"Just hurry. This is one of the guys who blew up the courthouse yesterday. I need backup and I need it now!" Blair snarled into his cell phone. He listened for a moment, nodded sharply and snapped his phone closed. Looking up at his partner, he frowned. "They're sending units now. Can he see us from here?" They had stayed by Blair's car, which was partially hidden behind Jim's truck.

"No. He's kind of anxious though. I don't think he has any idea that I've been sprung from the hospital. If we went through the loft or up through the back stairs, we could probably surprise him." Jim was totally focused on their apartment, knowing that the enemy was waiting for them, or at least his partner.

"Not until the backup gets here, tough guy," Blair admonished. One of his classes at the academy had pushed long and hard on the necessity of always waiting for backup. Having already had three years of experience working with Jim, he had taken the lessons to heart... particularly since Jim was still just a bit under his peak in ability, despite the fact that he was currently in no pain.

Jim glared at his partner, who ignored him. "Fine, Sandburg. We wait. But what if he gets tired of waiting and decides to blow the building up?"

Blair glared at him, "Do you think that's what he's doing?"

Jim sighed, slumping just a bit. "No. I don't smell any explosives, but he's smoking in the loft," he said just a little petulantly.

"OK, so we get some odor-neutralizer and spray for it and open all the windows and doors to air it out. It'll be fine." Blair replied chidingly.

"Backup's here." Jim turned his attention to the approaching vehicles: three blue and silver Cascade PD patrol cars and two unmarked cars. Joel and Megan parked next to Blair's Volvo, while the uniformed officers took up their positions on the side street and the alley behind the buildings. Brown and Rafe parked in front of the building in a 'no parking' zone.

"What've you got, Jim?" Joel asked, scanning the building.

"Short's in the loft," Jim replied. Joel just nodded, accepting the information as gospel. He knew Jim well enough to know that if he said someone was there, they were. "I can smell that crap he wears as aftershave from here," Jim added. Joel grinned and gently patted the smaller man on the shoulder.

"I believe you, Jim. So, what's the best way to grab him? I sure don't want to just walk up to the front door and knock, if you know what I mean," the big man grinned.

"There are two ways in besides the front door," Blair explained as Jim turned his focus back to their intruder. "There's the back door, by my room, and the window through Jim's bedroom." The others, having been in the loft on numerous occasions, nodded their understanding.

"So, who gets the window and who gets the back door?" Megan asked, looking at the others.

"I'll take the window," volunteered Rafe.

"Gee, thanks, partner," Brown said, mockingly. "What if I don't want to back you up climbing the wall?"

"I'll go with Rafe," Megan offered. "I'm pretty agile, even if I do say so myself." She grinned at them.

"OK, Brown can come with me," Joel decreed. Knowing that he probably knew the answer, but needing to make the offer anyway, he asked, "Jim, do you want the back stairs or the front door?"

"We'll take the front door, Joel. Let me know when you're in position," Jim said, never taking his attention from his quarry.

"Only after everyone has a vest on, Jim. Come on. Let's get on with this," Joel insisted.

With the addition of two more patrol cars, they had the building surrounded. As soon as everyone was in place, Jim and Blair silently climbed the stairs to their home. "If he's messed up even one, single thing..." Blair threatened in a whisper.

"Shhh," Jim admonished, stepping into position. Using his borrowed radio, he hissed into the microphone, "In position." He received positive responses from the others. Jim unlocked the door, managing to be nearly silent. While Blair wrapped his left hand around the knob, preparatory to their charge, Jim whispered into his radio, "On three. One... two... three!"

On the count, the front and back doors were flung open and the two who had managed to sneak the window open swung through. Within seconds, they had their suspect surrounded and trapped.

Starring down the barrels of six loaded weapons, with grim, tense cops behind them, Short did the only intelligent thing he could -- he froze in place and slowly raised his hands, leaving his weapon in his lap.

Blair, keeping out of everyone's line of fire, circled around behind Short and gently relieved him of his gun. Once that was taken care of, Blair told him to lie face down on the floor. As the others looked on, Blair frisked their prisoner and found a second gun as well as a knife. When he was finished, he cuffed Short and then helped him back up and into the chair.

"What are you doing here?" Joel asked, taking charge. Jim's clenching jaw had his partner cautiously guiding him over to the couch, where he gently pushed him into a seated position from which he could keep an eye on their prisoner.

"Aren't you going to read me my rights?" Short sneered, trying bravado to cover his very genuine fear. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out how they had known he was there. He'd taken the bus so no one would see his car. He'd gone in through the back, so no one would see him. He'd not touched anything so no one would realize he was there. He'd been listening closely for the elevator or footsteps on the stairs, only to be surprised when the six cops suddenly appeared. He hadn't even heard the key in the lock, or the knob turn... and he'd been listening for it!

