The door was unlocked and swung open slightly as she knocked. Mulder was clearly visible from the door: flat on his back on the bed, one arm shielding his eyes from the overhead light. His other arm stretched out beside him, fingers tangled tight in the bedspread, fist knotted even in his sleep. He was still dressed-- well, jeans and a T-shirt, anyway-- surrounded by reports, diagrams, and photos she knew better than to focus on. The television was blaring: CNN with more boring details of the Bush/Dukakis debate.

Kay switched off the light and got the volume down on the television. Mulder stirred fitfully, arm sliding from his eyes to rest above his head, bare feet shuffling briefly. She held her breath, waiting for him to still again before turning on the bedside lamp. Even in the muted light she could see the sweat on his face, the random twitch of muscles. He was haggard, too tense to be truly resting, his eyes rimmed with red. Kay laid her palm against his face gently; he was feverish but not seriously so and there was no REM motion beneath his lids-- he wasn't dreaming yet, thank God. Four nights they'd spent together and she'd woke every night to his trembling and moaning, his body clammy with night sweat. He never spoke about it. Even in the daylight. Even holding her hand through the Overlook park this afternoon. Even nibbling her ear in the movie theater when he'd dragged her to see "Die Hard"-- and then spent the whole movie necking with her in the balcony.

He sighed again, jaw working silently and she leaned to kiss his forehead. There was regret in the kiss. Regret for the mysteries that shut his heart away. Regret for the fear he woke to each night. Emotionally closed one moment, the next, suddenly and fiercely passionate, he was a mystery as deep as any he found in those files of his. And although he refused to admit it, she knew he was afraid-- afraid for himself, afraid for her.

And Kay loved him for it.

She switched off the lamp, collecting his files carefully, unwilling to wake him just yet. In the glow of the TV, the photographs were blissfully indistinct. There was enough light, however, to identify the newspaper slung across the floor: the early issue of the Sunday Ohio Sun. Kay had read it herself just a few hours ago. "FBI's Finest Stalks Serial Killer" the headline bragged. What followed was a whole range of articles dealing with Mulder's work on previous cases-- told in enough detail to make her skin crawl. Yesterday, Mulder had sworn this new case was quiet right now, that he was just filling time on other cases, helping out at the precinct until Purdue said it was time to go. But he ate less every day and he feared sleep, fought it like hell, reaching out sometimes in the night, just to reassure himself that Kay was still there.

The television went bright as she bent to retrieve the paper. Children's faces stared up at her, smiles solemn in the newsprint ink: row after row of tiny photos-- kids dug up from shallow graves or found on the side of the road while her Fox hunted their killers. Christ, was there no wonder he jerked when she touched him unexpectedly? Sometimes life just... well, caught up with you after a while. Maybe he was hearing all those little feet fleeing after him. Maybe he just had nowhere else to run--

A distant peel of thunder rumbled, just audible beyond the walls and windows. Kay crammed the newspaper into the wastebasket and emptied Mulder's ashtray on top of it.

By the time she emerged from her shower, Mulder had rolled to his side, facing the television. She belted his robe around her as she crossed the room.

"Fox?"

Still locked in desperate sleep, Mulder shifted his head against the pillow, huddling away from her voice. Turned in profile, he looked almost boyish. His hand fisted spasmodically then he was motionless again. She sighed.

There was just enough room on the TV side of the bed for Kay to lie comfortably; she could slip between the sheets and not even wake him if she was careful. She managed to do just that and was feeling rather proud of herself when his breathing altered abruptly.

"Oh-- Fox, I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

"Uhm." His voice was husky, groggy. He slipped his arm around her waist, spooning her up loosely and she settled in beside him.

"Comfortable?" he mumbled. Kay nodded and felt him kiss the back of her neck. She wriggled slightly, ensuring him his share of the pillow and an adequate view of the television. Her concern earned her another kiss, this one on the top of her head.

