(Once again, thanks to demonchilde!)

THE DAMAGE WE DO

Angel smiled as she glanced at Denzel lying on the floor next to the front door. Her dog had taken well to visits at John's place, but the man himself still neeeded some work before he could fully relax in Denzel's company. She had never pressed the issue, but she guessed that a dog had attacked John at one point or another in his childhood. Probably before he and his mom had escaped from his dad's clutches. She couldn't see the deceased Mrs Grant letting anything bad happen to her boy once they were no longer under the thumb of the small-time mob boss.

She let her eye drift to the man beside her, watching a football game. Eventually, he looked her way and caught her smile. "What?" he asked, his attention now fully on her.

"Nothing. Just looking for inspiration for my next work," she said breezily.

John gave her a pleased smirk. "Oh? In that case, carry on," he said with a grin.

"I will. It's good to see you enjoying your night," she said after a beat. "You didn't sound all too cheerful last night on the phone," she explained when he shot her a questioning look.

He turned down the volume on the television. "Sorry about that. Just that the day was..." his voice drifted off, recalling the events a year ago. Frances' call, his frantic worry, finding Bailey at death's door and setting a new land speed record on his way to the hospital.

"Taxing?" she filled on for him.

"To put it mildly," he agreed.

"You saved Bailey's life then. You did good," she pointed out, stating the obvious. She felt disheartened when he still looked discouraged.

He stayed silent for a while, then continued: "I should never have left." He'd confessed the same to an unconscious Bailey, but before now he'd never repeated his admonition to anyone else.

Angel connected the dots. "You mean you shouldn't have left the task force? That if you'd stayed on, somehow you could have prevented the shooting?"

"Yeah," he managed to say out loud.

"John, no one except Frances could have prevented the shooting. No matter what, she pulled the trigger, not you, Bailey or Sam," she pleaded with him, trying to make him see sense. She waited, hoping that her words would sink in.

"Is that why you returned to the task force? Because you felt guilty or somehow responsible?"

"I used to think so. Now..." He tried to find the right words. "Now, I think I went back because me being somewhere else didn't feel right, you know? That me working in the pd was off somehow, that I still belonged in the FBI."

"That you had some unfinished business?"

"Yeah."

"I know that feeling," she sighed, thinking of her refusal to go to Charlotte. "Well, I think you'll still head up a unit of your own one day."

Her easy reassurance an belief in him left him wordless. Well, almost. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"Words are cheap, Grant. Why don't you show me how amazing I am?" she grinned, then let out a yelp when he practically bounced on her.

Bailey had come to know by experience that Sam had a lot of hair. He loved it when he would blow a kiss into it, or run his hands through her locks, and God, he really loved it when strands of her hair would tickle his face as she hovered just above him on the bed, her body weighing his down.

But it had the unfortunate tendency to be extremely unruly during the night. He would often wake up with a slight suffocating feeling, as the thick locks ended up crowding his nose. Or he might awaken with a dry sensation in his mouth, because some hair had invaded his mouth.

And she didn't even seem to realize the inconvenience she was inadvertently hoisting upon him. No, morning after morning, she would just wake up slowly, her breathing becoming shallower, her movements getting more deliberate, and then... And then, she would stretch her form, settle in closer to him, open one blurry eye and shoot him a blissful smile. And all of his annoyance would melt away in a heartbeat, and he'd decide that her wild locks were an infinitessimally small price to pay for a life with her. He could live with it.

Bailey startled awake from his dream, his hands reaching out and searching the bed for Sam in the darkness, before he gathered his wits.

That's right, just another dream.

He settled onto his back with a disappointed sigh. He chased the dream's memories just as they began to fade into nothingness, leaving behind a dull ache. A minute later, all he could remember was Sam's sleepy smile. He tried to commit it to his memory, but he guessed that he would lose it all the same.

He was getting to a point where he didn't feel bad about his dreams anymore. For better or for worse, he'd gotten used to them.

He stayed in bed for another ten minutes before giving up. He wouldn't fall back asleep. Mindful of the early hour, he padded as silently as he could to the kitchen to brew some coffee. Then, he stepped out onto the patio.