"Why? I came home, found an armed intruder and reacted, shooting him dead. What's the problem?" Jim asked softly, his pale blue eyes glittering like cold, hard diamonds as he focused on the intruder. "Then I called for help, just like any normal citizen," he added blandly.

Short was shocked. He looked around at the others, noting their expressions of disinterest. "You c-can't be serious," he stuttered, his fear growing into terror. After all, he'd been one of those who'd tried to arrange for Sandburg's 'failure' at the academy, and looking at the punk's partner, he could well believe that the man was fully capable of murdering him... and then he remembered Ellison's history in Black Ops. They'd never find his body. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Like most bullies, Short, when confronted with genuine courage, determination, and conviction, crumbled like over-leavened cookies. None of the members of Major Crime showed any expression, although Megan couldn't suppress a smirk, but she was behind Short and he couldn't see her.

"Where's Schofield?" Joel asked.

"I can't tell you that!" Short replied, whining. He was screwed no matter what. If he didn't talk, Ellison would probably kill him, slowly and very painfully. If he did talk, Schofield would arrange for him to die... but it would probably be a quick death. He shook his head miserably. It was a no-win situation, no matter how he looked at it.

The men and woman of Major Crime glared at him. Rafe spoke up, "Jim's not the only one who knows how to hurt people, you know," his softly accented voice warned. "I think that even Sandburg would like to help, wouldn't you, Blair?" Rafe lifted his eyes to the smaller man, who was sitting on the arm of the couch next to his partner, one arm across the back of the couch barely touching Jim's shoulders, the other hand absently spinning his open Swiss Army knife in intricate patterns, the same way he would play with his pen when studying. His eyes shifted from Short to briefly connect with Rafe's, then he returned his attention to Short, remembering the hell he'd been through at the academy because of this man and his group of anencephlic cohorts.

"I could deal. I know where I can get some nice, big fire ants..." Still manipulating his knife, he smiled coldly at Short. Short couldn't seem to look anywhere but at the spinning blade. Blair abruptly realized that he had the man's full attention. With a fleeting grin at his companions, he started talking, using the same soft, low-pitched voice he used to calm his sentinel when he was agitated.

"You've got it figured out, don't you Short? If you don't talk, we're going to hurt you... a lot. You'll eventually break, no matter what. Or you might die first. Of course, if you do talk, Schofield will probably put a hit out on you, but at least that would most likely be a clean kill, nothing like what you might get from us." He could see from the expression on Short's face that he was only voicing what the other man had already figured out. "Of course, if you give us enough, we can catch Schofield and the rest of the WFF and they'll be in jail... then we could protect you. At least make sure you're not anywhere close to them anyway. So think about it for a couple of minutes. Let us know which way you want this to go. OK?" He flipped his knife one more time and snapped the blade closed. Short blinked as he came out of his near-trance state. His confusion showing on his face, he watched as Blair bounced to his feet and headed for the kitchen.

"So, who wants coffee, tea, juice, soft drinks?" he asked as he opened the door of the elderly refrigerator, "I'd offer beer, but technically we're still on duty." He smiled over his shoulder at his friends, winking conspiratorially.

Megan grinned and followed him into the kitchen area, "Let me give you a hand. I'm for something cold. What've you got?"

"Well... there's iced tea, Spiderleg to be exact, really a nice flavor. Then there's Pepsi, 7-Up, Cherry Coke... orange juice, apple juice and... cranberry juice. What's your pleasure, folks?" His colleagues called out their preferences, turning their attention from their prisoner. Jim simply settled back and closed his eyes. Even though most of the pain from his spasmed back was gone, he was still having little uncontrollable muscle twitches, not really painful but definitely annoying. Despite his appearance of relaxation, he was still focused on Short, just not obviously.

Short, with his hands cuffed behind his back, thought over his options. He didn't really see any way to survive. No matter what he did, he was going to end up dead. The prospect was enough to almost make him soil himself. Deciding that a quick death was the best he could hope for (and actually being committed to the precepts of the Washington Freedom Fighters), he lunged to his feet and headed for the balcony door, intending to break through the glass and throw himself off the building, hopefully to his death.

Jim heard the sudden pounding of Short's heart just before he flung himself up from the chair and lunged for the balcony. Reacting as fast as any cat, Jim was on him before he'd managed to go three steps, leaping up to press his hands on the restrained man's shoulders, letting his greater weight bear them to the floor. For just a moment, Short struggled futilely, then ceased, sobs of fear and frustration gasping with each breath.