By mutual consent she manned the remote control and they watched "Family Ties," "Night Court" and Ted Koppel. There was no conversation; she offered the simple comfort of her presence and he simply accepted it. She couldn't tell whether he slept or not: his breathing was regular enough but his tension never eased. She lay in his arms, her head light against his collarbone, her back warmed by the motion of his breathing.

She was asleep herself when she felt him rise, moving cautiously. She listened, drowsy and content, as he undressed: the rasp of his zipper, the sighs of fabrics in motion. The mattress dipped as he slipped under the sheet and she rolled against him, wrapping her arms around his chest. His scent was warm as life itself and she inhaled deeply, circling his nipple with feather soft kisses. He grunted softly and laced his fingers through her hair, a gentle thumb stroking her earlobe. His other hand fumbled behind her, his evening stubble scratching her forehead pleasantly, and then the TV was abruptly silent as he located the remote control. She smiled against his neck and felt a tug at her waist as he unknotted the belt of the bathrobe. It surrendered willingly and he pushed the fabric aside, pulling her close, sighing at the warmth of skin against skin. She wrapped her thigh over his hip, inviting but not insistent. He kissed her softly, pulled her head to his chest-- and then the world was suddenly still again. There was only the beating of his heart, the pattering of rain against the window.

Kay woke to a thump against the floor. She reached one hand out, seeking him in the dark but found only the empty sheet, still warm. The light filtering through the drapes was too dim to see clearly but she could hear him breathing, gasping in pain or fear.

"Fox?" He didn't answer and she crawled across the bed, calling softly, hands scrambling. She found his tousled head, a shadow amongst shadows, propped against the mattress as he sat on the floor. "Fox, honey? Did you fall out of bed?" He gave no answer and she ran her hands through his hair, down his neck and shoulders, squeezing his upper arms in comfort as much for herself as for him. He was alive and whole, why wasn't he answering-- God. He'd had another dream and she hadn't even woke to help him--

He pushed her away and struggled to stand. She didn't insist when he refused her help and stumbled to the bathroom; she was simply grateful when he didn't close the door on her.

He was on his knees and retching before she could locate the light switch. The harsh bulb was not kind: his skin was chalk-white and slick with sweat, his ribs too prominent suddenly as he strained. Kay ran for the bed and snatched up the blanket to lay across his shoulders but he tugged it into his lap instead, suddenly modest in his illness.

"Let me go get your partner, Fox, okay? I'll be right--"

He grabbed for her abruptly, pulling her into the floor beside him.

"No--" he choked, the grip on her wrist desperate and painful as he fought to control the next spasm. "He'll tell Patterson," he gasped at last. "You can't tell--" He spit a mouthful of bile into the bowl and shivered. "Promise me. Promise!"

She didn't know this Patterson so the promise came easily and he seemed to take comfort from it. He released her, resuming his vomiting. Kay felt that it would continue forever, and it did, long after there was anything left in him to come up. It was painful to watch and he didn't answer her questions, flinched each time she tried to touch him. She finally surrendered, waiting patiently in the doorway, clutching her robe and trembling as she listened to him gasping for air.

The worst of it finally passed. He accepted the glass of water she offered him, rinsing his mouth gratefully before vomiting what little liquid had trickled down his throat in the process. His entire body shook and he grabbed his head suddenly, pulling at his hair. His moan was pure animal pain. She reached to hold him and Mulder pushed her away, snarling as he scrambled to his feet, swearing. The words were slurred and indistinct and his eyes were fiercely dilated, frightening in their intensity. And when they turned on her, there wasn't even the vaguest hint of recognition. She retreated to the door.

He climbed into the bathtub, slapping at the shower control, and stepped beneath the pounding stream without even waiting for it to warm. Mulder apparently needed all his concentration just to stand. He planted both hands against the tile, eyes squeezed tightly shut. The tension pouring off him was violent; it flavored the room and shook her to the core.