The early morning air was crisp, foretelling a deeper fall. He ran his hands over his face, then stared out into his back yard, his mind focused on something else entirely.

These dreams were becoming all too frequent. Probably because he still hadn't decided what to do about his feelings. His subconscious was trying to solve his inner battle for him.

He wondered, not for the first time, about Sam's feelings for him. Because that's what it all boiled down to.

If she only felt friendship for him, the smart thing to do would be to keep quiet. The last thing he wanted was for his feelings to become a problem for Sam. She already had enough troubles in her life – he didn't want to add to that list. His heart and soul would break if she thought his love to be an inconvenience.

So, he could try to ride it out. He didn't know if you could somehow ride out being in love with your best friend, but the feelings would die out eventually, right? He'd meet someone new or she'd meet someone else, and God, how his gut twisted at the thought. No one else would appreciate or love her like he would. No one else would know her, deep down, as he did. He'd seen her change, and he'd lived through the change with her. He knew her.

But if she felt something romantic for him, hell, it was a whole other ball game. His dreams would come true, literally. He tried to not get carried away by his hopes.

So, in an effort to discern the nature of her feelings for him, he'd been observing her moods, her behavior around him. Most of the time, there was the easy-going, yet deep, friendship, but at times, something else would pervade their relationship from her side. Namely, she had been acting a little strange these past weeks. She seemed to be holding back a little, just shy of avoiding his eyes on occasion.

And she'd definitely been acting up yesterday and the day before. At the time, he'd chalked it up to the events year ago, but now he wasn't sure it explained everything. She'd been so agitated at the sting, and so all over the place during their talk in her office. And last night... At times, she'd regarded him with an unsure, somehow lost look on her beautiful face. And then, he knew he'd seen her blush furiously after he'd given her his dessert.

Something to muse, to be sure. Still, he was no closer to having an answer.

With a sigh, he headed back inside to gulp down his coffee and start his day.

On Sunday afternoon, Sam's heart skipped a beat when she recognised the number on the screen. "Hello?" She cringed at her breathy tone.

"Hi Sam, it's Frances. Am I calling at a bad time?"

Sam tried to ignore the pang of disappointment at the caller. "No, not at all."

"I just wanted to ask what would be a good time to get the portrait done. Would you have time next week?"

"Oh, sure, let's see. Tuesday would be convenient, or Wednesday evening at seven o'clock."

"Well, I promised to help out at the youth center on Tuesday, but Wednesday would be perfect."

"Okay, we'll see you then. Give my love to your dad."

"Sure will. Bye!"

"Bye, Frances," Sam managed to get out, cursing silently for her choice of words. She just had to go and think of that word in connection to her friend. Even in a greeting as innocent as could be between friends, the word had a different ring to it now. Well, what else could be expected when you realize you're falling for your best friend? She bit her lip before coming to and putting the phone down.

Last night had been a fun, good night. It had also served as further proof that her realization after Bailey's recent injury was an accurate one. She definitely had feelings for her friend. Feelings that veered as far away from platonic as they could.

Come Monday morning, the key players of the task force were seated at the main table of the command center, ready to go over the progress the Chicago pd and the local field office had made with getting the criminal records up and running down local suspects.

George took over the cover the progress with the online database. "They've put in long hours, and they've managed to get 68 per cent of the citations up. They should have the remaining data logged on in a week or so."

"Can you estimate how many first-time offenders the database is missing right now?" Sam asked.

"I did some calculations based on national medians and then adjusted them to the data they've been able to reconstruct. Looks like 23 per cent of first-timers are missing as we speak," George informed his colleagues.

Bailey took the reigns. "The local agents have started scouting the first-time offenders under false pretenses. We'll know first-hand if anything shakes loose from those. The agents have also sent out details of any out-of-state offenders to the local offices in each corresponding state. We'll get the information on any Georgian residents first. Then, we can recruit agents who are unknown to Jack to go out and meet local offenders."

"What about the cops? Any progress on that front?" Sam enquired.

"Five cops are or have been in rehab, nine cops have retired, and all in all, twenty cops are out of the country."

