"Come on, everyone! Everything has been wonderful so far, don't fall short on me now! Dinner starts in twenty minutes, and I want that Bourguignon cooked to perfection. Jacob, the wines are all set?"

"Breathing now, Chief. We have both the Krug 1998 Clos du Mesnil Chardonnay and the Château Pétrus 2005 Red, just like you requested."

"And the Moët & Chandon 1996 Dom Pérignon?" There was a moment of silence. "Jacob, please..."

"It'll be here in ten minutes, I swear."

James Weller had to force himself to take a deep breath, running a hand through short blond hair, and remind himself that he had promised he would not yell. Yelling would do no good. People did not like yellers. Yellers did not motivate well. He would not yell. He would not yell. All the same, Samuel Ingrahm was the kind of catch that didn't come again, and having him on his list of satisfied customers... it would do incomprehensible wonders for his reputation. Everything had to be perfect. But he wasn't the only one who knew that.

"Fine. It's fine. Just make sure it is ready to go by the second course." Jamie looked around again, his eyes settling on the only portion of the back room that was not bustling with activity. "Where the hell is Harrison? He's the only patisserie we have, and that mille-feuilles should have been started a half hour ago!"

"I thought I saw him go upstairs."

"What the hell is he doing up there? Someone, find a recipe for chocolate eclairs and start breaking some eggs. We don't have time for the Napoleon anymore." Jamie took another deep breath. He would not yell. He had the best team in the world, and they knew him, and he knew them. Except for when his pasty chef broke his arm in an accident, and Jamie had to hire a complete stranger to replace him.

"I'm going to go find Harrison. I'll only be gone a minute, boys and girls. Don't light anything on fire while I'm gone." He paused, and then said as an addendum "Unless it is supposed to be that way!" There was a faint, appreciative chuckle from the gathered crowd of caterers, chefs, and aesthetics, and then James was out of the room. He would never, ever hire someone based off of reputation alone again. And certainly not for an event as important as the Ingrahms. He would make sure that everyone in the business knew what kind of worker Harrison was, and he would spend the rest of his life making cakes for the birthday parties of five year olds. What could have possibly possessed the man to go gallivanting away at this time in the preparations, when everyone else was already occupied with their own task?

Jamie took the back stairs two at a time, straining his ears for an sound. There was absolutely no reason for Harrison to be up here. It was then that he saw Harrison, pulling the drawers out of a filing cabinet in Ingrahm's office. Jamie strode forward, a look of absolute fury on his face, enough to quell the guardian of hell. "Harrison! What the hell do you think..." Jamie grabbed the man by the shoulder, forcibly trying to spin him around. That was, at least, until he realized there was a gun inches his face.

A second later their positions were reversed, with Jamie pressed up against the wall, and his former pastry chef pressing his forearm up against his throat so hard that Jamie couldn't breathe, and the muzzle of the gun was pressed against his forehead.

"Please..." Jamie whispered, desperately trying to get a sound passed the arm obstructing his windpipe. "Please."

There was a sudden sound from behind the thief. It was the sound of the other door into the room, the one directly opposite the wall that James was pressed against, rather than perpendicular, where Jamie had entered. The thief spun around, dragging Jamie with him, the gun still firmly lodged against Jamie's head even as the thief did his best to hide behind the rather thin event planner who had suddenly turned into a human shield.

Directly in front of him was an FBI agent, her gun leveled right at them.

"Sorry Ma'am, but no one gets in without an invitation."

"How's this for an invitation?" She masked her annoyance with a casual tone as she pulled the badge from her jacket pocket and flipped it open so the shield and id card were visible to the attendant. "Special Agent Laurel Shaw. FBI. White-Collar." The attendant squinted at the picture on the little card and looked up at her again. She shrugged. "Bad haircut."

"What's this about?" he asked her and she bit her lip to stop herself from saying something smart.

"Mr. Ingrahm's stolen jewels? I'm sure you've heard about them. Look, I've been here before. He knows me, the butler knows me, if I could just..." And speak of the devil the butler and head of staff materialized out of no where and simultaneously ushered her inside while giving the nosy attendant the evil eye. Laurel took a moment to look back at the van parked across the street and made a face, and she heard a chuckle from the earpiece she was wearing as she stepped inside. She polite refused the butler's offer to take her coat and took a glance around the room. The house was a buzz, filled with LA's elite in their best dress, sipping from fancy glasses and eating finger foods she couldn't even recognize. She didn't see any chips and guac and honestly was it even really a party without chips and guac?

"Quite the swaray," Laurel said instead.

"Yes it is. A very important one, as well. Shall I inform Mr. Ingrahm that your here, Agent Shaw?" Jonathan the butler asked in his politest tone.

"Not necessary. Don't want to interrupt his evening. I'm just here to get another look upstairs. See if we missed anything." Laurel smiled and Jonathan nodded, accepting the answer and moved away to attend to the higher class guests. She didn't want to worry Samuel Ingrahm that the thief who had broken into his modest home and taken his fine jewels might not have actually completed the job. Or that the thief in question may have infiltrated the home again while everyone was occupied by the party to finish what he started. If the thief was here then he had to keep thinking that everything was still going according to his plan and that no one suspected a thing. Until he got the surprise of his life.

Laurel glanced around again, taking in the fine clothing and felt very under dressed. She knew that no one really pulled off FBI slacks but this was outrageous. She moved through the hall and around the small groups of guests as she made her way to the stairs. "Anything on the bugs, Ralph?"

"Quiet as a mouse. If he's here he's good." Ralph Rosen said through the earpiece.

"I'm checking it out now," she replied as she finally reached the stairs. She tried not to look too out of place despite her clothing, looking at the art and decor of the house with an admiring eye. It wasn't all an act. Samuel Ingrahm truly had some beautiful pieces. Everything was quiet for a few moments as she made her way upstairs when suddenly Ralph's voice filled her ear again. "Laurel, I've got something. Voices from the study, a struggle I think. Someone walked in on him..."

Laurel had her gun in her hand in an instant. "Eric get in here," she said urgently as she picked up the pace, taking the stairs two at a time as rushed to the study. She came in through a door that revealed the thief standing directly across from her. And he wasn't alone. A blonde man was between them, held firmly by the thief with a gun held against his head.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She felt her stomach drop and she forced herself to remain calm. "FBI," Laurel said her voice ringing with authority as she held her gun with a steady hand. "Drop the gun and get down on the ground. Now."