She marveled at the transformation in him. This was not the man who had tucked her into bed a few hours ago. Not the man who had held her, made love to her this morning. Only the memory of the man who *had* held her, had loved her, gave her the courage to remain now.

"Want me to scrub your back, Fox?" She thought a playfully sensual tone would be comforting to him, something that would reach the man beneath the pain. But her voice quavered pathetically and she almost choked on the words.

He pressed his forehead against the tile, refusing to look at her. "I need to get out of here," he rasped. "I've got to get out. I can't--" whatever he couldn't do was drowned beneath the water.

Kay bit her lip. "You can't leave just now, angel. You're sick, and it's only four o'clock in the morning--"

He exploded, slamming the side of his fist against the tile. It hit with the force of a sledge and every muscle in his body jerked. Kay yelped in terror.

"Goddam it! Leave me alone!" he screamed. The eyes he turned on her were black, crazed with fear and a desperation she had no answer for but total panic.

She fled for the bedroom, found his clothes rumpled in the chair and shimmied into his T-shirt, too frantic to even wipe at her tears. Something shattered in the little room behind her.

*The mirror-- Oh, God, he's hurt. He's hurting himself--*

She snatched up his trench coat, fumbling it on as she ran for the door. Her foot caught in the hem and she stumbled, slamming her shoulder and the side of her face against the door frame. Mulder's angry snarl echoed from the bathroom, and suddenly the pain was no match for her panic. She fled, half blinded, out into the night.

*Dammit to hell. Lenny could sleep through a freaking hurricane.*

Shirtless, shoeless, Purdue grabbed his gun and checked the view out his window.

"Christ Almighty--"

Purdue jerked his door open and Kay spun at the noise, her fist still resting against Sauceda's door. Sauceda popped the door open a second after, clad in slacks and a T-shirt. Kay squealed a silent "Oh!" and stumbled back in confusion. She wavered uncertainly between the two men, one hand unconsciously tugging at her hair. She was trembling violently, crying so hard that Purdue doubted she could even speak. The air was misty with light drizzle, plastering her hair to her face and neck. Mulder's trench coat had slipped from one shoulder, pulling the collar of her T-shirt with it. There was a bruise there as big as a man's fist. A perfect match for the one just above her eye.

"Help him!" she wailed. "You've got to make him stop!" Before Sauceda could grab her, she whirled and fled back toward Mulder's room, bare feet slapping concrete, coat dragging in the rain after as she ran.

Purdue caught up with her just before she reached Mulder's door. She barely stifled her scream as Purdue pulled her away.

"You stay *out here,*" he hissed. "Do you hear me? You stay out here or you go to my room and stay there."

She nodded without really comprehending the order. Purdue noted Sauceda out of the corner of his eye; the pathologist had his medical kit in one hand, his revolver in the other, shoulders hunched against the mist. He assumed the standard back-up position next to Mulder's door, prepared to cover the ASAC's entrance.

Purdue took a deep breath and set his back against the opposite side of the door frame. Rain dripped from the eave of the roof and onto his bare back, setting him to shivering despite his best efforts. Kay backed up down the walk, clutching the trenchcoat, her eyes wide. She shook her head vehemently. "Don't hurt him. You can't hurt him--"

Purdue waved her back and rapped the door calmly. "Mulder?"

There was no response. Purdue wiped sweat and rainwater from his face.

"Mulder, its Reggie Purdue. I'm coming in, son. We need to talk. Okay?"

Still no answer. Purdue watched Sauceda wipe his hand on his damp pant leg, resume his grip on his weapon.

Purdue tried the knob. It turned easily and he let the door swing open a few inches. And waited.

Nothing. A glance at Sauceda earned him a nod. Purdue shook his head and entered slowly, his face a mask of friendly composure. He held his gun low, tucked behind his thigh. His posture was neutral, his free hand in plain site. He wasn't exactly dressed like an ASAC and was counting on that fact to make him a little less threatening.