"Okay. Let's take a closer look at any arrests or citations they've given out. Also, we need to keep close tabs on them for their safety."

"Shouldn't we just straight out warn them?" Marcus pointed out.

Sam shook her head. "No, this stays with just us. We can't take a risk of Jack finding out we know."

"I agree. Like it or not, we're operating on a need-to-know basis. Even Agent Renick hasn't informed the local agents of the real reason behind the scouting trips. No one can know that we're honing in on Jack," Bailey added. "George, Sam and I will stay in touch with the field offices and Agent Renick. We'll see where we are in a few days. Good work, everyone."

Most of the agents departed to their tasks at Bailey's words, but Sam lingered behind, too taken up by her own reflections. Unaware, she was gazing at her friend, lost in the fretting of her realizations from Friday and Saturday.

Bailey stayed by the table to talk to George briefly. When the matter was concluded, he caught Sam watching him with an unreadable expression. "Sam, did you need me for something?"

Sam snapped back into reality, her eyes wide for the briefest moment before she shot up from her chair. "No, no, I'm good. Nothing. Uh, I'll be in my office," she excused herself hastily.

Bailey watched Sam head to her office. Another strange little occurrence. He'd have to mull it over later.

After giving herself a stern talking-to in the privacy of her office, Sam managed to act normally around her friend for the next few days. Yes, she found herself still stealing glances at him, but luckily she would catch herself in time to avoid detection from him or anyone else.

On Wednesday evening, Frances happened to arrive at Sam's house at the same time as the lady of the house.

"Hey Sam, where are you coming from? Did my slave driver dad force you to stay this late?" Frances joked.

Sam chuckled. "No, I was at an exercise class at work. I hope you won't mind if I take a quick shower before we get started?"

"Of course not. I'll catch up with Chloe."

With Sam in the shower, Frances found herself in the little girl's room, playing 'hide the toy'. She had to find a small baby bird toy that Chloe had hidden somewhere in the room. Chloe was giving her directions by yelling variations of warm and cold.

After four minutes of wracking her brain, Frances located Birdie behind a picture frame on Chloe's small book shelf. Chloe giggled with glee at the discovery, and Frances chuckled at her joy. Then, she took a closer look at the picture frame. The photo was of Chloe, who looked to be three or four, and of a handsome, dark man. She guessed that the man was Chloe's father.

"That's my daddy," Chloe offered, confirming Frances' guess.

"It's a really nice picture of the two of you." Chloe beamed at Frances' words. "What was your dad's name? I can't remember it just now."

"It was Tom. Wait, you've met my daddy?"

Frances nodded her head. "Yeah, when I was like seven or eight. Your mom and he came over for a dinner in the garden one time, back when we all still lived in Boston." She smiled at the girl. "It was before they had you."

Chloe looked thoughtful, all of a sudden. "Do you remember anything about him?"

Frances had to think back for a second. "He was very nice and kind. I think he told me and my sister a children's story from his memory. I can't remember which one." She looked at the girl, curious to see how she responded to the story. Chloe had a faint smile on her face, but she remained silent.

"How much do you remember about your daddy?"

Chloe only gave a tiny shrug of the shoulders, and Frances drew her own conclusions.

"Not a lot, huh? Well, you were just a little girl when he passed away. Don't feel bad about it. He wouldn't want you to feel bad, you know? Daddies understand and forgive a lot more than you'd ever believe."

Chloe shot a quick look at Frances. "You think so?" Chloe asked sincerely.

Frances gave the photo one last look before putting it down. "I know so. I have a pretty amazing daddy," she remarked, thinking of her chequered past with her dad. Chloe looked forlorn, and Frances quickly comforted the girl. "Hey, my dad could be your... substitute daddy, if you wanted. He loves you very much, you know."

Chloe's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Frances nodded vehemently. " Yeah, it's very evident."

Chloe scrunched her nose. "What's evident mean?"

"It means clear."

"Oh. Evident," she repeated, committing the word to her memory for later use. Then, she considered Frances' comment, and felt better for it. "I'd like for Uncle Bailey to be my substitute daddy," she said carefully, as if testing out the notion.

