Rae: I know, I know! I'm sorry guys, I meant to get this out before Christmas, and then my assessments decided to dump a crapload of work into my lap and I haven't had any time until now. It's really not much of an excuse, but it's the best one I have. Hopefully the next chapter won't be so late in coming because I did kinda leave this on somewhat of a cliffhanger... (cringes) Also, I've sped things up a little in this chapter because otherwise it would have dragged and really? I didn't keep you hanging for a drag-fest.

Anyway, thank you as always and many luffles and huggles to my gorgeous beta for going over this for me! Enjoy, my wonderful, wonderful readers, and thanks for being so patient x

Excitement and adrenaline streaked through his veins like a liquid blaze, engulfing him from head to foot, and he let loose a wild, unstable cackle of laughter. He pushed at his legs, driving them faster after his prey, who was stumbling in his escape attempts. Foxtrot had to give him credit though; this man hadn't batted an eyelid when he arrived, and he was a damn fast mofo to top off his foolish bravery.

However, respect didn't get far with Foxtrot.

He finally caught up with the man after about twenty minutes of chase, grounding him by disabling his legs with a knife as the fourteen-year-old tackled him.

Foxtrot turned around triumphantly as rolled up from flying off the downed man expecting to see some glimmer of distress or trembling by now. After all, the most feared child in all of Los Angeles had him at his mercy.

But there was nothing. Nothing but a sad curiosity deepening the already dark brown eyes, which only heightened as Foxtrot demanded an obliging scream. He refused, which enraged the dreadlocked boy and he grabbed up his nearest gun. Its muzzle was placed directly on the man's temple and the safety clicked into the 'off' position.

"Scream goddammit! Do it!"

Again, he was refused. Just as Foxtrot was about to shout it again those brown eyes found his; sorrowful, questioning, and the man simply said one thing.

"Why?"

Foxtrot was so surprised by the interrogative he dropped his guard, shaken by both the fact his prey dared to stand up to him like this and that no one had ever asked him why he did the things he did before. No one cared enough to.

It wasn't until the noise finished reverberating around the courtyard they were in and the sting in his hand started to dissipate that he realized he'd made the gun go off. He stared down at the man, peaceful and calm even in death, a mixture of emotions running through him. Fury was quick to surface above all the other tumultuous feelings that he'd been dislodged this badly by one simple word, and he raised the gun once more towards his now-dead prey.

He fired.

"No!"

Jazz bolted upright in bed, breathing erratic and sheets strewn everywhere. He'd obviously been restless while dreaming. He put a hand over his eyes, running it gently down his face as he calmed down. He felt along his dresser for his visor, snapping it into place and wobbling into the bathroom once he found it. He switched on the light over the mirror and stared at the face that looked back at him. The haunted visage that Jazz always saw but never really acknowledged was all that was left in his features now, features that screwed up in despondency as he hung his head to turn away from Foxtrot.

Three weeks.

Three weeks since Foxtrot had been accepted into Morgan's crew, three weeks of criminal activities (not including hosting that Russian Roulette game; Jazz had flat-out refused to do that), three weeks of not seeing Adam. The lieutenant stared into the depths of the sink, finding the plug fascinating as his thoughts ran away with him.

How much did Adam miss him, Jazz wondered. Was he anxious? Scared? Not worried because he thought Jazz could look after himself? He hadn't talked to Adam in case Shiv managed to track the call and realize Jazz's connections (texts were much easier to conceal but far harder to disguise the action of doing so as something else), and what little he knew of his partner he had heard from Ryan when he went in for a medical exam last week and some sleeping pills.

Speaking of which... Going back into his past was never going to be easy, Jasper knew that the moment he suggested the plan to Orion, but he could've done without the returning and recurring nightmares. They felt worse now than they did back then, but that could just be because he hadn't had any for years and thus lost whatever immunity he'd built up to their effects. He grabbed up a small white bottle from the sink side, popping it open and swallowing two of the tablets dry, shuddering and making a face as he did.

He heaved a groan and sloped back to his bed, not bothering to turn the light off and faceplanting into his pillows. He was positive the nightmares would go away if only Adam was there to keep him safe, stop them from hurting him.