'Harrison' sidestepped slightly, clearly ignoring the FBI Agent's cry. "Back off," he said softly, even as his eyes flicked towards the filing cabinet. Jamie, who mirrored his moment, caught a glimpse of something shiny that had clearly been hidden behind and underneath the filing cabinet. There would have been no way to get it out without completely removing the drawer. "You make any quick moves, and I'll kill this guy. And, yes, I'm fully aware of the fact that you will probably still arrest me and I will go to jail for murder instead of theft, but you can't really make that trade, can you?" He was next to the filing cabinet, and, using the barrel of the gun, he forced Jamie to kneel. With a quick motion, the thief's hand flicked out, catching the glinting piece of jewelry, and it was back around his throat before he even had a chance to blink. The heavy sapphire medallion bounced against his collar as they slowly worked their way back to their feet.

James could tell that the agent was doing everything in her power to line up a clean shot, but the thief was careful, and there wasn't enough of a clear line of sight for her to take the risk. He was starting to hyperventilate, and his heart was pounding at a thousand beats per minute. Yet, for some reason, his thoughts were surprisingly clear. All he could think was how he was about to get shot, and the entire party would be ruined. All his hard work, gone, all the hours and hours of preparation ruined. He would never be hired by anyone, ever again. Except by that point, he would already be dead. Mr. Ingrahm would have to replace the carpet, but he would probably never get the stain of Jamie's blood out from the oriented strand board that was underneath that. He giggled faintly, interrupting the back and forth between the agent and the thief that could have come from any Hollywood film. Both of them glanced at him briefly, before returning their attention to each other. The thief was only a couple feet away from the door, and in a moment or two he would make a lunge for it. Hopefully he wouldn't get an itchy finger between then and now.

But a second later there was another cop blocking the door, gun drawn. The thief yelled in fury, and his gun left Jamie's head, pointing at the agent that was now standing between him and escape. In that instant Jamie lunged to the side, desperate to break free, just as a gun went off. He felt a blinding pain in his head, and then the world went dark.

Laurel couldn't remember a time where she had felt more helpless. There she was standing her ground with her gun in her hand and she couldn't take the shot. The guy was being too careful to keep the hostage between them at all times, careful to never give her an opening to line up a shot and take it. It was too messy, there were too many opportunities for something to go wrong and it would be the civilian on the ground instead of the criminal. Laurel would not let that happen. She could not let that happen. She shifted her feet uneasily, gritting her teeth as she glared spitefully at the thief as he and the hostage bent down so he could grab the jeweled necklace he had stashed there the last time. Then the two of them were up and edging for the exit. Laurel followed them, her gun still steadily pointed at them as she frantically looked for the clear shot that was never coming.

"You think you'll get away?" she asked, her voice hoarse and suppressing anger. "Even if you make it out that door you'll never make it outside. And if you do anything to your hostage you won't even make it out to the hall. Is the necklace really worth that much to you?" Laurel didn't think she'd be able to change his mind, but maybe she'd distract him enough that he'd give her an opening.

A giggle distracted her and her eyes flickered from the thief to the hostage. He was panicking understandably. He was high class, Laurel could tell just by looking at him, and she was willing to bet all of the paychecks for the next year that he had never been in a situation where his life was on the line before. "Hey," she said, talking to the blond man now, Her voice still rang with authority but it was softer, more calming. "It's gonna be alright. You're gonna be fine." She hoped she was telling the truth. The thief was nearly upon the door now and she braced herself. When he lunged for it it would be her only chance, her only possibility of an opening...

Then Special Agent Eric Morrison appeared in the doorway and the thief's only escape route. The man roared in anger as he was blocked off and his gun swung away from the hostage's head to point at Eric. And for the first time since she'd entered the room Laurel had her shot. She didn't hesitate. Her finger pulled the trigger.

Just as the hostage lunged away from his captor and into her bullet's path.

Laurel felt as though she was watching it happen in slow motion. Her heart nearly stopped, her mouth fell open in horror, and the bullet clipped the man's head, grazing the side of it. He collapsed to the floor and the next instant she heard another gunshot and saw the figure of the thief fall to the floor as well, crying out about the bullet Eric had put in his shoulder. Laurel didn't give a shit about him though.

She was on her knees next to the wounded hostage before she realized she had moved across the room. The wound in his head was bad, it was leaking all over the carpet and matting his blond hair, and she ripped the scarf from around her neck (her favorite scarf she would later remember) to held it against the graze. Dimly she could hear panic from downstairs, the fancy party guests who had heard the gunshots, but she didn't care about it. "Ralph, we've got a civilian down," she half yelled, unable to fully retain her composure, "Repeat we've got a civilian down! We need an ambulance now!" She reach for his neck, searching for a pulse and found one, but it was weak. "Hey, stay with me." It was a bit of a fruitless effort. He was completely unconscious.

When the ambulance arrived Laurel had angrily rejected the shock blanket they had offered her and insisted she ride with the man to the hospital. They weren't able to argue with her and so she had climbed into the back and sat beside the man on the stretcher. At the hospital she was ushered to a waiting area where she sat for what seemed like hours, but maybe it hadn't actually been that long. She only looked up when a cup of coffee was handed to her and Eric slipped into the chair beside her. It was silent for a few moments before she spoke.

"I've fired a gun before. Started when I was a kid with my dad firing a BB gun at empty soup cans. I've even shot people before, but they were criminals. They weren't...I've never...they were never civilians." She glanced over at him. "How is he?"

Eric looked as though he was considering the best words to use before finally coming out and saying it. "The doctors don't know." Laurel turned away and took a sip of horrible hospital coffee. "It'll...be okay, Laurel." He didn't sound all that certain.

Jamie was floating, drifting through the darkness on a satin pillow woven from shadows. It was sweet and peaceful, unlike anything he had felt since his mother had tried to bribe him into hosting a cocktail party for her best friend by letting him borrow her ex-husband's catamaran. He had spent the entire day floating out on the water, the weave of the net pressing into his back as the boat rocked from side to side and the clear blue sky stretched away to eternity above him. For a moment he would have sworn that, if he could just open his eyes, he would see that sky again.