Frances smiled at her brightly. "Then, it's settled!"

Chloe took on a thoughtful expression again. "What about my mommy?"

"What about her?"

"I should tell her about this, right?"

Frances mused for a moment. "If you want to. Are you worried what she's going to think about this?" Chloe nodded, and Frances continued: "I don't think you have anything to worry about. Your mom loves you and she wants what's best for you. Just tell her when the time feels right."

Chloe smiled, looking pleased, and they resumed their game for another round. This time, Chloe had to find Birdie.

The night was fading fast, and the sun was setting. Sam made the decision to take photos in Angel's studio, where the large windows would give the most sunlight. Frances wanted to pose with the Cherry tree sculpture in the background, and together, they just about managed to move it a few feet so that it would be in the frame. Sam thought back to when Bailey had helped her to lug the heavy work of art for her. Simpler days.

Frances, stationed on the chair and in front of the Cherry tree, was excited and raring to go. "So, I'm ready for my closeup, Ms DeMille. Should I strike a pose?" she joked.

Sam smiled at Frances' reference. "Did you watch Sunset Boulevard with your dad?"

"No, we watched it at school last spring. Good movie. But no, my dad and I have stuck to Bogey movies, all told."

Bogey. Kid. Sam hadn't even started a proper conversation with her friend's daughter, and Sam was already getting uncomfortable thoughts and memories about the man himself.

Frances had continued her joke. "It's like he has a tiny fetish for the guy." Her remark earned a small guffaw from Sam, even though Frances' choice of words wasn't helping her to keep a clear head.

Frances, on the other hand, had every intention of bringing her dad up whenever she could, to really gauge Sam's feelings for him. She figured that she had a golden opportunity on her hands, and she wasn't about to waste it. Plus, she was feeling a little emboldened from her good chat with Chloe.

Sam tried to change the subject. "Have you heard from Macon?

"Not yet. I figure that I'll get the word in a few weeks. Then, it'll take me a month or so to get everything organized and head on out."

Frances took a moment to think of the ways her life might change soon. "I'm looking forward to it, but I know I'm gonna miss my dad," she said, a little sad. Then, sensing a good opportunity, she changed tack. "I mean, he isn't that easy to live with," she winked conspiratorially before adding: "What with the obscene hours he wakes up at, even on weekends, and the amounts of coffee he consumes. I swear we go through one package of coffee in four days!" she chuckled. A mischievious look passed on her face. "And don't even mention the singing in the shower. Man, he really belts it out in there. Opera, mostly," she finished triumphantly, and dared a look at Sam.

Sam had listened to Frances with interest and amusement. She was always looking for more pieces of the man Bailey was.

But the last part? That had a whole other impact on her, alright. Bailey, in the shower... She blushed furiously, again, reminded of those dreams she kept having about the man on and off. She sought to hide her reaction by letting her hair fall in front of her face as she pretended to tinker with the camera.

Frances smiled to herself, pleased with the woman's telling reaction. Then, she decided to bring the conversation to safer ground. "But all in all, I'll miss him a lot. That's why I'm glad he has you and Chloe." Sam snapped her head up, puzzlement showing on her face. "He'll have someone to spend time with, someone to make sure he doesn't work too hard and stay cooped up in the house," Frances reasoned.

Sam took a beat, wondering at the young woman's motives for the things she was saying. "Don't worry about your dad. He'll be fine. The bird has to leave the nest at one point." Frances hardly looked comforted by her words, so she felt compelled to add: "I'll take care of him, okay?"

Sam's promise brought a heartened smile to Frances' lips. "Thanks. After all, you took care of him when I was on the lam." Frances shot Sam a questioning gaze, and Sam answered with a wordless nod.

"Oh, speaking of birds, when you were in the shower, Chloe and I were playing this game..."

Bailey was sitting in his office, a lit cigar resting on the sofa table as he perused some documents. Sam entered the space quietly, not wanting to draw attention from her co-workers. "Hey, Bail, got a sec?" she murmured.