Curling up into a ball Jazz dragged the sheets over him completely and set himself for another night of fitful sleep, trying to fill his thoughts with nothing but the man who had taken his heart and was refusing to give it back.

-x-

Detective Adam McCallen was partnerless. Again. At least this time he was pretty sure it was only temporary. Or should only be temporary.

He sighed and stopped his feeble attempt at writing up the report on his latest bust he had been doing. He hadn't heard from Jazz in somewhere around three weeks. He'd stopped counting after ten days. He found they went by quicker.

He wondered if Jazz was alright and how he was coping. On a whim he pulled up Jazz's police records, and stared at the photo attached to the file on his basic profile. It didn't do him justice. Adam read through the information, memorizing anything he came across which he didn't already know. It wasn't a lot. He felt he knew Jazz inside and out.

And yet not at all.

It was, perhaps, that enigmatic aspect and Adam's desire to put the puzzle of Jasper Miles fully together that drew the detective to him. Adam already knew he was ensnared by the African-American's cheeky grin and wry humor and uncanny empathy, but he was getting more and more aware by the day that there was something a lot more to it than simple obsession or commitment.

He was falling in love, and there was nothing he could do about it. Falling more and yearning more each day Jazz was not in his life, and it was becoming nearly unbearable. He glanced over at the desk he knew should house the younger man, safe and sound and chipper, saying something that would cause both exasperation and great amusement on Adam's part.

The detective sighed and his head met the wood of his own desk briefly before trying to get back into his report. It was going to be another long day, he knew it.

-x-

"Yo Foxtrot."

Jazz turned around from where he was helping Thane with the plan for next weapons shipment send-off to see Warren leaning against the conference room's doorway. The logistics chief thumbed over his shoulder and pushed off of the wall gracefully. "Follow me. Lord Morgan has someone he wants you to meet."

Jazz raised an eyebrow and glanced at Thane, who nodded that it was okay, go ahead, he could outline the rest. The saboteur strode out the room until he caught up with Warren, dropping in to match his step rhythm.

"Who is it?"

"You'll see when we get there. It's not my place to tell." Warren didn't say anything else, and Jazz shrugged a shoulder and stepped into the elevator behind him. They went down until they reached Morgan's floor, and when it opened Warren swept out in a quiet confidence Jazz had never seen on him before. He made a mental note to ask later, after he'd met this mystery person of Morgan's.

They arrived at the crimelord's office, and the dark-haired man rapped three times sharply on the door. Morgan's voice granted them entry, and Jazz stepped in to find Russell sitting at a desk with Samuel silently behind him and another very devious, patient and smart-looking man leaning over small pile of papers with Morgan. His hair was swept back and slicked, and an eyepatch covered his left eye. The other gold one glanced over Jazz once before he straightened. Morgan also stood up, and smiled.

"Ah, Foxtrot. I see Skype actually managed to keep his word this time and found you. I would like you to meet our operations commander Shiv Corey. Shiv, this is the LA marauder himself, Foxtrot."

"Pleasure." Shiv's voice was smooth, oily and cultured as he held out a bony hand towards the saboteur. Jazz took it with a nod of acknowledgement.

"Shiv here has been... complaining at me that he hasn't been able to crack the electronics you possess to make sure you aren't a danger to my operations."

"Then it means I've done done m'job well," said Jazz coolly. "I told yeh b'fore, Russell, I don' like people sneakin' in mah private business."

"Indeed. I have persuaded him to let it go. Don't make me regret it." Morgan's eyes flashed sharply, and Jazz narrowed his own back. Shiv let out a frustrated noise.

"I still do not see why I cannot check you to make sure you really are not a danger. If you have nothing to hide then-"

Jazz snarled, and before anybody knew what was happening the lieutenant had Shiv around the neck up against the wall, gun cocked, loaded and resting against his temple. "'Course I got secrets, yeh pirate reject. I don' want some nosy busybody pokin' their nose in things that don' concern them and I don' appreciate bein' accused o' somethin' I ain't done." Jazz pressed the gun harder against the other's head to make a point. "Y'know why I killed most o' m'gang back in LA? Do yeh?"