So, he tried, only to snap them closed a moment later as a bright, fluorescent light seared into his eyes. That was no clear, azure sky. A moment later, he tried opening them again. Slowly, the blinding glare resolved into the commercial fluorescent lights evenly spaced across the ceiling. A faint beeping began to fill his ears, the steady beat of a hospital heart monitor, as well as the rasping sound of forced air being released in rhythmic pulses.

It was then that he remembered. The party The thief. The gun. He was sitting up before he even had a chance to complete the thought, or worry exactly what kind of pain it would undoubtedly bring to his tormented head. His body moved lightly and easily, more easily than he could ever remember it moving. There was no pain in his head. He blinked, and then, only moments after the thought entered his head, he was standing next to the bed. He couldn't remember uncovering himself, swinging his feet around, pushing himself to his feet. One moment he had been down, the next he had been up. He was also wearing his favorite blue t-shirt and black sweatpants. An uneasy thought began to enter into his mind, and he slowly, timidly, turned around.

The head of the man lying in the hospital bed was swaddled in so many bandages it almost looked round, but Jamie had seen that face in the mirror every single morning for the past twenty nine years. He reached out hesitantly, wanting to touch it, feel the line of his cheekbone and the sharp bump on the bridge of his nose, to prove it was actually himself laying there.

He found the proof he wanted, but not in the manner he was expecting it. Rather than having his fingertips come to rest lightly on the skin of his cheek, they instead passed right through, coming to settle with half of his fingers buried in his own face.

Why wasn't he panicking? Wasn't this the moment where he was supposed to start screaming, to try and stick himself back into the wounded body that had apparently just spat its own soul out into the world, to roam independently? He was supposed to be afraid, confused, filled with dread and trepidation. Instead, all he felt was calm. He wondered if he would remember this when he woke up. Jenna would be fascinated to hear it. She loved those stories of psychics and shamans. Then, Jamie began to wonder if he was going to wake back up. It was clear from the massive number of tubes and hoses that led back to an equal number of pumps, machines, and IV bags, that he had been badly damaged. But this was a very strange way for his mind to try and comfort him.

He turned away from his own body, mildly perturbed, and decided it was time for him to try and leave the room. In an instant he was standing next to the door. It was quite an efficient method of travel, he decided. Much easier and more comfortable than actually having to walk across the room, muscles contracting to move pounds and pounds of bone, organ, and flesh. He reached out a hand, trying to grab onto the doorknob, before he remembered. Shrugging, James walked out of the room, right through the door.

He thought he was roaming the hospital randomly, curious about the bustle, but he was brought to a sudden halt when he saw a face through the middle of the crowd. It was a face that was branded into his memory, because it was the last face he had seen before the world went black. What was she doing here? He couldn't remember what had happened. He could remember the thief, the guns. Is that what had happened? Had the thief shot him when he saw that his escape route was cut off by the other FBI agent? He ducked back around the corner of the hallway, breathing heavily, momentarily forgetting that he was a specter until he slid right through the wall he tried to lean against.

It was then that he heard Jenna's voice. She must have left work the moment she heard. He hoped he hadn't torn her away from anything important.

She was as calm and collected as ever. He had always respected that about her. Even when she had been threatened by the mob when she had gone to trial against one of their number men she hadn't panicked, hadn't shown an ounce of fear. "Virginia Thompson, here to see James Weller. He should just be out of surgery."

The voice of the nurse was bored, as she directed Jenna to take a seat in the waiting area, because Mr. Weller was in too critical of a condition to take any visitors at the moment.

Oh, god. That was him. He was in a critical condition. His head was spinning, and he wondered if he was about to pass out. But, no, he was only floating a few inches above the ground. He lowered himself back down carefully, uncomfortable with the sight of his own feet firmly planted on nothing a foot above the floor. He moved forward to the corner carefully, only to have a young woman suddenly pass through him. She shivered faintly as Jamie let out a surprised gasp. He pressed himself towards the wall, passing halfway through it, before carefully edging his way around the corner.

Jenna was halted in the middle of the hallway, her wide, hazel eyes locked onto the FBI agent. "You..." her voice cracked. "You. Was it you? Did you shoot Jamie? Did you!?" He had never heard Jenna make that kind of noise before. Not when she had botched a case and nearly gotten fired from her firm. Not when she had received the news that her mother had finally passed away, after three years of fighting breast cancer. He had never seen her so completely and utterly lose control of herself. With a hoarse scream, Jenna threw herself bodily at the FBI agent.

The FBI agent who had shot him.

Eric didn't try to talk with her, and honestly that was fine. They sat there in silence for a long while and she didn't care that it was awkward. There was a brief moment when Laurel had felt as though someone was watching her. It was that sensation when goosebumps rose on her arms and her hair seemed to stand on end. She straightened in her seat and glanced around, her green eyes wary. She thought she caught a glimpse a face looking at her from behind a crowd of nurses bustling through the hall, but when she looked closer she saw nothing, except maybe someone disappearing around a corner. Under any other circumstances she would have done something, but Laurel could barely get herself to move a muscle.

That is until she heard a cracking, accusing voice addressing her and she looked up to see a woman gazing at her with wide eyes. She would have been lovely and professional looking if she didn't look utterly crazed, and Laurel felt herself wanted to flinch away from the woman's eyes.

"Was it you? Did you shoot Jamie? Did you!?"

Jamie. So that was his name. In critical condition because of her and she hadn't even known his name. Laurel looked back at the woman, unable to speak but her guilt showing on her face as clear as day. The woman let out a wordless noise, a choked shriek that conveyed pain and anger in the most horrible way. Laurel actually did flinch this time and was suddenly aware that the woman had launched herself at her.

She may have been angry and grieving and totally determined to tear Laurel's throat out, but Eric was faster and stronger. He stood swiftly and caught the woman before he could touch his friend, pulling her across the waiting room, away from where Laurel sat stunned. The woman trashed, yelling wordlessly and fighting to keep Laurel in her furious gaze. Eric remained calm as he restrained her and he spoke steadily until she was able to hear him. "Ma'am, I know that this is difficult, but you need to calm down or you will be removed."