His head snapped to her and a fleeting look of warmth took over his face before it was replaced by a hint of worry. "Always," he gestured for her to proceed, managing to withhold "for you" from the end of his one-word reply. She closed the door, and she was about to take a seat on the couch before refraining to do so at the last minute. She chose the arm chair and cleared her throat in an effort to focus her wandering thoughts.

"I heard from Megan Hill. Elliot has moved into his new house."

"Okay. Good." He regarded his friend for a while. "You're worried for him."

Sam gave him a somber nod. "There's the actual physical threat that Jack imposes, and let's not forget the possible psychological ramifications of our using his help," she sighed.

"Sam, he offered his help. You haven't forced his hand. I believe he has a fairly good idea of what he's gotten himself into. Plus, I have confidence in Hill. She'll keep him safe."

Sam listened to his words, and allowed them to offer her a moment of comfort. Bailey always knew what to say. "I'll visit him in a week or so, after he's settled in. You want to come along?"

"Sure." They exchanged a warm smile before Sam got up.

"I'll keep you posted."

On Friday morning, Sam was walking past John and Marcus' desks once again. She figured that the situation would soon escalate to a blow-out. She only hoped that she'd be there to witness it.

This time, however, she was distracted from her payback by the sight of US attorney Peter Koslowsky gracing the premises with his entrance. Getting a bad feeling, she headed to Bailey's office after Koslowsky.

"Agent Malone, agent Waters", the man greeted them ominously. "I'm here to let you know that Lesher was transferred to Fort Leavenworth two hours ago."

Bailey shot up from behind his desk, the expression on his face already dangerously dark. "What?"

"It's true. Lesher is now in the custody of the especially appointed US attorney, Warren Helms."

"Excuse me? Especially appointed US attorney?" Bailey bit out.

Koslowsky threw his hands up in the air in a pacifying gesture. "It wasn't my call to keep you in the dark."

"Well then, who the hell came up with this hare-brained idea?" Bailey nearly bellowed.

"I'll thank you not to shoot the messenger, agent Malone," Koslowsky said tersely before taking a breath to let the irate man calm down. "It came from above, the Justice Department."

Bailey let out a bitter chuckle. "Great, we're all just pawns in a game of bureaucrats."

"Be that as it may, I am sorry that you had to find out like this. I'll still help you in any way I can. Agent Malone, agent Waters." Koslowsky exited the office which now contained a clean-shaven young agent and a leather jacket sporting agent.

Sam took hardly any notice of Koslowsky's exit or the others' presence. She was too swept up by Bailey's passionate reaction to get even riled up by the news of the US attorney.

The fire in his eyes, the smoldering intensity of his anger...

She just found him... magnificent.

She was dangerously close to running to him and throwing herself at him without a care in the world.

Luckily, John's question saved her from doing something extremely rash and questionable.

John and Marcus met at their desk, but before they sat down they heard raised voices from Bailey's office. They shared a silent look and walked straight over to catch the end of the conversation that had raised Bailey's heckles in a big way.

Marcus' attention was on the exiting man and Bailey, but John's eyes happened to land on Sam, and what a curious sight they encountered. The woman was observing her seething friend with an enthralled expression.

He took a second look at her and realized that she looked like she was about to kiss the hell out of Bailey.

John smirked to himself. Angel had been right.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, what's going on?"

His question snapped Sam out of her haze and she schooled her expression hastily. Bailey caught him and Marcus up to speed, and they were stunned by the back-handed handling of the situation.

Bailey quirked his lips. "Nothing like getting your blood pressure up before a doctor's check-up, right?"

Sam snorted at his joke. Then, she put two and two together and realized why he had the appointment. "You didn't need me to come along, did you?"

John hid his smile at Sam's intimate tone of voice. The two were carrying out a very personal conversation right in front two outsiders. He nudged Marcus, and they started to make their exit.

"No, but thanks." Bailey's tenor carried the same emotion, and John shook his head with a low chuckle.

When you thought about it, it really was as clear as day.

"Excuse me, agent Waters?" Sam looked up from her notes to see Charlene, the mail lady, holding something in her hands. The woman seemed nervous and bit her lower lip.