Mulder was standing on the other side of the bed, oblivious to his entrance. The profiler was dressed, a pullover and jeans stuck to his damp skin, water running from his hair down into his collar. His right hand was bleeding, splattering his clothes, but he didn't seem to notice. Mulder's motions were manic, his steps jerking and unstable, both hands shaking hard enough to make even the smallest task an effort, but he searched the room methodically, dilated pupils intense and roaming. *He's not sane.* Purdue's gut rolled over with the realization. *Christ help me. This is it.*

"Agent," Purdue asked calmly, "what are you doing?"

Mulder slung a book from the top of the nightstand, fumbled behind the lamp, patting down the surface like he didn't trust his eyes to tell him that nothing else was there. "I'm going for a run," he answered finally. The response was slurred, only half considered. He pulled at the nightstand drawer next and patted it down as well.

"You're not leaving this room, son." Purdue's words were not a challenge, simply a statement of fact. "We need to talk," he repeated. He noted the stack of files littering the dresser: cases from armed robbery to triple homicide, Mulder's work for the past week and he wanted to spit suddenly. This was his doing. He'd brought him here, handed him the files. He was responsible for this man wrapped in madness. For the bruised woman panting in the door behind Sauceda's shoulder--

Mulder turned but didn't look up, his brows frowning in concentration as much as anger. He knelt to slip his arm under the mattress. "I'm going for a run," he repeated, numbly. He might have been talking to himself. "Where the hell's my gun?"

Purdue slipped his finger off the trigger of his Ruger, laying it flat against the trigger guard. "You don't need a weapon, Mulder. Let's just sit down and talk. Then you can run-- okay?"

"I've got a crime scene to detail--"

Purdue nodded, familiar with the pattern now. "Listen to me, Mulder. You're not going anywhere until I know you're in control."

Mulder was on the floor, feeling under the bed, his voice muffled. "I'm in control, dammit," he growled.

"Like hell."

Mulder's dark head jerked up, enraged. Purdue knew the dangers of antagonizing injured wildlife, but at least he finally had Mulder's attention.

The young man struggled to stand, and Purdue felt Sauceda step up beside him.

"Calm yourself, Agent," the ASAC warned softly. "Or we'll have to do it for you."

Mulder was finally on his feet, finally fully aware, his voice a hiss. "You said there'd be no drugs unless I requested--"

"Do you think you're in control enough to know to request a drug, Mulder?" Purdue waited for the question to register. He watched reason flickering in those feral eyes, fighting it's unsteady way through the madness.

He heard a rustle behind him in the door, then Kay's voice, tender, pleading.

"Please, Fox. Please let them help you."

Sauceda wouldn't allow her to enter, however. Across the room, Mulder's answer was to remain quite still, both hands pressed against the bed, the closest bit of furniture to offer support. Blood pooled onto the rumpled sheet but Mulder didn't see. He was watching Kay, Purdue, and Sauceda with the same wide-eyed horror. Thunder rolled somewhere to the south.

Purdue held his tone steady. "Everything's going to be all right, Mulder--"

Mulder swallowed hard and tried to stand upright without support. It was a valiant effort and he gasped. "He's dead. She's killed again. We've got to go see."

Purdue shook his head and chanced one cautious step forward. "I'm not walking onto a crime scene with you in this state." Mulder took a step back and the ASAC froze.

"We've got a job to do, Mulder," Purdue remained patient. "I'm not losing evidence because you can't hold it together."

"I can hold it together," Mulder's voice was an angry plea now. Purdue advanced slowly and Mulder retreated, backing himself into the wall. "I was all right in three-oh-four," he insisted, "You remember. I was fine. I was okay. Right?"