"I was never able to get good intel on that," admitted Shiv quietly.

"It was because one o' th'idiots found out m'parents were cops b'fore they died, 'n convinced most o' th'others that I must b'undercover, there t'rat on 'em 'n keep tabs." Jazz let Shiv go, but kept the weapon trained. "I was five years old when they were killed. Sent t' an orphanage where no one cared 'bout meh, no one did anythin' fer meh. I learned quickly that I could only rely on mehself, I couldn't trust anyone. I chose mah own life, damned what mah parents were! Those idiots turned on meh, so I showed 'em how much of a cop I really was."

The lieutenant finally lowered the gun and holstered it, keeping the safety off. "Bad things happen t'people who meddle too deep int' mah affairs, Corey. Don' b' one o' 'em."

Shiv didn't move or say anything, just kept watching Jazz with an unreadable expression. Morgan chuckled, thoroughly amused by the whole exchange. "And there you have it Shiv. One of my best men to date, this one. I will admit I was wary about accepting his offer to join me, I thought he had ulterior motives. He has, however, proven himself several times and has earned the benefit of the doubt."

"I only made th'offer so yeh'd stop huntin' meh down. It was gettin' tiresome," grumbled Jazz, stepping back to lean sulkily against one of the walls. Morgan merely quirked an eyebrow.

"It appears to have worked then, no?"

Jazz bared his teeth but stayed silent, and Morgan sat back down with a satisfied expression. "And now we are all acquainted, if you don't mind Foxtrot I have some business to discuss with my commander." The lieutenant dipped his head slightly and sailed out the room, followed closely by Warren. The logistics chief was still oddly quiet as they made their way back to the elevator, and it wasn't until they reached a few stories up that Jazz reached over and hit the emergency stop button to bring the elevator to a halt between floors. Warren looked alarmed at him, and Jazz stared coolly back.

"Alright, Skype. What's the deal? Yer never this quiet 'n hell if I ain't seen you this confident b'fore. What's goin' on?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," muttered the dark-haired man, turning away.

"Bullshit." The snapped word made Warren flinch, but Jazz didn't take it back. "Somethin's goin' on, 'n unless yeh tell meh I'm goin' straight back down t'Morgan 'n tellin' him I suspect yeh o' outside dealin's. We clear?"

"Alright, alright!" Warren looked slightly panicked at that. "Promise you won't tell anyone!"

"That's why I stopped us in here. Now spill."

"It's Spencer." The logistics chief lowered his voice. "He's got a plan to get us outta here, away from Lord Morgan. We've been wanting to get out from his shadow for a long time, Spencer, Thane and I. So Spence has been cooking up a plan, and we set it in motion a few days ago, and it seems to be working so we might be out of here within the week."

"Ahhhh, so that's what's got yeh all so peppy. I was wonderin' why White weren't throwin' any really derogatory remarks at meh lately." Jazz snickered, and Warren suddenly looked worried again. The saboteur caught it, and smiled. "Ah don' worry, I ain't tellin' him. I'm jus' wonderin' how yer gonna keep runnin' from him when he has international influence 'n could find yeh almost anywhere."

"Thane's taking care of that; he's making us all completely new people. New backgrounds, new names, new lives, new everything. And slowly erasing us as he goes." Warren's confidence came back again. "Morgan won't find us. This trine will be nothing but a memory when we bust outta here."

Jazz snorted and hit the emergency stop again to re-start the elevator's upwards movement. "Yeah, good luck with that."

-x-

It wasn't until a few days later that things really kick-started. Fairly soon after Jazz had been drafted into Morgan's crew, he had found the computer terminals which stored almost everything Shiv recorded on the crime lord's activities, business dealings and transactions. A private network, one that could only be accessed from inside the base. Secure beyond anything Jazz had ever seen before, but after a few more days of work he managed to crack the algorithm and create his own set of access keys that changed with the updates Shiv did every other day to appear as though part of the actual security, but created a passageway for Jazz to stream off information. Information he stored in an external storage device that could only be connected to remotely by his PDA.

