(Thanks to demonchilde, once more!)

BACK WHERE YOU USED TO KNOW

Sam's expression became guarded. She feared the worst.

Bailey reached behind her and closed the elevator door. "What's he done, Bailey?"

He punched the ground floor button. They couldn't have this conversation in the elevator. "George called me thirty minutes ago. He says that Jack hacked into Chicago's crime database and set it back by weeks."

Sam drew a sharp breath. "Chicago?" Her step faltered when he nodded. She didn't say anything for a moment. Why would Jack hack into the city's databases? Did it have something to do with the ftx weekend a few months ago? Could it be that Jack had seen them?

"Tell me everything George said."

Sam listened gravely as Bailey recounted the events. Before this, she'd convinced herself that there was no fear of Jack having seen them in Chicago; otherwise, he'd promptly have made his displeasure known. Now, she couldn't be sure. But if Jack did know... Her breathing quickened as she became more and more agitated.

"What do you think?"

His question threw her for a loop. "About what?"

"Jack's stunt. Could he be covering up for a mistake?"

"Perhaps." Sam paused to ponder everything. She came up with a rudimentary plan. "We need to disguise this activity. Jack probably isn't keeping tabs on George's whereabouts. We have to make sure he stays in the dark."

Bailey nodded. "Can you wait until Monday morning on this? Before we really get going? There isn't much we can do now without Jack getting suspicious."

Sam relented to his reasoning, although she hated the idea of having to wait a day before they could mobilize everyone. "Yeah."

"Okay. I'll call up the police department, see if there have been any violent crimes or high-profile murders in Atlanta. If so, we'll make a trip down there, make it seem like that's why I came here in the middle of the night. Maybe get photographed, too."

"Alright." She remembered her state of undress. "I'll go get changed and tell Angel where I'm going. I'll be back in five."

Bailey watched her walk away. This first encounter had gone better than he'd expected. Of course, it helped that he had a more urgent matter to focus on. She walked into the elevator, and he could see her wrapping her large cardigan tighter around her body before the door closed.

He snapped into action and called the Atlanta pd's switch board to learn what was going on in the city. A city official had been murdered under suspicious circumstances. That would do for their cover. He hung up.

He let his eyes draw shut and breathed deep. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Not just from a lack of sleep. He felt like he'd been put through the wringer these past few days. Last night's epiphany... Well, it meant his anxiety wouldn't let up any time soon.

How in the hell would he make peace with this delightful little twist of fate?

Would he tell her? Could he? Should he?

She was his best friend. Therein laid the rub. From that fact followed both that he could and should tell her and that he couldn't and shouldn't. She had a right to know, but he didn't know if he had the right to complicate her life further.

He rubbed his face out of frustration when the elevator whirred into action. He had to stay alert. He couldn't let his guard down, because that might lead to some irrevocable deed.

He wondered briefly if he ever could, now.

The thought made him even more weary.

He realised he was standing in the same spot he'd stood when Sam left him to go upstairs. She stepped into his sights, carrying her leather bag and a plastic one. As she approached him, she began to fish out something from the plastic bag.

She handed him a bottle of water and an apple. "Here." He gave her a baffled smile and accepted the items. "In case you're hungry or thirsty," she explained.

"Thanks. Let's get going. There's a crime scene in Buckhead that's suited for our needs."

Bailey and Sam's trip to the crime scene was brief, but they put some effort into getting photographed by the newspapers so that everything would look above board. They'd both been quiet most of the time. They were tired and restless, with a lot on their minds. Their Sunday was more of the same.

Bailey sent out pages to his agents to be at the nine am briefing Monday morning, no excuses. As the dozen agents filed in, Sam and Bailey were standing in front of the large screen, looking serious and speaking sparsely in hushed tones.

"Listen up. Jack has resurfaced. He hacked into Chicago's criminal database and set it back by weeks. All told, he invaded the database three times. We," Bailey gestured to him and Sam, "have very strong reasons to believe that Jack made a mistake and had a record of a parking ticket or some misdemeanour added to the database for his troubles. That's why he needed to erase the data."

"How did this come to light?" an agent called Kilvers asked.

