One hour earlier-

"No getting around it, Blair. You've got to get to work. I have to get to work. This isn't a good time to relax."

Blair grinned from his comfortably reclined position on the couch, looking up at the face of the girl who's lap his head was pillowed in. "This is too nice. Let's just hang out here for a while longer."

Angela laughed. "Anyone ever told you you're irresponsible?"

Wide eyes blinked innocently. "Me? Never. Anyone ever told you your hands work magic?"

She grinned and pulled her hands out of his dark hair. "People underestimate the value of a good scalp massage."

"I'm not underestimating. I'll never underestimate again." Slowly he sat up, stretching, running his hands through his long hair to make himself appear slightly less ruffled. "You should have told me you could do that a month ago."

She winced. "Please. I do that, next thing I know I would have spent the entire month with my hands in your hair. I've been used for my talents before."

"Would that really have been so bad?" he flashed her his characteristic charming smile.

"Only if you didn't return the favor," she replied. "Hint hint, nudge nudge."

He laughed. "I don't know anything about scalps. Oh, but, man, this girl I dated once, from India, she taught me this whole full-body oil massage. If you were any more relaxed at the end of one of those you'd be six feet under."

A look of self-consciousness appeared in her eyes, but she hid it with a smile. "You know, I've never really been into massage. Maybe you could just wait on me hand and foot in return for services rendered."

Blair's tingling scalp and relaxed muscles had him ready to give full agreement, but he was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. "Huh. Wonder if Simon sent Jim home to get me," He stood reluctantly and went to the door. "Who is it?" he called.

There was no answer, just another knock.

"Jim, if you forgot your keys, you don't have to be embarrassed, just say so." Blair already felt that too-familiar thread of fear appearing. Jim wouldn't be this quiet. Jim wouldn't have forgotten his keys. Simon or any of Blair's friends weren't afraid to shout out.

There was another knock, more of a pounding.

"Um, Angie. Why don't you go up to Jim's room for a few minutes?"

She stood quickly. "What's going on?" she asked, moving a few steps towards the stairs nervously.

"I don't know. Look, there's a gun in Jim's room, by the bed. If something happens down here, don't be afraid too-"

He was cut off by a huge bang, a sound like splintering wood. "Oh, man. Angie, get upstairs, now."

"What about you?"

"Go," Blair urged her.

Angela looked uncertain, but she went up the stairs quickly.

Blair looked around the apartment for a weapon. "Oh, man," he repeated. Not a gun, he couldn't use a gun. Even after all this time, that was one trick he hadn't quite gotten the hang of.

Another crunch of splintering wood, a few cracks appearing on his side of the door. "Oh man oh man oh man," Blair gave up the futile search, going over to the phone and picking it up. If he at least got in touch with Jim, he's know that help was-

The door flung open, and four men poured in right on top of each other. The first one pointed the barrel of a gun at Blair, who had frozen. "Put the phone down, Sandburg."

Shit, they knew who he was. This wasn't random. Blair dropped the portable phone on the sofa. Oh, man.

"Check the apartment," the man directed his buddies. They spread out, and Blair saw one headed for the staircase.

"What's going on here?" he demanded of the man in front of him.

"I've got a message from a friend of yours," the man grinned. "Well, not for you. For your cop friend."

"Oh, yeah? You couldn't leave a note?" Blair heard the fear in his own voice and hated it. At least he had to be alive to deliver a message. "What's the message?"

The man grinned, aiming the gun. "You're the message."

Blair shut his eyes, reflecting briefly that this was a really pathetic way to go.

"Blair!"

He opened his eyes to see the gun now aimed towards the staircase. He turned and saw Angela at the door, Jim's gun trembling in her hands, pointing at the man still on the staircase. Her face was white as a sheet.

"Angela." The man who'd spoken to Blair greeted with an amused chuckle.

Blair frowned. How did they know her?

"Another message?" She retorted, trying to maintain control over her quivering voice.

"I didn't trust you to deliver the last one."

Blair glanced back and forth between them. Message? What were they talking about? How did they know each other?

"I went to the police," she said hesitantly.