Purdue nodded carefully, slipping his weapon into the back of his waistband. "Because you gave yourself time first, son." He paused, just a few feet from the young man, and presented his empty palms. "This one's not getting any deader, Mulder. Me and Sauceda have to get dressed. You gonna have it together by the time we're ready?"

Mulder's nod was emphatic, his eyes wild, watching Purdue's hands. His own hands clawing the wall behind him reflexively, like he was contemplating his odds of tunneling through.

"Prove that you're in control, Mulder. Sit down."

Mulder met his gaze with one of complete panic.

"You can sit down, can't you?" Purdue demanded calmly.

Mulder stared at him, opened his mouth, closed it again as though he didn't trust himself to speak. His Adam's apple convulsed. "I'm all right," he whispered. "I'm all right. I swear. I'm not crazy--"

Purdue sighed heavily. *Jesus, but this hurts.* "No one thinks you're crazy, Mulder."

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut against the lie. Purdue didn't want to startle him, didn't want to have to rush him, but Mulder was starting to lose some serious blood. The wall was smeared with it; it dripped from his hand and onto his untied running shoes. Meanwhile, Mulder was whispering, short insistent little phrases as untranslatable as the tongue of angels.

Purdue tried again, voice soft. "You're in a difficult position, Mulder, operating under a lot of stress. It's not failure if you can't do it on your own ever so often."

Mulder's injured hand fluttered to his chest, rubbing at some pressure there. Purdue shifted his stance, prepared to take the young man down; he froze mid-step as Mulder's eyes blinked open again.

"Valium," Mulder whispered. "Ten milligrams." His face was defeated and resigned. "Better make it fifteen."

Sauceda had been ready for him and approached carefully, his only weapon a syringe filled with clear liquid. Mulder frowned as he registered the drug and Lenny shrugged an apology.

"It'll work faster this way, Marty, that's all. Let's get your sleeve rolled up, 'kay?"

Mulder tugged at his sleeve obediently, froze with the realization that his hand was bleeding. He paused, regarding the injury blearily, then glanced up at Purdue, his face unreadable. Sauceda chattered away comfortingly, delivering the drug with practiced hands.

There must have been something familiar and unwelcome in the burn of the medication, however; the needle was barely out of his arm before Mulder's eyes went wide and he grabbed for Sauceda. Sauceda was quick on his feet, however, already dancing away, needle aloft as he fled.

"Goddam you," Mulder hissed after him. "Goddam you, you had no right--" The drug hit him then, hard and impossibly fast. Purdue caught him as he staggered.

"What did you do to him?" Kay demanded. Sauceda tried to intercept her and she slapped at him furiously. "What the hell did you do?" Sauceda wrestled her into the chair as she flailed at him bitterly.

Purdue had his hands just as full with Mulder. The younger man was in no shape to put up a full fledged fight but he was giving the ASAC hell in spite of it. Purdue gasped with the effort to hold him, grateful that Mulder wasn't lucid enough to remember much of his training.

Mulder was registering Sauceda's struggle with Kay, however. Enraged, he slammed Purdue into the wall, knocking the breath out of the ASAC. He spun to go after Sauceda but Purdue had a handful of Mulder's shirt and was holding on for dear life. Mulder swung at him, but ineffectively, his focus still on Sauceda.

"You leave her alone! You leave her the fuck alone!"

Mulder's shout and Purdue's frantic swearing brought the second fight to a finish. Kay and Sauceda turned, wide-eyed and gasping. Sauceda flushed beneath Purdue's glare and retreated to a corner. Kay pulled Mulder's coat about her regally and wiped her face on the sleeve.

Purdue used the distraction to good advantage and got Mulder's arms pinned behind him. Mulder's resistance was failing, the drug finally beginning it's work in earnest. Purdue dragged the young man face down onto the bed and held him there. Mulder swore at him blearily, words slurring against the sheets.