The woman looked at him, angry and incredulous, but then seemed to take a moment to consider his words and maybe even her loved one and being able to see him. That seemed to force herself to take control and calm herself down again. It was only when Eric was certain that she would not lunge for Laurel again that he finally released her. The woman straightened her jacket and smoothed her hair, looking composed and professional again, but her hazel eyes still fixed themselves upon Laurel with a cold fury that unnerved her.

Eric was then able to ask some questions that the woman answered with forced politeness, and Laurel only caught snippets. That her name was Virginia Thompson, she was James Weller's girlfriend, that he was the event planner that had organized and thrown the party at the house, which explained why he had been there. Virginia then looked back at Laurel, who was still sitting in the chair.

"What. The Hell. Happened exactly. To my boyfriend." Her words were clipped and Laurel was willing to bet that she was a lawyer or in the law profession. Great. Exactly what she needed was an angry lawyer.

Eric started to answer, but Laurel managed to find her voice before he had a chance. "There was a robbery taking place in Samuel Ingrahm's home at the time of the party."

"Laurel...," Eric started to say but she ignored him.

"Mr. Weller must have walked in on the thief in the middle of stealing a sapphire necklace from the study. I arrived and found that he had been taken hostage. The thief was using him as a sort of shield so I wouldn't shoot him. There was a struggle of sorts and the thief got distracted and I thought I had an open shot. But I grazed Mr. Weller instead." Laurel had manged to maintain a calm tone throughout this speech and she finally stood, looking at Virginia squarely. "It was an accident, but I take full responsibility for what happened to Mr. Weller."

"Oh, it was an accident." Jenna's voice was silky smooth; she had gone into full court mode. "That makes everything so much better." Eric winced slightly. He had already guessed that Virginia was used to being in a court, and there was a reason that he had tried to keep her from speaking. The woman was going to rip his partner a new one.

"Honestly, I've never heard of such irresponsibility in the FBI. Not only did you allow the thief to take a hostage, but then you fired at a civilian...."

"Back off!" Eric finally snapped, hating to see the way that ever word cut into his friend like the bite of a whip.

"Back off? Back off?" Jenna's laugh was harsh and cutting. "Oh, isn't that typical law enforcement. Something goes horribly wrong, a man ends up in a coma with no guarantee that he is ever going to wake up again, but it is all going to be ok, because it was done by an FBI agent. That makes everything ok again, and anyone who tries to say otherwise is going to be threatened by another FBI agent." Jenna's voice had risen to a volume suitable for court, and it was starting to draw attention again. There were a few people who were suddenly finding reasons to loiter elsewhere, while others had gathered around. Some even were nodding in response to Jenna's statements.

"Is everything alright here?" Jamie wasn't the only one to have missed the approach of the security guard. Several of the observers flinched, while others hurried away. Jenna was too professional to even begin to appear guilty, but Jamie could practically feel the growing tension radiating off her shoulders. Ultimately she would back down, she couldn't risk being removed from the hospital, but she would fight until it was obvious she couldn't win. It was in her nature.

"Of course, sir..." she replied, but, suddenly, another familiar voice interrupted the proceedings.

"Is that you in the middle of this crowd, Ginny? Why am I not surprised?" An entirely average man pushed his way through to the center, coming to stand next to Jenna. He pushed a strand of dirty blonde hair away from his face, before looking curiously between his best friend's girlfriend and the FBI agent.

"Derek," Jenna said, clearly pleased to have an ally. "This is the FBI agent who shot James."

"Is that so?" Derek asked, his eyes narrowing to a sliver. Several of the people who had gathered behind Laurel took and unconscious, fearful step backwards.

Jenna, suddenly realizing that her status in this hospital was under threat from an entirely different source, whirled back towards the agent. "You'd better expect to take full responsibility, Miss Shaw. If I don't see the full incident report sent to Gibson Dunn by the end of the week." Eric winced again. Gibson, Dunn & Crutcher was as well known for being completely ruthless as it was for being the most prestigious law firm in Southern California. "And if you forget to dot even a single 'I' or cross one 'T', I will take this all the way to the supreme court if I have to, and it won't only be your job you lose."

"Far better to tender your resignation now," Derek said, his smile as sharp as a shark. "If you don't, your life will be hell."

"Is that a threat?" Eric asked, his hand reaching down to touch the handle of his gun. The security guard moved forward again, fully prepared to step in between the two if the conversation got any more heated.

"No," Derek replied, his voice intense. "Simply a statement of fact. Come on, Ginny." He grabbed on lightly to Jenna's arm, pulling her away from Laurel and Eric. "Let's go find somewhere else to wait, away from these government pigs."

Together they pushed past the two FBI agents, ad moved towards the ring that had surrounded them, the crowd quickly parting way for them. The people in the back had already peeled away, no longer interested now that the possibility of a fight breaking out had been thoroughly squashed.

Jamie was frozen, peering around the corner at the retreating backs of the two people he cared about most in this world. Jenna's heels clicked authoritatively, and for once Jamie didn't mind that Derek was pressed in a little closer to her than was strictly necessary.

He didn't know what to think. He had been so certain that it had been the robber that had shot him. The good guys weren't supposed to make that kind of mistake. They were supposed to save lives, not ruin them. A brief, blinding flash of anger passed through him, and the light overhead flickered slightly. But the anger vanished as quickly as it came, as James saw the face of the woman who had shot him. He could blame her. Nothing could stop him from blaming her if he wanted to. But did she deserve it? That was a much harder thing to decide.

Laurel hated to cry in front of other people. At least other people who didn't really know her as anything beyond an authority figure. In fact that one person she actually felt comfortable crying in front of was her father, who always seemed to know what to say and who gave really good hugs. And he certainly wasn't here right now. She had gotten very good at concealing herself behind the neutral FBI mask she normally wore, but right now she was struggling not to break. Virginia's words cut into her like a sword and man was she good at it. She had to be a lawyer goddammit. Eric attempted to get in a word to defend her, but the woman expertly shot him down as well without a moment's hesitation before going right back to verbally shredding her.