"You reported a crime, Angela. You came to Ellison and the hippie here for comfort, not to do what we told you."

Blair's eyes narrowed suddenly. These were the men who....

A red haze of anger filled his world, and he leaped forward. The blond man, obviously this little group's leader, was still looking at Angela, and he glanced back at the sudden movement in time for Blair to plow into him head-on.

Angela watched in horror as the man on the staircase turned and aimed his weapon at the two figures now locked in struggle. "No!" She started down the stairs towards him.

There was a loud noise, and a sudden pain in her side, and she grabbed the railing of the staircase, her feet threatening to fail her suddenly. She could only watch, her mind slow from weakness and the sudden pain, as the blonde man hauled Blair up easily, grabbing him by the chin and hauling him over to the red brick wall.

The man on the stairs was still aiming at the stunned anthropology student, and Angela used the last of her energy to raise the gun she held limply in one hand and pointing it at the man's chest. With a brief prayer to any listening gods, she pulled the trigger, almost fainting in relief when then the man collapsed.

The blonde heard the shot and whipped around, watching his man fall, and then Angela collapsing against the railing. With a growl of anger and a strong, fierce move of his arm, he smacked Blair's head into the bricks. He caught the long-haired kid as he started to fall, and gestured at his other two men. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"What about-"

"Leave him. Let's go, we'll take the hippie with us."

Angela pulled herself up in time to see the three men, with Blair supported between two of them, leave. She opened her mouth to shout, to cry for help, anything, but her throat didn't cooperate. Slowly, her eyes shutting with the agony that came from moving, she took a step down towards the living room. With a moan, her legs gave way, and she rolled ungracefully down the steps, stopping against the body of the man she'd shot.

He was gone, Blair was gone. They took Blair. Have to help...

She raised herself up to her knees and crawled painfully over the man and down the last step. She went towards the phone, but her vision, which kept swimming in and out of focus, saw that the telephone wasn't there.

A trembling sound came out of her as she realized she'd never make it to the door and out to get help. She couldn't see the phone to call someone. She couldn't do anything.

With a thought that bordered on hysteria, she decided quickly. Blair's room. She slept well in Blair's room, it was safe in Blair's room.

She started dragging herself over to the open doors, and as she moved, one thought overtook her, one name on her lips. They had taken Blair. He was gone.

"Blair," she heard herself saying in a whisper as she went into his room. She went for the bed, but wasn't quite sure if she made it or not when her tenuous grasp of consciousness vanished and she collapsed. His name echoed in her mind. Blair.

Jim paced the waiting room nervously. How long would it take somone to get back to him? Whenever it was Blair in the hospital, it seemed to take ages. But he figured that was just his mind. Were they really this slow with everybody? He had to talk to Angela, he had to know what happened, who had his partner. He had to find Blair before it was too late.

Too late for what, though, he didn't know. He didn't know what any of this was about.

A hand reached out and stopped his pacing, holding a cup of coffee aloft. "Jim, drink something. And settle down, you're starting to wear a track in the floor."

Jim took the coffee, giving Simon a smile he didn't even come close to feeling. "Great, give me caffiene and tell me to relax."

Simon saw through the thin smile. "Jim, relax. The doctors already said she'll make it. We just have to wait for her to regain consciousness. They're trying to ID the dead perp right now. We'll find him. We always do, huh?"

"Yeah. The odds are bound to catch up with us one of these days."

"Jim, the kid's tough. Sandburg'll make it through this the way he makes it through everything else."

Jim shook his head quietly, downing the hot liquid in a couple of gulps and tossing the cup in the general vicinity of the nearest trash can.

Simon sighed and went to sit down.

"Mr. Ellison?" a voice called out behind Jim.

He turned to see a younger nurse, a pretty woman with a shock of red, curly hair, approaching him. "What is it? How is she?

"She? I thought it would be Blair. I'm sorry, I didn't know. I just recognized you from...well, from a few other nights you spent here. Just wanted to say hello."

"Oh. Hi," Jim couldn't remember her name, and wasn't willing to give up the mental energy to try and think of it.

"Tell Blair I said hi, okay?"