"Sheer luck. George was asked to take a look at the new security protocols of the database. He recognised the programming codes of the attack. Jack used a similar malware code to hack into our systems a few years back," Bailey informed his agents.

Then, he plowed on: "First, the Chicago branch needs to build up the citation and warrants database again. We have to make sure they don't miss a single one of them."

Sam took over: "After that, we weed out every first-time offender who doesn't fit Jack's profile. Women, people of colour, men under 31 and over 55."

"This is going to demand a lot of elbow grease," Marcus grimaced.

Bailey continued, undeterred by Marcus' remark. "Then, we send out federal agents out to every perp on the list. They'll pretend to be collecting names for the impound center, for veterans' rights, for whatever cause. We'll tell them what they're looking for. They'll report to us on each and every one perp."

"Isn't it possible that Jack used a false id or a disguise, at the very least?" Agent Hamilton wondered.

Sam got the jump on Bailey. "Then he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of erasing the data. He used his real name, his real face. That's why he had to act on it."

"This is going to take a lot of time and patience, but this may be one of the few times when Jack isn't ahead of us. We need to keep this under wraps. You're not to discuss with anyone outside this office. Not even on your lunch break with other task force agents," Bailey advised his underlings. "This is our shot. Let's get him. Thank you, everyone."

Sam and Bailey stayed behind as everyone else filed out of the command center.

"I'll call Renick and ask him to spearhead this thing. The Bureau should stay as hands-off as they can while they build up the database," he remarked, seeking Sam's approval.

"Yeah, that'd probably be for the best. First good lead in months and we can't go anywhere near it," Sam sighed, feeling tired and anxious.

"I know." She witnessed him giving her a hesitant look. "Sam. The fact that it's in Chicago..." he trailed off, knowing that she'd connect the dots on her own.

She fidgeted at his unaired question. She was just as apprehensive as he was. "George said that the first hacking took place nearly two weeks after the ftx. Why would he let the matter lie for so long before acting on it?" She looked at him, looking for confirmation and also comfort.

His heart twisted to see her so down-trodden. Suddenly, she froze. "Unless... Unless he waited until he'd killed the cop who caught him."

He touched her shoulder to ground her and her fears. "I'll ask George and Renick to report to us every deceased cop in the county since the ftx weekend. Their names, and the date, cause and circumstances of the death."

"Okay. Remember that two cops might have come across him. Look for dead partners."

It felt good to have something concrete to look forward to. Something they could know for certain.

Because the scary thing was, until Jack revealed that he'd seen them, they'd be twisting in the wind. And they both were aware of it.

Frances rocked on the balls of her feet, humming to herself. She was excited to meet her dad. For once, she had good news. She could tell him something he'd be proud of.

She stepped into the bustling task force and gazed around for familiar faces. John and Marcus were at their desk, hip deep in files. She thought she could spy Grace in Sam's office before she focused her eyes on her dad's office, hoping he'd be present. She hadn't been able to get through to him all day.

Sure enough, he was sitting at his desk, looking deep in thought. "Hey Dad. Is this a bad time?"

His face lit up when he realized who was standing in the doorway. He waved her in. "No, sweetheart, come on in." He stood up to meet her halfway. "What brings you over?"

"Well, I tried to reach you by phone, but I wasn't able to get through."

"It's been a hectic day," he remarked. She wasn't surprised. She guessed the rush had something to do with his leaving for an hour or so in the middle of the night.

"I bet. Anyway, I got a call from my high school. I passed the social studies exam with flying colors. You are now looking at a high school graduate," she beamed at her dad.

He gave her a bear hug. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," Frances mumbled, touched by her father's effusive congratulation.

Sam was walking past the office without a glance inside, so Frances yelled out her name to catch her attention. She broke off the hug and gave the woman a beckoning gesture.

Sam obliged and headed inside the office. "Hi Frances, so good to see you again," the woman smiled genuinely.

Frances hugged Sam briefly. "You, too. I came by to tell my dad that one of his daughters just graduated from high school."

Sam's smile was radiant as she directed it at both of them. "Congratulations. That's great."

"Thank you."

"How will you two celebrate?" Frances and Bailey looked at one another. They hadn't even discussed that yet.