Don't break, Laurel kept repeating to herself as she stood there and took the abuse. She could feel her stomach writhing, every inch of her body was almost twitching as she fought back her despair. Don't break. Do not break. If Virginia caught even one sign of weakness she would pounce on it and flay her.

A security guard appeared, and Laurel felt a moment's reprieve before a brand new voice rang out and a man she couldn't but hate on sight swaggered in. And unfortunately he seemed to be on good terms with Virginia. Which meant he had to be close to her victim. His eyes fixed upon her, narrowing to slits as she was introduced to him, and Laurel's eyes suddenly went steely as she stared him down.

She might be powerless against a lawyer but she could play this guy's game. She'd been doing it for a long time.

The lawyer girlfriend spoke up again and Laurel forced herself to look away from the man, Derek, as Virginia listed her terms and threats. So, not just a lawyer. A Gibson, Dunn & Crutcher lawyer. If there was a God he must have hated her. Meanwhile Derek threw in his own threat and Laurel looked back over at him, her green eyes going hard as soon as she looked at him. He wanted to scare her, making her promises to make her life hell unless she resigned, but she'd met guys like him before. She wasn't scared of him. Virginia was the scary one. Her threats actually had a shot at absolutely destroying her.

The pair of them stalked off, pushing through the two agents as they did so. One of them forcefully knocked into Laurel's shoulder, making her stumble for a moment before she was able to catch her balance again. She watched them moving off down the hall for a moment before turning away and feeling the horrible burden crashing down on her once again.

"Laurel," Eric's hand gently touched her shoulder and his voice was calm and soothing. "Everything's going to be al..."

"Don't," Laurel said, pulling out of his reach and turning around to gaze at him. Her face was pale and her finger trembled slightly. "Eric, don't you dare tell me everything's going to be alright. It's not."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do." Laurel shook her head as she tried and failed to push her bangs out of her eyes. "I do know that, in fact. They're not going to go away or give up."

"No, Laurel, don't listen to them..." Eric's words were cut off once again by Laurel's humorless laugh.

"Eric, they're right. They're right about me!"

"No they're not. It was an accident. You tried to save him."

"That doesn't matter! It doesn't matter what I tried to do, it matters what I did do. And what I did do was shoot a civilian in the head!" She turned away from her partner, rubbing her arms in a nervous sort of way. "They're exactly right about me."

"Is this about what that guy said?" Eric's voice was serious now. "Laurel, don't be afraid of that guy, he's just..."

"I'm not afraid of that guy, Eric," Laurel said in a firm tone as she looked back at him, eyes flashing. "That clown doesn't scare me. But she does." Her eyes flickered away from Eric, gazing into space. "If I don't play by her rules she will eat me alive in court and leave whatever's left for the vultures. She's Gibson Dunn, Eric. They're the best of the best. And the most ruthless...I can't win a legal battle like that, and I can't afford one, either."

"You're tough. You might have a chance." Eric reached out and gripped her shoulder again. He wasn't giving up on her. That's one of the things Laurel loved about him. She didn't pull away from his grip this time, and she looked up at him.

"My only chance is if he wakes up. Then things might get marginally better for me. But...there's no guarantee that he's going to be alright even if he does wake up.He took a shot to the head and he's in a coma. People don't just bounce back from things like that. The damage could be permanent. He might not even be the same person if he wakes up." Eric could not think of a time he had seen his partner look this helpless and lost and afraid. She looked at him in silence for a moment before she spoke again. "I probably destroyed my life when I took that shot, but the worst part is that I destroyed someone else's life, too. If he dies in there...it's because I murdered him. I will lose my career. I might go to prison. And I will deserve everything."

Eric couldn't say anything, no matter how much he wanted to. Nothing he could say would help her. Instead he just pulled her into an embrace. Laurel didn't fight him, it felt too good after everything that had happened. She realized she was in an even bigger risk of breaking down into sobs as her partner hugged her. Then a distraction arrived.

"Laurel!"

She pulled back at the sound of the familiar, unexpected voice. She looked up at Eric, eyes wide. "What's he doing here?" she asked, barely able to whisper.

"Thought you might need another friend," came the reply.

He couldn't see her like this. Not when she was teetering on an edge, almost ready to hit rock bottom. She was ready to be mad as hell. But when she turned and saw Ben walking down the hall, his chocolate eyes searching until they found her and filled instantly with care and worry, she wasn't able to. He hadn't even had time to change out of his white chef's uniform. She'd never felt so happy to see him and realized that she really did need him right now. Eric let her go and she rushed down the hall into Ben's open embrace, almost melting into him as his arms wrapped securely around her. Ben's lips pressed against her forehead and she closed her eyes before the tears had a chance to fall.

"You alright?" he whispered and she gave a noncommittal gesture in response. "Eric called so I could drive you home."

Before she had a chance to protest Eric spoke. "Go home, Laurel. I'll call you in the morning with news. Hopefully I'll have some info from the bosses by then."

Maybe she was too tired for this fight, so Laurel nodded. She looked back at Ben. "Give me a sec with Eric?" He nodded and they shared a quick peck before he took a few steps back down the hall. "Have you called my parents yet?" Laurel asked Eric quietly.

He shook his head. "Want me to?"

"No," Laurel answered in an unhappy tone. "It should come from me." She looked back up at Eric and nodded before turning away to join Ben. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she pressed against him as they made their way to the hospital exit.

As Jenna had walked away Jamie had moved to the other side of the room, in the strange, rapid, almost blinking transition that was becoming normal far more quickly than he had expected. He stared after her longingly, wanting to reach out and brush his fingers through her glossy, wavy brown hair. Just as he was about to move again, catch up with the retreating figures of his two best friends, and hope that being in their presence as they waited to see whether or not he was going to live or die would be enough to calm the ache in his chest, he hesitated. He moved again, before he was even conscious of the fact that was his intent, to watch the FBI agent. Laurel.

He was getting bolder, growing more comfortable with his state of invisibility and intangibility the longer he remained disconnected from his body. For that reason he stood in the middle of a tide of people, watching with some amusement as they passed through his body. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to stand directly in front of Laurel yet. Even though he knew she wouldn't be able to see him, the idea of having her eyes on him sent a crawling sensation up his spine. So he hid, watching from the sidelines, and thought.