"Sure," Jim agreed flatly, not returning her smile as she flitted off down the corridor.

For his seat, Simon gave a low chuckle. "So it's true, your roommate does have every nurse here around his little finger."

"Just about," Jim agreed ruefully. "I don't know how he does it."

"I think it's the hair. What else has he got that we don't?"

Jim grinned slightly, moving over and, with a sigh, dropping down into the chair beside his captain. "I can't figure it out, Simon. Who could it have been? No one I've put away has gotten out recently. There're no psychotic brothers or vengeful girlfriends in any of their histories."

"One of the cases you're working on now?"

"I doubt it. Nothing too major, one case that'll probably be bumped down to manslaughter if the guy I'm looking at turns out to be guilty. Nothing to kill over."

"Hell, Jim, I don't know. With you and Sandburg's luck, this could be some guy you busted for speeding five years ago who's flipped out and wants revenge for the twenty bucks he had to pay. We just have to wait and see."

There was a pause. Jim, unnerved by the helplessness and knowledge that Simon was right, stood and started pacing again.

Simon watched him with a frown, and neither man noticed the doctor approach until he cleared his throat. "You two are here about Miss Mallory?"

Ellison wheeled around and went to the man. "Yes, how is she? Is she awake? Can she talk to us yet?"

"She's lucky, very lucky. The wound she suffered would not have been so severe if not for the amount of blood she lost waiting for the ambulance. The blood-loss alone would have killed some, but she's got a strong will. The medication should wear off soon, she'll be able to talk to you. She may be a little groggy, but more or less coherent. Oh, and she keeps mumbling a name in her sleep. Do either of you know who Jim might be?"

Surprised, Ellison nodded. "That's me,"

"Good, maybe you should be in there when she wakes up. She seems eager to talk to you. Room 223."

Jim set off down the hall, making a beeline to 223, countless sleepless nights spent in these halls making his familiar with almost every room. He went to the door and slowed himself forcefully, entering silently and gazing at the figure on the bed.

It seemed almost unnatural that for once the sleeping face he gazed at wasn't Blair. Instead of the long curly hair framing the face he knew as well as the one he saw in the mirror each morning, this was the shorter, lighter hair of a girl he hardly knew.

He moved unconsciously over to the chair against the wall, bringing it to the side of the bed in a move that was almost reflex, and sitting, gazing down at the sleeping face.

Blair was right, he realized suddenly. She really was beautiful. Not in any way that could be considered conventional- she wasn't a tall willowy red-head, the way he usually liked his women. But she had a perfectly formed face, and that special somehting about her that he always noticed.

He found himself wishing for her to open her eyes, not so she could tell him what he knew, but so he could see them again, big and chocolate-brown...

Ughh. This was great, this was wonderful. This was just the thing Blair needed right now. First kidnapped by some anonymous loony, now his roommate was thinking romantic thoughts about his unconscious girlfriend.

Her eyelids fluttered, her head moved slightly, to one side then the other. A low moan escaped her lips. She would be awake in a minute.

Jim sat up, putting on his best professional face, and waited.

The door opened slowly, and Simon peeked in. "Still out of it?"

"She's coming around now," Jim said quietly, his eyes not moving from her face. He heard as Simon came in completely and shut the door behind him.

She suddenly gasped in a breath, opening her eyes rapidly. "Jim!"

"Shhhh," Jim reached over and put a hand on her arm. "Angela, I'm here. It's alright."

She blinked groggy eyes at him, squinting in the dim room. "Jim?" she whispered quietly.

"How are you, girly?" he asked with a smile.

She started to return it, but breathed in suddenly. "My side hurts," she answered honestly.

"I know. You were shot. You're going to be alright, though. Do you remember what happened?"

She was quiet for a minute, then suddenly moaned again slightly, her eyes squeezing shut.

Jim was alarmed. "Angie? Are you alright?"

"My fault," she whispered in response. "Blair...it's my fault."

Exchanging a dark look with Simon, Jim leaned in closer. "Angie, you have to tell us what happened. I'm sure it wasn't your fault. We have to know who took Blair."