And it was this recon he was doing for the 27th that gave the whole game away.

Four weeks of being extra careful, perfectly timed and damned sneaky about coming in here to steal, and the one time he forgot to lock the freaking door... He was caught red-handed at one of the terminals facing a livid Shiv Corey, a confused Thane, a triumphant Spencer and an emotionless-as-ever Samuel, behind whom stood a stunned Rumble.

As Shiv moved forward to apprehend him Jazz slammed a fist down on his device so it shattered, and then began ripping out the wires and short-circuiting the circuitry creating too much damage for the ops commander to get anything off it. Certainly the line between the terminal and where Jazz was siphoning the information to was now severed, which was the main thing. Jazz had managed to get more than enough evidence of Morgan's dealings to put him on death row sixty times over.

He offered little resistance as they subdued him, cuffed him and dragged him off to face their leader. He knew that fighting at the wrong time would only make the situation worse.

"Man you are in so much trouble!" sing-songed Spencer with glee as he practically bounced alongside the subdued lieutenant. Jazz ignored him, glaring at the floor.

"Imagine, Foxtrot. I come in to confirm the details of our next little job with my associates, and I find you taking something that doesn't belong to you." Shiv leaned over Jazz's shoulder. "I've never trusted you. Morgan was a fool to do so."

"'M a kleptomaniac, so sue meh," growled Jazz, who received a sharp whack to the face in reply.

"Don't play smart with me, boy. I'm not known for my sense of humor."

"Nah; more like he's known for his skills in torture," smirked Spencer. Jazz did react then, turning a steady, humorless gaze to the SIC as they bundled into the elevator on their way to drag a traitor to Morgan. The dreadlocked man resisted the cheeky urge to parrot 'take me to your leader'.

"So 'm I. I'm as good at takin' it as I am givin' it."

"We'll see," Shiv deadpanned, and nothing else was said for the rest of the journey.

-x-

So, thought Jazz as he was thrown onto his knees in front of Morgan. The throne room, huh? Smart man; better to have less people spread out then more squashed together when holding a prisoner. He let his gaze settle on Morgan, ignoring completely Spencer's sadistically happy noises, Shiv's barely restrained urges to beat him around a bit and the two unknown guards menacing behind Russell. The leader of the Happy Gang interlaced his fingers delicately behind his back in sharp contrast to the hard expression he bore.

"Who are you working for, Foxtrot? Why are you stealing from me?"

Jazz didn't answer and didn't blink, not even when a boot to his stomach courtesy of Frenzy made him double forwards slightly as the air left his lungs in a big rush.

"Why, Foxtrot? Who are you? What did you come here for?"

Still no answer, and another small beatdown.

It continued on for several minutes, until Morgan grabbed a gun from in his desk drawer and aimed it somewhere around Jazz's knee to repeat his question. Before he could do so though, Shiv's cool voice intervened. "My Lord, if I may?"

Russell canted his head to one side, but lowered the gun and nodded.

"Samuel has just been kind enough to fetch my laptop for me, because I have a hunch." Jazz finally broke his gaze briefly away from Morgan to dart to Samuel, whom the saboteur hadn't noticed leaving or coming back. Shiv moved to the desk, on which he placed the machine. He leaned over it, and for the next couple minutes there was silence save for the tak-tak-taking of Shiv's fingers on the keys.

Eventually he made a triumphant noise. "Clever bastard, but not quite clever enough." The operations commander turned the screen around, and Morgan growled as Jazz's eyes opened wide. His police profile was staring back at him, picture and information included.

"My mistake was that I assumed you to be a cop from here in Detroit. Either you really are from Alabama, or you were transferred there temporarily in case we happened to check the Michigan database." Shiv smirked. "I also found this a few days ago in some video footage I was trawling through." He minimized Jazz's profile, and brought up a saved AVI video instead. It turned out to be footage caught on news cameras of various crime scenes dating back a few months. At one point he paused, and Jazz recognized it almost immediately. The first crime scene that he and Prowl ever went to together. The bank break-in. In the paused frame there were two blurry police figures, but one of them definitely had dreadlocks like his own.