He thought about his body, lying comatose in a hospital bed, about the party he had undoubtedly ruined, about the fact that he never may be able to do his job again, may never be able to hold Jenna in his arms again, may never feel the sun on his face again. All because of this agent's inability to do her job. Somewhere along the line, on purpose or not, his life had become of equal value to a jeweled necklace.

He thought about Laurel's eyes, filled to the edge with tears that refused to spill over, not trying to defend herself, not trying to hide from what she had done. He thought about the way she had clung so tightly to the man who had come for her, as though all the strength was draining out of her, leaving her weak and fallible again.

He thought about Derek and Jenna's fury at her, at the promise Derek had made, and Jamie knew it was true. They were both going to make her life hell, each in their own way. Jenna might not be a full lawyer, but she was well respected at Gibson Dunn, and she had more than a few favors she could call in to various judges. Derek didn't look like much, but on the streets he was known as the Phoenix, because it seemed that, whatever kind of situation he got into, he could do no wrong and always came out ahead, and, whenever he did get trapped, he would rise from the ashes better than he had been before. Together they would come at Agent Shaw from both sides, and she would be left high and dry by both the legal overworld and the criminal underworld. Jenna would undoubtedly find someone at Gibson Dunn who would help her sue both Laurel and the FBI as a whole, and Jamie would likely wake with more cash than he knew what to do with. If he woke up at all.

Jame didn't know what to think.

His decision to follow Laurel could almost have been described as a whim, but it felt like something much more important than that to Jamie. He had always been definitive, always known what he wanted and what he believed. This uncertainty left him feeling uncomfortable. Either he had to be willing to hate Laurel and have no regrets about it, or he had to forgive her and move past it. There was no room for both of the emotions. But Jamie was not yet ready to make his decision. His beliefs bounced back and forth like he was the ball in a professional game of ping pong. He allowed himself to believe that, if he followed her, he would be able to make a decision. If he got to know her, he would either come to understand her too well to hate her, or he would find that he had no reason to empathize with her, and he would then be free to hate her. Both of those required him to follow her.

Briefly his mind turned back to Jenna, and he moved to her with ease. It was like picking out a familiar face in a picture, and he moved to her in a moment, despite the fact that, a split second before, he could not have guessed where she was in the hospital. He knelt down in front of her, caressing her face with his eyes, and reached forward carefully, placing his hand just above hers. Her fingers tightened almost spasmodically over the arm of the chair before she withdrew her hand, tucking it away safely between her knees. He wished he could comfort her, let her know that he loved her, and that somehow he was going to be alright. But he was nothing but a specter, and there was nothing he could do for her. He reached out to touch her cheek, but withdrew at the last second before turning away.

To his surprise, it was almost as easy to find Agent Shaw as it had been for him to find Jenna. She was on the second floor of the parking garage, being escorted to a car. He appeared, shadowing her movement while staying out of sight. He didn't need to see her to be able to follow her, and he wasn't quite ready to face her yet, even if she wouldn't be able to see him. He followed along behind the slow progress of the car, watched as it turned onto the street, and continued to move after it, jumping a little ways in front of it, standing quietly on the sidewalk as he waited for it to pass, and then moving in front of the car again.

In the middle of a street, just as the hospital was starting to vanish behind the first row of buildings that surrounded it, Jamie felt the tug of his body. It grabbed him, held him in place, prevented him from going further. It wasn't willing to completely relinquish its soul to the world. But Jamie wasn't willing to give up his quest either. He latched onto Laurel, clung to her like a particularly stubborn lemur, and that grabbing was enough to tug him away from his body. He felt it trying to pull him back, but as long as he felt the connection he wouldn't worry about traveling further away. Jamie had to believe that he would know if his body began to fail.

He shadowed Laurel all the way to her house, never staying in view of her for more than a couple seconds, but never completely losing track of her. He didn't know what would happen if he let go of her, but he wasn't ready to find out just yet.

Ben didn't try to start a conversation as they drove. He must have known that she wasn't feeling up to it and so he didn't try to push her, which she loved him for. A few minutes into the drive Laurel did reach over to his free hand and interlock her fingers with his, and she felt him clutch back. This was what she needed right now. She didn't need to talk about it, not yet at least. His silent support was enough for now.

What about tomorrow, though? Or the next day? Was it going to be enough then? The uncertainty of her immediate future was something that she didn't want to think about but she also couldn't not think about it. What was going to happen? What was she going to do? It terrified her.

The trip from the hospital to her home was far too short. She suddenly became aware that he was pulling the car over and she recognized the building in which she lived. It had been a warehouse once upon a time but in more recent years it was re-purposed to house a variety of loft apartments. Laurel was gazing out of the window at the building for a moment, suddenly very reluctant to leave and be alone.

"Want me to come up with you?" Ben asked, almost as though he could read her mind. "I could stay for a while, if you want me to."

Her immediate urge was to respond yes, but she forced herself to shake her head. She needed to be alone. "Not tonight. I'll call you tomorrow after I find out what's happening, alright?" He nodded and they looked at each other in silence for a moment before Laurel leaned in and they kissed. It was soft but lingering, and she gently held to the back of his neck to prolong it. He held her cheek and for those few moments Laurel thought she might be actually be alright when this was all over. Then those moments ended when they pulled back.

"Thanks for coming to get me."

"Always."

Reluctantly Laurel got out of her boyfriends car and headed toward her building. Ben didn't drive away until she was inside and she watched his car disappear through the glass, regret filling her as the tail lights blended with the rest of them. She took the stairs slowly, almost wandering her way to her door. She fumbled with the key in the lock more than usual but managed to get the door open and slipped inside. Laurel closed the door and turned the lock and found herself properly alone for the first time that night. Her very first instinct was to let out all of the grief and tears she'd been bottling up for hours. There wasn't anyone around to see it and she felt as if she would simply burst if she didn't. Instead she braced herself against the door, leaning her head back against it as she breathed deeply through he nose and squeezed her eyes shut, composing herself before moving the rest of the way into her little studio loft.