"Well, I was hoping that Dad would spring for another celebratory dinner at Rico's," Frances' voice drifted off as she cast a meaningful look Bailey, who smiled his agreement. Then, an excited look passed on Frances' face. "You and Chloe should come, too."

She could see she'd caught Sam off guard with her suggestion. Sam looked touched, but she started to hedge: "Thank you, but it's a family thing..."

She cut off Sam's words. "Well, you are family, or as good as. You played a part in this, too." Sam coughing up her bail money had never been lost on her. She was also aware that the woman had supported her dad unconditionally during his ordeals with her.

She looked at her dad, pleading silently for him to step up and extend the invitation for his part. He got the message. "We would love to have you," he uttered warmly.

Sam relented happily. "Okay. So, when?"

"When we'll celebrate? Would this weekend be good for you? Saturday night?"

"Saturday is fine. Look, I've got to boogie. It was good seeing you again, Frances." With a passing smile, Sam strode out of the ofice.

Frances caught her dad's contented expression falter for a beat, as he watched Sam walk out. Like he was worried about something. Then, he schooled his features. She wondered at that, then decided to ponder it on her own.

The next day, Renick and George called the VCTF with details of every dead cop in Fulton county for the past two months.

"All told, 11 cops have died. No partners, though," George informed Bailey and Sam.

"Any suspicious deaths? Like someone dying out of the blue in their home? Or someone killed in the line of duty and no one arrested yet?" asked Bailey.

"One cop keeled over from a heart attack out of the blue. Happened in a bar frequented by cops," Renick said.

Bailey looked at Sam with a question in his eyes. She shook her head. "No, Jack wouldn't do it in front of an audience. He kills in private. That way he can savour every moment."

They went through every death, but none of them rang any alarm bells for Sam or Bailey. One cop had died of cancer, another had committed suicide by jumping into the river. Many had died in traffic accidents, gang-related shootings or drug store hold-ups.

Bailey asked Renick to send them the files of every death in any case, so they could go over them again with more time. Maybe they would come across some discrepancy the Chicago pd had overlooked.

He pulled at his tie, frustrated by their lack of progress. "What do you think?"

Sam worried her lip. "I don't know. I was so sure that Jack would have acted on his mistake."

"Maybe he lucked out. The cop serendipitously died before he could kill him."

Sam closed her eyes for a while, thinking. "Or perhaps Jack hasn't been able to kill him just yet. Maybe the cop's out of reach. Like in rehab, or out of the country."

"Or retired. We didn't think of that before. I'll call them back," he muttered and looked at the little post-it note on which he'd written the number of the secure phone line in the Chicago offices.

"George should probably head back here tomorrow. To avoid suspicions," Sam added.

She regarded her friend while he was talking to George. He seemed distracted and aloof. She'd felt his eyes on her a number of times this past week. He would observe her silently and intently, with a somber look. Sometimes, she could coax a small upturn of his lips, but at times, he'd just cast his eyes down or shift his gaze somewhere else.

Maybe it was this week. On Friday, it would one year since his shooting and her abduction. That had to be weighing heavily on him. Hell, it was already taking a toll on her.

On Thursday, Sam was sitting with George at his work station in the command center, going through each of the deaths of the rank and file of Chicago's finest. They'd discussed most of the incidents when Bailey came to whisk Sam off.

George noticed their boss first, and the two men nodded to one another. Sam fidgeted a little when Bailey's breath tickled her skin. "Casper called. He'd like to see us in half an hour at the Institute," he murmured. She gave Bailey a brief glance before explaining to George: "Something's come up. We'll pick this up in an hour and a half?"

"Sure." George watched the pair walk out of the command center, wondering where they were off to. He knew better than to ask. Those two had a lot brewing under the surface, and he wasn't just thinking of business.

On the way there, Sam called Doctor Simons and asked her to inform Elliot of their visit.

When they pulled up to the Institute, Casper and Megan were sitting on a bench outside the building, both content to survey their surroundings in silence. Bailey sized up the woman. She looked to be 35, average height, fit and alert. She had dark, shorn hair and strikingly blue eyes.

Megan stood up before Casper, having noticed the two agents' approach. She waited for him to make the introductions.