Sauceda held out a plastic baggie to Kay, a flag of truce. "Here. Go down to the ice machine and get some ice--" He half muttered "please" and snatched up his medikit, crawling up onto the bed to kneel beside his partner. Kay watched a moment as Sauceda applied pressure to Mulder's bleeding hand then she disappeared into the dark with the little bag.

Mulder, caught up in the reflex of the fight, was still struggling furiously, his muscles hindered by the drug ravaging his system. He lashed out at Sauceda despite Purdue's best efforts to hold him. Sauceda seemed content to wait him out, holding Mulder's wrist tight, keeping the towel pressed to the injury.

"Shit, Sauceda, you sure he doesn't need another dose?"

Sauceda grimaced. "I should have shot him full of Seconal. Sorry, but it's been a while since he's been this bad. I just didn't think he'd fight like this."

Purdue snorted. "You look at her face again and try telling me that."

"Oh, hell, he didn't hit that girl, Reg. You know he didn't."

"I don't know any such thing. He's a crazed animal--"

Kay's reappearance ended the argument. She stepped to the bed tentatively, eager to present her baggie full of ice. The bruise on her forehead was bad but the blow hadn't been low enough to cause any swelling of the eye itself. She'd been fortunate, Purdue mused.

Mulder moaned and made another effort to rise and the ASAC shoved him back down with a bit more force than necessary. Kay stared at him in horror and he looked away. He'd come to respect Mulder but temporarily insanity was a plea he'd never had much use for-- he'd rot in hell before he'd listen to her defend this man.

Sauceda sighed and pointed her to the chair. "Get some of that ice on your face," he insisted. Her mouth worked in surprise and his voice softened. "We'll use the rest on his hand, okay? But I can only handle one patient at a time." He turned back to Purdue without waiting for her answer. "You got him?" he demanded.

Purdue laid himself across Mulder's back and got a better hold on the injured arm. Mulder didn't fight him now; his muscles still jerked but it seemed more reflexive than any real effort. His eyes were mere slits. He looked like a child fighting sleep. A very sick child.

Purdue shook his head. "What the hell *did* you give him, anyway?"

"Thorazine," Sauceda held Mulder's hand to gain the best light as he pried a piece of glass from the knuckle. "Valium won't cut it when he's really bad."

Purdue grimaced watching Sauceda dig for another tiny bit of slivered mirror.

"All this stuff hits him hard," Sauceda assured, blinking in concentration as he worked. "You hafta be careful. Half the psychopharmaceuticals on the shelf will put him out in five minutes even at low doses. His system's just... off like that. I swear to God he's not human sometimes."

Purdue eyed Kay, busy dabbing at her face with a washcloth full of ice.

"It's not so bad," Sauceda insisted, inspecting Mulder's hand. "Bled like a sonofabitch, but no real damage." Mulder was still conscious but just barely, his eyes only half focused. "'S'okay, Marty," his partner promised, slathering ointment into the wound. "'S'all right. You quit fighting the medication and get some rest. Okay?"

Mulder didn't respond. Sauceda smiled pleasantly, putting the finishing touches on his bandage. He pushed himself off the bed and slipped off Mulder's shoes, nodding at Purdue. "You get his shirt, I'll get his pants."

Purdue scrambled to his feet. "Don't you think he needs to go to a hospital?"

Sauceda stared at him. "The wounds are superficial. Unless you're just looking to make sure this gets on his record."

"I'm filing on this, Lenny," Purdue warned. "And you're co-signing it."

Sauceda frowned. "But-- Shit. Just help me get him in bed."

By a concerted effort, they got the bloodied sheet off the bed and Mulder stripped down and under the bedspread. Sauceda added a blanket for good measure, pushed the young man onto his side and repositioned his pillow. Mulder eyes were still open but Sauceda declared it was just out of sheer cussedness. Each time Sauceda was in reach, Mulder slapped at him groggily.

Kay finally had enough of the two men playing nursemaid and shoved Sauceda aside to sit on the bed next to Mulder. She held his uninjured hand while Sauceda propped the bandaged one against a pillow and slipped the rest of the baggie of ice under it.