She placed her items down on the counter top. Among them was the bag of clothing that she had been wearing and had gotten soaked with James Weller's blood. The hospital have given her the ill fitting scrubs she was wearing now since they couldn't have a woman covered in blood sitting in the waiting room. The slacks and shirt were probably ruined, as was the scarf her sister had gotten her for her birthday a couple of years ago. Her jacket had miraculously been spared though. She pulled her badge from the coat pocket and set it on the counter, and then laid her gun next to it. Laurel looked down at the two items for several moments, emotions flitting across her face before she finally turned away from them.

Sleeping was not going to happen right now and she had no appetite. Still she felt like she had to busy herself with something, so she started making a pot of coffee. Laurel started a routine she'd done so many times before, but after a while her hand slipped and the old coffee grounds in the used filter she wanted to throw away fell to the wood floor, making a disgusting mess, and then she spilled the water she was trying to put into the coffee maker.

"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit!" Banging her fist against the counter top a few times in frustration, Laurel snatched up a sponge and rag and hunkered down to the clean up her mess. But partway through wiping up the water and cleaning up the grounds it all became too much for her. There was too much bottled inside and just screwing up making a pot of coffee was the last straw.

Laurel broke. She laid back against the door of one of the cabinets under the counter and sink, curling her knees to her chest so she was as small as she could possibly be, and started crying. Who was she crying for though? Herself? Or James Weller? Or maybe she was crying for the both of them.

Jamie stood outside Laurel's house for a good several minutes after she went in, struggling with two opposing forces. The desire to return to his body was growing more and more irresistible the further away he got from it. There was also the fact that he knew, at some point soon, Jenna and Derek would be allowed to go see him. As painful as it would be, he wanted to be there for that. The idea of leaving them alone, staring at his empty body as they tried to make contact with him, he couldn't stand that.

At the same time, he clung to Laurel with a stubbornness that surprised even him. Every block they had traveled, Jamie had grown more and more certain that she was going to slip away from him as it got harder and harder to keep himself bound to her. And, every block, he found a new level of resolve, an ability to push past whatever kept pulling him back, and stay with her.

What was he doing out here? What gave him such certainty that this wasn't all a dream, some illusion conjured to comfort his permanently damaged brain. He didn't believe in any of that stuff, and he never had. He was a skeptic. Yet, if he allowed himself to believe this was real, what exactly did that mean for the rest of his beliefs? But he couldn't' convince himself this wasn't real. It was like a dream, but he could track every step that had gotten him from where he was to where he now is. There were no discontinuities, no leaps of understanding that required him to ignore the fact that some of the things that were happening just didn't work.

He would focus on Laurel. If this was a dream, she was the key factor in it. If this wasn't a dream, she was still the thing he needed to focus on. Since both possibilities had the same solution, there was no reason for him to wonder which was true. He would just follow it to its conclusion and see what happened.

Laurel's home was comfortable in a very old fashioned way. It was brown and dim and narrow, filled with all the things that made a house into a home. The floor didn't line up quite right, the two side walls were brick, and the only windows in the place were in the wall at the far end from the door.

Jamie heard Laurel before he saw her, crouched on the thick wood floor, curled up into a little ball of pain as the tears wracked her body. Jamie felt his heart twist. He'd read all the stories of cops killing innocent people, of the ways they acted as though they were above the law, and he'd allowed himself to believe that the woman who had shot him was the same way. She would show guilt in public, but in private she'd shed it like a cloak and be perfectly comfortable with what she had been done, and the fact that she was undoubtedly going to get away with it, despite Jenna and Derek's best efforts.

He'd been deluding himself, in an attempt to justify his rage at what she had taken from him.

Jamie moved forward slowly, uncertain of whether he was gliding or walking. It didn't really matter. He stopped in front of her, before carefully taking a seat a couple inches below the floor, which allowed him to be perfectly level with Laurel's curled body. He would comfort her, if he could. At the moment, he was probably the only person in the world who could bring her a measure of peace, and he was also the only person in the world who couldn't speak with her at the moment. His hand stretched out gently, hovering scant millimeters over her head as he imagined himself gently stroking her hair back.

Laurel's eyes were closed and her head was bowed as she held it in her hands and her fingers knotted themselves in her hair. She was undoubtedly and obviously overcome with grief, but even then she sill had pretty sharp instincts. And she was suddenly aware that she felt wrong. That sensation she thought she had felt in the hospital was back, that goosebumps and hair raising sensation that was unsettling and familiar. Someone was watching her. She wasn't alone.

She went very still for a moment and she lifted her head slightly to peer through her fringe of bangs. She couldn't see much, but she could clearly see the figure of someone sitting on the floor in front of her. She reacted to the sudden presence so quickly and fluidly that it was like a natural reaction. As her heart skipped a beat and her body jerked in understandable shock at the unexpected intruder, she also uncurled from her pitiful fetal position and pulled her arm back, her hand clenched into a fist that she was ready to throw at the asshole. Laurel was completely ready to show him (or her) just how mean of a right hook she could throw first hand when her eyes fixed upon the intruder's face and she froze completely before her arm had a chance to gain any momentum.

Shock rammed into her like a train. For what seemed like several long moments all she could do was stare, her green eyes round with a surprise that was almost innocent in nature, and her lips parted slightly as though she had let out an, "Oh!" sound. Her mind as utterly blank as she gazed upon the last face she ever expected to see sitting in front of her, a face she had only seen for the first time mere hours ago, and one she had only seen with conscious expression for moments at most. But Laurel knew she'd never forget his face as long as she lived. James Weller's face was seared into her memory as if it had been branded there with an iron. And here he was sitting right in front of her, hand raised as though her hand been stroking her hair, looking as conscious and alive as he had been when she had first laid eyes on him.

Moments before she had shot him. And put him in the hospital. Which is where he was right now. In a coma.

One moment she was staring at him in surprise and confusion. Her eyes traveled over him, taking in his appearance and seeing that he seemed to be part way sunk into the wood floor, before her gaze rose and she locked gazes with him. Then her mind seemed to catch up with the rest of her and in an instant she processed what she was seeing.

The sound Laurel made was half gasp and half cry, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, jerking away from him and falling over to the side slightly as she did so. She crawled backwards towards the sitting room area of the apartment, putting as much distance between them as quickly as she could. However her limbs were still half frozen in shock and her movements were clumsy, and she slipped and nearly fell a few more times as she pulled herself as far away from him as she could go. Which, given the narrow nature of her home, wasn't very far. She bumped into the brick wall and was forced to stop moving, but her wide eyes had never left James Weller as she had tried to escape.