The others were caught off guard; not expecting any resistance let alone an escape attempt. Brown was the first to reach them. He bent down and helped Jim to his feet. Seeing the taller man wince, he immediately asked, "Are you OK, Jim? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" his tone showing the worry he felt.

"Nah, I'm fine, just stretched some already bruised muscles is all," Jim insisted, carefully stretching through the pain. He didn't resist when his partner started to knead the muscles at the base of his neck and down his shoulders, allowing his friend to guide him back to the sofa, where he again sat, as Blair continued to work the knots from his muscles.

"I guess you guys had better help yourselves to stuff to drink," he called out, keeping his attention focused on his friend. "If someone would pour me a glass of tea, I'd appreciate it." He lowered his voice to ask Jim, "What would you like, Jim?"

"Just water, thanks," Jim called out loudly enough to be heard. Joel brought them their drinks, then took over from Brown, watching Short to make sure he didn't try anything else.

"I won't make any promises, Short. Your bombs tied up the entire city for most of the afternoon and evening. There are three dead, dozens injured, and you made it kind of personal when Captain Banks was hurt." He glanced over at Jim and Blair. Jim's eyes were closed and there was an almost blissful expression on his face as Blair worked on his back, gently rubbing and kneading the tense and stiffened muscles, working the older man into a state of total relaxation.

"You have a choice here, Short. The Feds are all over this one. Domestic Terrorism is a big thing. Three dead? Easy death penalty. Life in prison at the very least. And you know what they do to cops who end up in prison. Even ex-cops. You're good looking enough to have problems anyway. But with the federal charges..." he allowed his voice to trail off, then added thoughtfully, "Of course, if you turn State's evidence, they'd probably put you in the Witness Protection Program. Start you and your family up in a new place, new names, new job. As long as you never get involved with anything like this again, you should be safe, especially if you give us enough to get the entire group. That way, there'd be no one to come looking for you." His tone was thoughtful, friendly even. The odds were excellent that the Feds would offer him immunity and the Witness Protection Program in exchange for the very dangerous WFF. "If you'd rather talk just to the Feds, that's fine. But it will be done here, in Cascade. With our representatives sitting in on the deal. It's up to you. But you'd better decide now. After all, we have your voice on the tape, claiming responsibility. Hell, for all we know, you might have done this all on your own."

Short jerked upright from his slumped position in the chair. "No way. You're not hanging it all on me. Kathryn was in charge. I was just following orders!" He didn't mention how anxious he had been to participate; he'd reached his decision. The only question was whether he'd get a better deal from the Feds or from these guys. He thought about it for a few seconds, as Joel took a sip of his drink, "You'll work the deal with the Feds for me?"

"We'll make the suggestion," Joel countered, sensing victory. The others had quietly gathered around, striving to show no emotion.

"Jim? What do you think?" Megan asked, her intention obviously to put Short into a better frame of mind to cooperate.

Jim opened his eyes, his gaze lazily focusing on their prisoner. Short shivered as the pale blue orbs focused on his own. Shifting away from the warm hands still rubbing his shoulders, Jim blinked, still focused on the frightened ex-cop. "Well, I suppose," Jim tentatively agreed. "Getting the big fish is worth losing a little fish... providing the little fish understands that if he tries anything else, he's going to be fried right alongside the big fish?"

Short swallowed hard. There was something feral, almost feline about the way that Ellison was looking at him. Then his gaze glanced to Ellison's partner, and his breath caught in his throat; there was something... well lupine in Sandburg's grin. Definitely wolfish. Trembling, he nodded, "I-I-I understand. I'll give you everything if you'll get me the Witness Protection Program."

Joel pulled out his handheld radio. Thumbing the button, he contacted the patrol officers still outside. "We've got one for transport, Apartment 307." He listened to the reply and then turned back to the rest of the group, "Well, I guess we should be going. Jim, you and Blair take it easy. If you feel up to it, you could come in tomorrow or the next day and file your reports on this. Otherwise, we'll see you on Monday." Turning, he made his way into the kitchen, rinsed out his empty glass and placed it on the counter next to the sink. Motioning to the others to join him, he headed for the door, letting in a pair of uniformed officers.

"There he is, gentlemen. Please be so kind as to read him his rights," Joel said as he walked out the door with the rest of Major Crimes following close behind him. The two uniformed officers urged Short up. While one of them switched handcuffs, the other Mirandized him. Returning Blair's cuffs to him, they escorted the very subdued prisoner out.