"Took Blair?" Her eyes opened and she looked over at him. "They didn't kill him?"

"I hope not," Jim answered as truthfully as he could. "He wasn't anywhere near the apartment. They must have taken him."

Her brow furrowed as she fought the hazy effects of the medication. "I...I remember. I saw them going out the door."

"Who? Angela, can you remember anything about them?"

"My fault, Jim. I'm sorry. Blair's gone, and it's all my-"

"Angela, come on. It really doesn't matter whose fault it is. We have to get Blair back. Now tell me what you remember." He reached over and took her hand to soften his somewhat harsh tone.

She nodded slightly. "They were the men who...." She swallowed. "From yesterday. The ones who..."

Yesterday? "The ones who attacked you?" Jim asked with surprise.

She nodded. "They said yesterday....they told me they had been following us, Blair and I. They said I had to pass on a warning to you, that they couldn't use Blair because they didn't want you on their case, but I wasn't important. I didn't...I didn't say anything, cause Blair would have felt so bad knowing it happened because I was seen with him. I didn't think anything would happen if I didn't deliver the stupid message. I didn't know they would..." She swallowed again, blinking tearful eyes at Jim.

He tightened his grip on her hand. "What was the message, An?"

She drew in a breath. "Morgan McCullough sends his regards. Get off his back or what happened to me will happen to someone you actually care about."

"McCullough?" Simon spoke up for the first time, somewhere over Jim's shoulder.

Jim nodded, turning to meet his captain's eyes. "That's the manslaughter case I told you about. He;s not even the main suspect. Jesus, I was close to closing the investigation on him."

"Looks like he's your man. And he obviously thinks we know more than we do, or he wouldn't have gotten so desperate."

"Simon, can you-"

"APB on McCullough, and I'll check out any of his friends or known accomplices. I'll also use the descriptions Miss Mallory gave us after her own crime to find out who his friends are." Simon flashed Jim a small smile. "We'll find him, Jim. This is just some two-bit hood, he's know match for my best cop team."

Jim nodded as Simon went out the door, ready to go to work. He turned back to Angela and saw her laying still, eyes closed again.

Thinking she was asleep, he dropped her hand, standing up.

Her eyes opened and she gazed at him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

He sat back down immediately. "Stop apologizing, An. You couldn't have known what was going to happen." His eyes widened as something else occurred to him. "You wouldn't have been attacked if it wasn't for my investigation,' he said, realizing for the first time.

She shook her head slightly. "It was my own fault, everything was my fault."

"How can you say that?" It was as bad as talking to Blair.

She frowned. "I should have given you the message. They wouldn't have taken him..."

She was obviously still a little out of it, getting her timeframes mixed up, so Jim just reached out and took her hand again. "It's alright, Angie. You just helped us out more than you can know. We'll find Blair, don't worry about it." He studied her tired face for a moment. "Can you tell me what happened at the loft?"

She nodded, but the exhaustion on her face and the fluttering of her eyes spoke a different story.

"Never mind, we'll get a full statement from you tomorrow. Except, one of the men who attacked you, he was dead. Do you know what happened to him?"

She nodded jerkily. "I shot him," she said flatly. "With your gun." A shudder swept over her, and she looked down at her hands, one still grasped in his. "He was going to kill Blair."

Jim could tell what the girl was thinking. "You did the right thing," he commented softly, hoping to reassure her.

She looked up and nodded. "Yeah, I think I did."

"I'd better go. Are you going to be alright here?" Jim focused his hearing, listening to her rapid but steady heartbeat. It only jumped slightly when she answered.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Go find Blair."

He nodded and stood, heading for the door.

"Jim?"

He turned back.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

His brow furrowed. "For what?"

She shrugged. "For being here when I woke up."

He smiled. "No problem. You just get better fast. If this was Blair he'd be up by tomorrow, chasing nurses."

She returned the smile. "I'll see what I can do," she replied. "I make no promises."

Jim stood outside her door for a moment, listening to her hearbeat slow and her breathing become deep and even as she rapidly fell asleep. Ony then would he let himself move down the corridor, ready to go to the station and stay there for the next week solid if it brought his partner back safe.

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