"This came for you, and normally I'd run this by agent Malone, but he isn't here," Charlene rambled on.

"He has some personal business to see to," Sam explained and approached the door, where her visitor was still standing. She noticed a white envelope in the woman's hands. "I assume that's been through the usual checks?" Charlene nodded. "I can take it off yours hands. I'll tell agent Malone, if it's something important."

The woman relinquished the item, happy that someone else had taken responsibility of it. "Thank you. Have a nice day."

"You too," Sam mumbled to the retreating woman. She gave the envelope a once-over, then walked to her desk, a sudden dread filling her innards. She grabbed her paper knife and tore the envelope open with care, not wanting to contaminate a thing. She breathed deep and peered into the contents. Just an empty piece of paper, it seemed. She wasn't fooled.

She took a tissue and fished the paper out. Nothing visible on either side. She crouched down to the level of her lowest drawer and pulled out a small blacklight. She flicked it on and shone it over the piece of paper. Her blood ran cold.

I forgive you for your folly.

All capital letters, spread out in two neat rows.

She checked the other side, but it was blank. Just six simple words that seemed benevolent, but were in fact ominous. Jack's messages always were.

She stared at the words, waiting for their impact to lessen so she could think about this note in a rational manner.

Sam could only think of one 'folly' Jack would refer to. He had to have seen them in Chicago.

She released a shuddering breath, turned the blacklight off and stashed it in the drawer. She stood up, closed the blinds on the office window and then sat down, her mind working feverishly.

She wondered at the fact that it had taken him this long to reproach her, but then again, he'd had other things on his mind. His run-in with the law, and he'd probably been stewing in his outraged, self-indulgent indignation about her 'misdeed' for a good while.

She took a moment to consider what else she'd done in the past months that Jack would see as fodder for enragement. Her kissing Bailey stood out as the only possible event, and they knew now that Jack had been in Chicago.

She needed to formulate a plan.

Above all, she needed to keep Bailey safe. Jack wouldn't kill her, not until the very end of the game, but there was precious little that might keep the madman from killing Bail, if he so chose.

She would take the note to Elliot. After that, she might know for sure what Jack had and hadn't seen.

She was sensible enough to know that the letter should be checked for forensics before she took it to the psychic. She decided not to alert Grace. She needed to keep the letter under wraps for the time being. She picked up the phone and called Jerzy's exension, hating herself a little for what she was about to ask the man to do.

Her pangs of guilt didn't deter her from her purpose as she waited for the man. Jerzy entered her office with a pleasant smile. "You needed me, Sam?"

"Yes." She looked at the letter in her right hand. "I received this in the mail. Could you check it for fingerprints and trace evidence? Then bring it straight back to me. Without putting it into any log."

Her last sentence had him arching his eyebrows. That request violated procedure. She levelled him a somber stare, and he knew that whatever was going on, it was weighing on her heavily. He'd always had a soft spot for her, ever since she defended him to that jackass agent Behar all those years ago. He would do this for her. Regardless, he still had to ask: "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Her reply was tinged with weariness. He nodded, pulled on a latex glove and took hold of the letter by the corner. Then, he ambled out of her office, taking care to hide the envelope as well as he could by the side of his leg.

Bailey wasn't used to having to wait, anywhere. His days mostly revolved around his work, and he'd achieved the stature where others would bend their schedules for him. There were precious few men who'd keep him waiting. When he wasn't at work, he was either at his house or at Sam's, where he was always welcomed with open arms. No need to be idle. But, here he was now, waiting for his physician to see him. Luckily, the good doctor was running late by only twenty minutes.

He'd had his blood pressure measured by a nurse, and sure enough, it was a little high, even for his standards. The doc might push for meds, again, and he'd have to make every promise to cut back on stress, again. Same old dance.

If Sam were here and got wind of his needing some medication, she wouldn't rest until she got through to him. She'd been to the first few check-ups, back when he hadn't yet returned to work. She hadn't been in the room when the doctor would take a look at his scar, but she'd been present during the times when they'd gone over the recuperation process and how to take care of himself.

He wondered briefly if she'd wanted to come along today. There would have been absolutely no need, but he admitted the truth to himself: he wouldn't have objected to her being with him.