Purdue watched the young couple closely. With Kay near, Mulder had stopped struggling completely. In fact, he seemed grateful for her presence, staring up at her with an unspoken plea. She leaned to whisper in his ear and he lay motionless, all his effort concentrated on listening, her hair cascading across his face, shielding the moment from Purdue's view. Mulder squeezed her hand softly as she sat up. His eyes remained closed. His breathing finally calmed. His face was suddenly just newly born, too tranquil, too perpetually innocent; no scar of time betrayed the horrors hidden beneath the sealed lids.

Kay nodded at the ASAC shyly. "Thank you," she said.

Purdue sat on the end of the bed and rubbed his face. "So. What started the fight?"

"I don't-- No. No, there was no fight. He just--" she paused staring at him closely. "He just had a bad dream and it upset him."

"So he took a swing at you."

Her face flooded with comprehension. Then anger. "He never touched me. I tripped and hit the door--"

"The door do that, too?" Her coat sleeve had pulled back and he pointed an accusing finger at the bruised imprint of Mulder's fingers across her wrist. She looked down, looked back up at him like she wanted to spit.

"You son of a bitch--" she hissed.

Mulder moaned again, his bandaged hand fingering the blanket fretfully. She lowered her voice to an indignant whisper. "He didn't hit me, he didn't even try to hit me. When he broke the mirror I wasn't even in the same room--" She set her jaw. "He's not that kind of man--"

Purdue sighed. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to think? You were scared to death when you came running down that hall--"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I have... bad memories. It's nothing to do with him." She glared at him imperiously. "You've got to believe me. He didn't hurt me. God is my witness."

Purdue kept his face closed. "Unfortunately, God's not here to testify and I have to file a report."

"Screw you and your damned regulations. He didn't hurt me!"

Sauceda squatted next to her. He looked tired and old suddenly. "Don't worry about it, kid," he nodded resolutely. "I'll be filing a report of my own." He glared at Purdue. "Marty's never hit a woman in his life." He sighed and indicated Kay's forehead. "How's your headache, kiddo? Any problems with your vision, any sudden piercing pain or pressure?"

She shook her head resolutely but allowed Sauceda to examine her briefly, checking the dilation of her pupils, testing minor motor skills. Sauceda seemed pleased with the results but she absolutely refused to allow Purdue to drive her home.

"I'm staying here. You'll need someone to watch him. It might as well be me." She glanced at Sauceda. "I'd rather it be me."

Purdue opened his mouth to protest but Sauceda was already shaking his head. He pointed at Kay's eye.

"He's going to blame himself the minute he sees that. Hey!" He held his hands surrender fashion as her anger rose again. "I know he didn't do it. But he's gonna feel responsible. You know it, too. Look, maybe it's best to give him a couple of days. I'll explain it to him." He shrugged gently, "We'll take you home and you can call him tomorrow, all right? It'll be okay. You two'll work it out." The tenderness in his voice had Purdue blinking owlishly. "This isn't about you, Kay," Sauceda insisted. "You didn't do anything wrong."

The two men waited as she stared down at the young man beside her, considering, maybe fighting tears.

"I'll get dressed," she answered finally, then paused as she stood, fumbling for the pocket of the coat. "Oh. You want his gun?" She held the weapon up with a grimace. Purdue accepted it solemnly.

"It was in the pocket when I put it on," she said levelly. "I wasn't trying to protect myself from him or anything."

Sauceda frowned at the weapon in the ASAC's hand. "Is he getting it back?" he demanded.

Purdue swore but Sauceda waited him out. Kay watched them warily, confused, but both men understood the significance of the question.

"Yeah," Purdue agreed, finally. "Yeah, he's getting it back."

Sauceda beamed. "Well, hell, then. I'll get housekeeping in here to wipe that wall down."