Casper gave them courteous nods. "Bailey, Doctor Waters. This is Megan Hill."

"Pleased to meet you." Bailey offered his hand, and was surprised by the firmness of the woman's handshake.

"Likewise, Agent Malone. Doctor Waters." Sam and Megan shook hands. Then, Sam gave Bailey a questioning gaze, and he simply nodded.

"Shall we?" Sam gestured at the Institute. She led the way for Megan. Bailey and Casper stayed outside.

"You didn't want to go?" the CIA operative asked his friend.

"Wykoff's a recluse. We don't want to crowd him with too many people," Bailey explained. "But you knew that already, didn't you?" he remarked.

"How else would I know what to look for in a caregiver?" Casper fished a cigar out of his inner pocket. "Camacho Corojo."

Bailey produced a cigar from his pocket. "La Palina."

Whilst the men were exchanging cigars, Sam and Megan navigated through the Institute to Elliot's room. Spying a peacefulcorner, Sam pulled the woman aside to grill her.

"Before we meet Elliot, I want to ask you a few things."

"Shoot," Megan replied confidently.

Sam ran her eyes over the dark-haired woman. "Why do you want to do this?"

Megan eyed her back, trying to discern her motives. "Casper mentioned that you are a psychologist."

"I am. Why do you want to take part in this?" she pressed on.

Megan shifted on her feet. Finally, she gave up her reason. "I need a rest. I've seen too much."

Sam fixed a hard stare on Megan. "Are you fully aware of the dangers?"

"Yes," the woman replied without hesitation. "I'll do my absolute best to protect Wykoff."

"Do you believe in his gift?"

"Is that relevant to me protecting him?" Sam's silence drove her to answer truthfully. "Frankly, no."

Megan's answers mollified Sam. "He may make a believer out of you, yet."

"Okay," Megan replied, sounding like she didn't care one way or another. She surmised that she'd passed the Bureau agent's test when the blonde headed to a room at the far end of the corridor. She followed in the Feeb's foot steps.

Sam knocked on the door gently and called out: "Elliot, it's Sam."

A few seconds passed before the door was opened and a greying, fragile looking man stood in view.

He stepped back, and Sam entered the room, shooting an inviting look at Megan.

Megan noticed that the woman and the man didn't shake hands. She didn't offer hers.

"Elliot, this is Megan Hill. Megan, this is Elliot Wykoff." Megan nodded at the man and took in his apperance. He looked disheveled, distracted and a little agitated. She looked around the room, noticed the paintings in one corner, and figured that he wasn't a man of tidiness, judging from the easels and the paints strewn haphazardly on the table and the bed.

"If you haven't changed your mind, Megan would be looking after you when you're released," Megan heard the blonde announce softly while she was observing the room for entrypoints and exits.

She looked at the man when he replied firmly. "I haven't. Ms Hill, would you be so kind as to give me your hand?"

Megan regarded the man warily. "Call me Megan," she corrected to buy time. She looked at the blonde who gave her a tiny nod. She stepped up to the man and reached out her left hand.

Her expression registered disbelief when the man grabbed her offered hand and squeezed it tight.

Sam exited the room in haste, and closed the door behind her quietly. She figured that she would give them a few minutes before joining the psychic and his protector.

Before long, the door flew open and Elliot beckoned her back in. She gave him a silent question and took in the appearance of the woman. Megan looked slightly bewildered as she stared at Elliot's back.

"I have no objection to Megan being my caretaker," Elliot said.

Sam nodded, relieved that he had accepted the woman. "Great. We'll be in touch in a few weeks about your living arrangements. I assume you were told that you lost the house you lived in?"

"Yes," was Elliot's grim sigh.

"We'll find you a nice place to live in," Sam reassured him.

"I don't want it to be too far from you and Atlanta," he cautioned her.

"Of course," Sam acknowledged his reminder. "I'll see you soon. Take care."

"Dad, why did you bring me here?" Frances wondered while her gaze swept the jewelry section of Rich's. She had no idea why they were in the most lavish department store in Atlanta.

"What, you don't want a say in your graduation present?" he teased her.

She stopped in her tracks. "Jewelry? Isn't this a little above our price range?" she asked under her breath.