"Malone!" The nurse who'd measured his blood pressure called out his name.

Bailey snapped to and followed the nurse to the doctor's room. Doctor Danielson was sitting behind his desk, examining the pertinent files.

"Ah, Agent Malone. How are you this fine day?"

"Good. Busy as hell, but that's par for the course in my line of work."

"I can imagine. I see you've been to the plastic surgeon's check-up six months ago. Everything was fine, then. I trust that nothing has come up in the interim concerning the scar?"

"It's been ok. It acts up when the weather gets stormy, but that's to be expected, I was told."

"It is. The human body is a fascinating piece of machinery." Danielson perused his bloodwork results and the blood pressure readings. "Your blood pressure is up today. Any particular reason?"

"Work-related incident. A bout of anger, if you will."

"Hm. Well, your previous measurements have been acceptable, so I'll let this one slide."

Bailey thought back to the near altercation in his office. He'd immediately put in a call to the special US attorney and the warden at Fort Leavenworth, to no avail. For the time being. He'd knock down the doors to their offices if need be. He wouldn't sit by and let the task force be outmaneuvered in the only leverage they had concerning Jack. He hadn't had time to talk to Sam before his appointment. He would talk to her later.

Bailey realized that Danielson had asked him a question. "Excuse me?"

Sam took in the cozy living room of the secluded house that sat at the end of a sparsely-housed cul-de-sac. Elliot had come to the door to show her in. Megan was nowhere to be seen, but Sam knew that she was somewhere on the premises, keeping an eye out for anything suspicous.

"Are you beginning to settle in?"

Elliot shrugged, then gave a smile that conveyed his conflicting thoughts. "I am. This isn't home, but it will do." He observed her for a while. "How are you?"

Sam tried to put on a brave face on her worry and confusion. "I'm good. I have a lot on my mind, so..." She ignored Elliot's amicable, inquiring look, and searched her bag. She found the letter and pulled it out. "I hope you won't mind... Jack sent me a message, and I was hoping that you'd feel well enough to use your gift," she finished hesitantly.

"I have to begin at some point," he offered her an encouraging smile. "You can give it to me."

She placed the item on the table in front of them, so he could proceed at his own pace. He stared at the envelope for a while, clasping his hands together. Then, he reached for it, held it in his hands and closed his eyes.

"He says he forgives you, but it's a lie, even to himself," Elliot rattled off, then paused. "He's been angry with you, hurt by you. He saw you with..." He trailed off, trying to grasp the insight. He shook his head. "It's clouded in too much hatred. I can't tell you more."

He let the letter drop to the floor, and sunk to the arm chair. He gathered his strength, then looked to Sam, who by that time had recollected herself.

She'd let out a small gasp when Elliot had zeroed in on Jack's motives behind the note. She'd been right.

Jack had seen her and Bailey that night.

Thank God Jack was probably oblivious of her growing infatuation.

She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard Elliot's question: "Do you know whom he means?"

She took a beat, then sighed wearily: "Yes." She reached down to pick up the letter and stow it in her bag.

She then shook out of her glumness to consider the psychic. "Are you alright? That wasn't too much, was it?"

"No. I'll be fine. Just give me a day or two to find my bearings again."

"Of course. I'll visit again, probably bring Bailey with me, if that is okay?"

"I look forward to seeing him again," Elliot replied amiably.

Sam said goodbye to the man and walked to her car at a brisk pace.

She stood by the vehicle. It wouldn't do to jump behind the steering wheel when her head was all over the place.

She needed a new plan. She needed time.

She needed a little time to figure out what to do with Bailey. With her feelings for the man.

Before that, she couldn't tell him about the note, because then she would have to explain her reasons for going behind his back. And she couldn't explain something she herself couldn't articulate.

What drove her to this plan, she didn't know. Maybe it was the fear of losing the only man who'd stood by her through this nightmare.

Maybe it was the thrilling wave of near adoration she'd experienced during Bail's raging that spurred her on.

She just knew, down to her very bones, that she had to keep Bailey safe. At whatever the price.