"I wasn't sure when I first saw this, so I tried checking state databases but couldn't find you anywhere. So I took Morgan's advice and let you have the benefit of the doubt, considering your history." He brought back up the profile as Jazz felt a brief rush of gratitude to Alex for thinking of that too, without which he probably would have been discovered a lot sooner. "So, Police Lieutenant Jasper Miles, what do you have to say for yourself now?"

Spencer cackled as the lieutenant did nothing but narrow his eyes at the crime lord and his smug-looking commander. The pale-haired SIC stalked proudly up to Jazz and lifted him roughly to his feet, then smashed the heel of his hand right into Jazz's face before moving to restrain him with a comment of, "you're dead meat now, copper."

At that Jazz spun around quickly, tossing off Spencer's hands and threading his body through the cuffs so his hands were now in front of him, and at the same time pilfering Spencer's gun from the holster on his side. The lieutenant swung the weapon at each of Morgan's nameless guards either side of him and shot, one bullet each to the head with deadly accuracy even among the mayhem of the others trying to wrestle him back into submission.

He leveled the gun at Morgan, fully intending to do exactly the same thing, when he paused as the thought crossed him that everything he'd done so far to put this man behind bars would be for nothing if he shot him right now. The hesitation allowed Spencer to get a good grip on the saboteur, twisting Jazz's arm to force him to release the gun and shoving him to the ground, where Frenzy tazored him to keep him down. Jazz cried out briefly as the electricity coursed through him, and lay twitching afterwards as his muscles spasmed out.

"Take him to the cell blocks, and for fuck's sake guard him. Make sure he cannot escape. I'll deal with him later." Morgan's voice was flat, cold and emotionless. Not a good sign. Jazz grimaced as he was hoisted up uncomfortably by both his arms and dragged unceremoniously from the room.

-x-

Jazz tested the cuffs behind him, but to no avail. It seemed Shiv had learnt where the others hadn't, and they were electronically locked which meant Jazz had nothing to pick. They were tight too, and primed to release a burst of electricity on remote command that would easily incapacitate him should he get too out-of-hand. The saboteur slumped against the wall and sighed. He couldn't reach his ear, and his arms were folded behind him so he couldn't bring them forward like last time.

Not that it mattered; his trick needed a loose chain between the cuffs, and these had a solid unmovable steel bar. He sighed and pushed off the wall, letting his fingers run along the brickwork and feet search the floor for something, anything that could help him. He'd hoped that they had gotten too used to his visor to think about removing it, but apparently not.

His probing fingers eventually touched on a group of nails in the brickwork, pointy end out and a couple feet off the floor. He lowered slightly and examined them. They were mostly thick and pretty close together, dotted every so often with small thin ones, blunted and rusty. He knelt down and began trying to see if he could catch the back of his earring on one of the small nails. The side of his face got scratched and pricked pretty quickly, but he ignored that. He'd had worse.

Several minutes later and he was getting antsy, annoyed by the fact he couldn't get the damn thing hooked. Granted it was a slim chance, but he had a knack for defying the odds. Perhaps luck had run out him this time. He tried once more, then sighed and lifted his head up.

Only to find his ear had got trapped between two nails, snagged by either side of his earring. He was about to pull out sideways when a thought hit him. And not a pretty painless one.

A cocked ear towards his cell door told him that no one had come while he wasn't paying attention, so he turned his attention back to the nails. Biting his bottom lip so he wouldn't bite his tongue and clenching his hands, he counted to three slowly in his head.

When he reached 'three' he stood up as fast and with as much force as he could. There was resistance at first, but that didn't last as the last of the momentum and straining upwards force finally caused the caught earring to be pulled straight through his earlobe with the loud sound of flesh literally being torn apart.

He wanted to yell out the pain, but that would just alert someone so it was all he could do to clamp his teeth to his lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. He listened for where the earring fell, then felt awkwardly around the floor for it until he found it, warm and wet to the touch. He grimaced then pulled apart the two pieces.