He could not be here. He was lying in a hospital bed on life support miles away from here. He was swaddled in bandages and tipping precariously between life and death. He was unconscious and comatose and not sitting on or in the floor of her apartment. But here he was, sitting there and looking at her, and she could see him clear as day.

"Oh God," Laurel finally got out, her voice cracking with strain. "Oh God, no, this can't be happening..." The guilt. The guilt she felt for what she had done to him. This was what it was, what it had to be. This was her mind's way of punishing her for her actions. It was creating a hallucination to haunt her. He wasn't real. "You're not real," she told him, squeezing her eyes shut for several second as she informed her mind that she was aware of what it was doing. She accepted that what she was seeing was all an illusion and all in her head, and when she opened her eyes he would be gone. Wasn't that how it worked?"

Laurel's eyes opened and the green irises fixed upon where he had been sitting. Where he was still sitting. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and it come out loudly and half hysterically. "Nooooo no, no, no, no." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands as though she could wipe the image of him from them, then she looked up again and still saw him there in front of her. Laurel let out of terrified and frustrated sound. "Goddammit, no!"

Jamie was frozen in shock, rooted to the place as his astral body refused to move even an inch. Over the course of the time he had been in this strange state, Jamie had come to accept his spectral nature. How many people in the hospital had walked right through him, the only sign that they had even slightly perceived his presence being a faint shiver that could just as easily be coincidental.

How? How, how, how could she see him? She wasn’t supposed to be able to see him. Why her, and not Jenna, or Derek, the people in the world he most wanted to be able to comfort. He was frozen by a paralyzing rush of emotion and confusion, and all he could do was slowly turn his head to track Laurel’s panicked flight away from him.

What was he going to do? He hadn’t been prepared for this. It had taken him long enough to grow comfortable with the idea of looking at her, even safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to see him. Except that safety blanket had just been forcibly ripped away from him, leaving him floundering. He wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready at all. But he had no choice except to deal with it.

Slowly, not wanting to spook her any more than she was already spooked, Jamie worked his way to his feet. It took a surprising amount of concentration, considering how easy it had been when he had still been in his body. Now he had to concentrate to make sure that everything was moving in a way that would be perceived as normal.

He didn’t move any closer to her, but reached out a hand, trying to draw her back. “Laurel,” he said softly. Or, at least, he tried to say. He felt his lips move, but no sound emerged. A panicked look entered his eyes, and he tried to speak again, his lips moving in a rapid, unintelligible babble of words, but still no sound emerged. Gradually, a realization began to form. Of course no sound would emerge. Sound was vibrations in the air, and he had no way of affecting the world around him.

He dropped back to the ground suddenly, no longer concerned with moving in a manner that wouldn’t alarm Laurel. Let her be alarmed. He didn’t care. It was her fault he was like this. He buried his head in his hands, and wished he could cry.

He was staring at her with a shocked expression that must have mirrored her own in some ways, and Laurel fidgeted uneasily under his gaze. He might not have been staring at her with anger or in accusation, but just seeing him there was an accusation. Seeing him staring at her, a hallucination of him that is, was a reminder that she was only hallucinating this because the real James Weller could not. Laurel tried one last time to make the vision go away but when she opened her eyes again he still remained, looking at her as though he was as surprised by this as she was.

Was this it? Was the guilt of her action trying to drive her insane? Would this vision of him haunt her forever? Was this what she deserved?

For what seemed like ages neither of them moved a muscle, and Laurel herself could hardly breath as her heart hammered in her chest. Then the hallucination of James Weller started pushing himself to his feet, his movements making her twitch slightly despite the fact that they were slow and careful. It was almost as though it was for her benefit, that he was not trying to alarm her more than he already had. She almost giggled hysterically at these thoughts.

James didn't try closing the distance between them, staying exactly where he was, but his arm extended towards her, like he was reaching out for her. All Laurel could do in response to this was let out a weak moan. Then his lips moved, and she wasn't much of a lip reader but she was almost certain that his mouth had formed her name. Laurel. How did he know her name? At least if that was what he had even had tried to say because though his mouth had moved she had heard no sound. Not even a whisper.

Her hallucination seemed to realize this, as well, because panic started to flit across his expression and his mouth moved more fiercely, lips forming word after word. But he still made no sound, not matter how hard he seemed to be trying to project his voice out into the world.

Everything was still for a moment, then James collapsed quite suddenly. Laurel's own body jumped in shock in response to the sudden movement, and she suddenly felt very out of breath as her heart raced. She watched him with wide, wary eyes as he sat there crumpled on her floor, his hands covering his head in obvious despair. She wondered if that was what she had looked like a few moments ago.

It took a moment for her to work up the courage to attempt movement, but Laurel finally managed to use the brick wall to pull herself up onto her feet. She was still trembling slightly but she didn't fall over. She looked down at her grief stricken hallucination, terrified and unsure of what to do. She didn't realize she was moving until she'd taken a couple of steps forward, her bare feet not making a sound on the wood. Laurel had gotten as close to him as she had dared, before bending slightly and reaching her hand out as though to grip his shoulder. But instead her hand passed right through him, and she felt a chill and a shiver run through her spine.

It proved too much.

Laurel jerked her hand back, inhaling a sharp gasp as she stumbled back a few steps. She turned around and nearly fell over as she did so, but she caught her balance and managed to make it to the spiral stair case the led up to the loft floors above them. She tripped and nearly fell again as she went up the stairs, but caught herself on the railing and continued til she reached the second floor loft, which housed her bedroom. Laurel didn't care that she was still wearing the hospital scrubs, she made a beeline for metal framed bed and all but dove into it, throwing the sheets, comforter, and quilted coverlet over herself and curling up beneath them, eyes squeezed shut as she tried not to think about her phantom hallucination almost directly beneath her.

Looking back on it Laurel would think about how childish it had been, running up to her bed to hide from her monsters, demons, and guilt under the covers. After all it wouldn't take long for her guilt to catch up with her again.