"Don't worry about it. Now, what would you like to have a look at?" He was signaling to one of the sales ladiesto come serve them.

"Uh..." She wasn't one for big, flashy jewelry, to be honest. "Maybe a set of earrings and a necklace? I could also go for a nice watch."

The sales clerk led them to the necklace displays, and Frances started to enjoy herself, let herself be carried away by the glamour of shopping. She oohed and aahed, tried on several necklaces and even tried haggling here and there, much to the chagrin of the sales lady.

Bailey drifted off some ten feet, not bored yet but feeling a little ill at ease with his aimlessness while Frannie made up her mind. He blew out a breath and bent down to look at the necklaces. His eyes were drawn to a little pinkish sphere hanging from a silver necklace. It reminded him of the spheres Sam had on her desk at work.

It was delicate and beautiful. Sam would like it, for sure. His hands itched when he pictured himself helping her put it on.

Then, he shook out his hands and told himself to get a grip. He couldn't go around giving Sam jewelry. It wasn't his place, and it would so send out the wrong message. His epiphany still shook him to the core.

She did have a birthday coming up. In a month's time.

"What are you looking at, dad?" Frances' voice floated from beside him. She looked at the necklaces curiously, then spotted the spheres. "Ooh, pretty! Though not my style. I already chose mine, see?" She presented to him a set of silver earrings and pendant, made up of three flowers of differing sizes.

She had another look at the necklace display. "Oh, you know, those would be perfect for Sam. Doesn't she have some big spheres on her work desk?" she asked innocently.

"Why would I buy a necklace for Sam?"

She shot him a sly look. "I didn't say anything about just you buying it. She has a birthday coming up, and the necklace can be a gift from both of us," she pointed out, praying silently that he would take the out she'd just offered him. "I like the rose-tinted one. It would suit Sam," she said nonchalantly and began admiring her own jewelry, just to give her dad sometime to make up his mind.

She turned away to hide her smile when her dad said to the sales lady that he'd take the sphere necklace, too.

Later on, once they were home, Frances tried on her new adornments. She smiled at her own reflection, then stepped out of the bathroom and walked to the kitchen, where her dad was preparing them a snack.

"Dad?" she fingered her necklace before leaving it in peace.

He gazed at her with an affectionate expression. "They look very nice."

"Hey, dad, do you know if Sam's gotten me a present? Not that she needs to, of course, but if she hasn't, I was thinking it'd be nice if she took a graduation picture of me."

"I don't know, sweeatheart. I will tell her."

"Thanks."

Frances turned to walk away, but she stopped in her tracks after a few steps. She needed to say something that had been on her mind lately.

"Dad?" She turned to face him again.

"Yeah?" He glanced at her, and seeing her serious expression, he gave her his full attention.

She opened her mouth a few times, trying to find the words. "I haven't forgotten what tomorrow is," she blew out, her voice wobbly. "And you're buying me jewelry on its eve!" she choked a little. "I just wanted you to know that I'm grateful and I'm sorry," she finished and wiped a stray tear off her cheek.

He approached her quickly, and took a gentle hold of her chin, making her look into his eyes. "Hey, hey. I thought we were past all this by now. You know that I love you. You and Ari are the most important people in my life. Nothing ever could or will change that. You hear me?"

She nodded her head silently, and he hugged her. "Now, let's eat our snack."

Bailey tossed and turned in his bed. Another late night. He lifted his head and checked the time on his alarm clock. It read 1.19 am.

His eyes happened upon the gift-wrapped jewelry box he'd bought earlier. He'd been pacing his room, moving the box from hand to hand. Finally, he'd laid it down on his bedside table.

He'd wondered if the purchase had been a mistake. It had been an indulgence, and he sure as hell couldn't go indulging himself.

He groaned into his pillow, and closed his eyes with determination. Another vision of Sam had him gritting his teeth.

He'd have difficulty waking up to a morning that would be taxing on its own. At least he and Frannie had had final closure on that ugly chapter in their lives.

He wondered if Sam was sleeping restfully, or if she was having nightmares.

He settled on his back and willed away any thoughts of the event a year ago. Tried to get Sam out of his mind.

Go away, Sam. Let me get some sleep.