in the Section."

Before she could continue, though, Daryl caught the last part of her statement. "Wait a minute, you were in -prison-?"

Nikita nodded. "I had been a witness to a murder. The guy who did it shoved the bloody knife in my hands and framed me for it. Since I was a street kid at the time, I was convicted pretty quickly. One night they snatched me out of prison and 'recruited' me to Section. I've been here ever since." [More or less...]

Daryl looked down at the pictures again, then up at his new friend. Nikita continued to reassure him, "But the Academy is different. I know all the students here. The teachers are excellent, and you'll learn more than you ever would have in the schools in Cascade. I'm sure you'll do great."

A thought occurred to Daryl as he continued to try and sort out the overwhelming tide of thoughts and emotions that were threatening to flood him. "You work for the Section, right?"

Nikita nodded. "That's right."

"So you're going to have to go off on another mission soon, right?"

Again, Nikita nodded. "Yes, but not right away. I have to stick around here for a while anyway to make sure the security protocols are still in place, so I can make sure that you get settled into a proper routine here."

For the first time since he woke up in this strange place, Daryl smiled. "Good. It'll be good to have at least one familiar face to go to for now."

Considering how fast Daryl had considered Nikita his 'friend', Nikita smiled in return. It seems she now had yet another 'child' to protect, in addition to her 'daughter' and all of her other 'nieces' and 'nephews' at the school.

Looking at her watch, Nikita realized that it was 4 a.m. Life wasn't set to start for another three hours at the Academy. She asked Daryl, "Well, since we're up so early, is there anything you'd like to do? Eat, perhaps?"

Daryl looked again to the computer on the desk, his eyes brimming with anticipation. "Actually...I was wondering if I could take a crack at that computer over there?"

Nikita had to stifle the urge to laugh as the excited teen made his way over to the desk. Yes indeed, Daryl Banks was going to be just fine.