His silent alarm was sent. Thank god for Alex Redding and Simon Cooper, thought Jazz before he fell against the wall and slid down it.

Now, he waited and hoped the signal got through.

-x-

"We almost had them nailed, Commissioner, and then Foxtrot took most of my men out. Simple as. That's the fifth time this has happened in the past two weeks and my men are getting extremely agitated about it. And rightly so. I mean, what if he's let Foxtrot out more than he should, and he's not planning on coming back? He's schizophrenic, we know that, but sti-"

Orion raised a hand to stop Alex's tirade, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Redding, if Foxtrot really wasn't working for us anymore do you honestly think he'd still be using those drugs instead of actual bullets? Foxtrot lived for the kill, not money or drugs. Since he's not killing I think it's fairly safe to assume Jazz is still very much in control. He's just playing his part to keep Russell from suspecting anything."

"I dunno, Orion, I still say we need to be careful. I pegged him as a possible security risk the moment I met him."

"Jazz is Jazz, not Foxtrot," came an icy voice from behind the red-haired man, and both Alex and Orion looked at the door to see Adam leaning against it with a frown on his face. "No partner of mine is going rogue on us."

"You don't know that," retorted Alex, eyes narrowing. He immediately found himself the center of a furious gaze, blue eyes as chilly as the voice that accompanied them.

"Jazz is ours, Redding. Not Russell's."

Alex wisely didn't say anything else, and physically backed down by moving back to the wall and lowering his body against it. Orion pinched the bridge of his nose briefly and exhaled noisily.

"I'd appreciate you not freaking out my security officers, Detective. Now, what do you need?"

"My apologies." Adam slumped slightly, angry tension dissipating as he handed over a few sheaves of paper. "The report for the rioting Benjamin and I handled last night, and the paperwork for the DA's office on O'Brien's case."

"Thank you, Detective." Orion watched with some concern as Adam's eyes dimmed slightly and he turned around to the door with an unsure movement. "Adam, wait. You haven't been yourself lately, are you-"

He was cut off as an alarm sounded from the radio nestled on the edge of Orion's desk. It was a quiet but demanding alarm, one that all three men recognized instantly. Adam looked at Orion in horror as the precinct commissioner picked up his phone immediately. "Dana? Get Simon, Ben, Heath, Byron and Raji here stat, and anyone else who's free from this shift. Tell them Jazz just set off his panic button. We're going in."

-x-

"Sides! Goddammit you sorry excuse for a rotting trashpile, give that back to me right now or I swear to God I'm gonna rip you limb from limb!"

"No way bro; you wouldn't do that to your own twin and you slagging well know it!"

"WHAT is going on here? I have a patient, you morons!" Ryan stalked into his living room, extremely unpleased at being disturbed from his work by the argument, and stopped short at the sight that greeted him. Sidam was on one side of a very small coffee table, leaning back with an arm outstretched behind him as far as it would go and an insanely goofy grin on his face. On the other side was Sunny, who was halfway through clambering up onto said table to try and jump his twin and looking very much like an angry, hissing cat with the way he was posed. He was trying to reach a paint palette that was being held hostage by Sidam's raised arm, and apparently failing miserably if his sour air was anything to judge by.

Ryan marched up to both of them and snatched the palette out of Sidam's grip, tossing it to Sunny who skittered promptly away with it. He sent a meaningful look to the twins that both of them interpreted the same way: shut up, behave or face the wrath of Ryan.

Something the twins had come very quickly to fear.

Ryan was just starting his traipse back downstairs to his patient when the phone rang. Sidam made an instinctive move towards it, but remembered he and Sunny were supposed to be hiding and halted mid-move. Ryan raised an eyebrow at him as he answered it instead.

"Doctor Chester."

'Ryan? It's Simon Cooper. We just got the emergency alarm from Jazz's earring beacon. He's in trouble and possibly hurt. We're gonna need you on this.'

Rae: It's not what it looks like? D:

Actually, yes it is. And if you want Jazz to be saved then reviews will get Prowler there faster! (snickers) Until next times, my lovlies! x