He was a tall, well-built man. He was dressed casually so as not to draw unnecessary attention to himself. He exited the elevator on the seventh floor, pausing briefly to survey the room in front of him.

He saw that the room was full. People scurried to and from, plainclothes detectives, uniformed officers, receptionists, secretaries--each person occupied with someone or something. Phones rang, the PA system filtered through chaotic voices. Mayhem ruled.

No one seemed to notice as the tall man stepped into the crowded room. He was just one of many. Slowly, cautiously, he made his way across the room, stopping briefly at the closed door in front of him, before moving over to the side.

Moving to lean against the wall, he again glanced around the room, wondering if anyone had noticed him, Seeing that no one was paying attention, he visibly relaxed.

Soon, very soon. The man placed his hand into his coat pocket, silently caressing the cool piece of metal that rested there.

######################################################################

Blair Sandburg clipped the last two pages of the report together and tossed them into the completed file box. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders in and attempt to relieve the ache that had taken up residence there.

God, he was tired. He would be glad when this day was over. He just knew that he could use about a hundred hours of sleep at this moment.

The chaotic mayhem of the bullpen finally filtered into his contemplation. The noise level was horrific. It was a wonder that anyone could get anything done. No wonder Jim had fled the scene. If it was loud to him, Blair couldn't imagine what it had been like for his Sentinel.

Every detective and officer was busy with something. Normally Blair would enjoy a day like today. He loved to watch people, finding the different aspects of their lives fascinating. He supposed it was the anthropologist in him.

But after the events of the past week, he just didn't have the energy to observe this particular scene.

Reaching up to rub tired eyes, Blair sighed deeply, unwanted memories breaking through the cobwebs that enshrouded his brain.

He remembered the look on Captain Simon Banks' face when he'd realized that he had shot and killed one Gregory Welborne. Not that he'd had a choice. Welborne had gone on a shooting spree, robbing a convenience store and killing the clerk and two customers. He had then stolen a car and barreled down a residential street, taking potshots at whoever happened to be in the way.

Simon had been in the neighborhood when the call had come in and had decided to join in the pursuit.

Trapping Welborne in an alley, Simon had returned fire when Welborne had shot at patrolmen that were on the scene, What Simon hadn't realized when he had delivered that fatal shot, was that Greg Welborne was fourteen years old.

Jim and Blair had arrived on the scene to find their Captain in shock. No amount of reassurance had wiped that look of horror from the big Captain's face.

The media had had a field day, half calling him a hero, the other half calling him a child killer.

Blair knew that Simon was having a difficult time. Simon had insisted on attending the boy's funeral and he and Jim had went along for support.

The funeral had been very sad. It had been cold and wet, only four people had attended, the three of them and Greg Welborne's social worker. It hadn't helped Simon's melancholy state when he had found that Greg had been orphaned at the age of nine and had spent the last six years in and out of foster care and in and out of trouble. He had a juvenile record a mile long. His social worker had described him as 'angry'.

Although Jim and Blair had been attentive to their friend, the only peace that Simon had been able to find was when he spent time with his own son. Daryl had seemed to understand his father's need for his presence and had arranged to spend as much time as possible with him.

The ringing of the phone brought Blair back to the present with a start.

"Detective Ellison's desk, Blair Sandburg speaking."

"Hey, Chief. Has it quieted down there yet?" his partner's voice filtered through the line.

"Not even," he returned, grinning as he heard the other man growl in response. "When ya coming back, Jim?"

"In about 20 minutes, give or take a few. Why, you ready to call it a day?"

"I guess. I just finished the last report. You bringing me something to eat? I'm starving."

"Do I look like a caterer to you Sandburg?"

"Hey, come on man. You've had a nice long break. And I've graciously finished all your reports. The way I figure it, you owe me, big guy," Blair frowned into the phone.

"Yeah,,,yeah you're right, Sandburg. I'll bring you a cookie," Blair could hear the amusement in the other man's voice.

"Jim," Blair warned.

"Be there in a while, Chief," the phone clicked off before Blair could continue.

Smiling and shaking his head at his friend's antics, Blair replaced the receiver, letting his eyes roam across the room once more. He had noticed the tall man lounging by Simon's office door when he had first glanced around, but had dismissed him, assuming he was waiting on the Captain of the Major Crimes Unit.

But the expression that now resided on the man's face caused Blair to sit up in alarm. The man wore a look of pure hatred, the dark blue eyes that glared across the room glowed with anger. Blair couldn't help but shiver at the look of cold hatred that covered the man's face He couldn't help but follow the man's gaze, wondering who or what could cause such hatred.

######################################################################

Simon Banks exited the elevator, making his way across the crowded hall and into the Major Crimes bullpen. It had been a busy morning for him, but one that he felt was productive.

He had seen the department psychologist and then had had lunch with his teenage son. Daryl had been talkative today, not letting his father get in a word edgewise.

Reminds me of a certain anthropologist, Simon thought to himself.

But Daryl had seemed to understand the mood that Simon had been in and was determined to get past it. He had left Daryl at school, driving away with the feeling that there was light at the end of the cold, dark tunnel that he had been traveling through since taking the life of Greg Welborne. His son had graced him with a hug in front of his friends. His 'cool' son had done a very 'uncool' thing. Just thinking about it brought a gentle smile to his lips and the ache in his soul eased.

The smile turned into a scowl when he noticed Detective Henry Brown staring at him with a silly grin on his face.

"What are you smirking at, Brown?" he glared at his detective.

"Just been a while since I've seen you smile, sir," Brown replied.

"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head," Simon returned with a smile. Glancing around the crowded room, his smile turned into a frown. "You haven't got this mess cleaned up yet, Brown?"

"Trying, Captain, trying," Brown held up his hands.

"Try harder!" Simon growled to cover the smile, turning to move away from Brown's desk.

"Yes, Sir!" Brown said, a big smile covered his features. "Welcome back, Sir."

Simon turned to answer when a familiar voice rang out across the room.

"Simon! Look out!"

####################################################################

Jim Ellison turned into his usual parking place and turned off the engine. Grabbing the fruit salad he had just purchased for his partner, he hopped out of the truck and quickly strolled across the garage toward the elevators. He knew he was running late and he knew his Guide would be hungry. Blair had skipped breakfast, having had an early class and an afternoon of tutoring. He had come directly to the station afterward to help Jim with the backlog of paper work that had accumulated since the Welborne case.

Remembering the conversation that he had just had with his young friend brought a gentle smile to the usually stern features.

The kid was always running interference for him. On arriving at the station, Blair had taken one look at his Sentinel's face and had known automatically that the noise level was quickly driving his friend crazy. Blair had insisted that Jim leave the bullpen, promising to finish the reports that still resided on his desk.

Jim had gratefully taken his friend up on the offer, stopping briefly by the Records Department to get certain files that he needed and then had left the building completely, needing a quieter place to attempt to relieve the pounding that had taken up residence in his head.

The quiet time had worked, his headache had eased and he felt that he was ready to return to the lion's den to rescue his partner. He would even treat the kid to a restaurant dinner tonight to show his appreciation.

Entering the elevators, he punched the button for the seventh floor. Leaning back against the wall, he briefly closed his eyes, automatically stretching out his hearing for that familiar heartbeat that meant so much to him.

When it reached his ears, he straightened up with a frown. Something was wrong. The beat was too fast, slightly labored.

The whooshing of the elevator doors startled the big detective for a moment. When he stepped from the car, he froze.

The coppery scent of fresh blood filled the air, assaulting him from every side. He knew that smell, had smelled it too many times in the past. His Guide's blood.

"Sandburg!" he sprinted forward, pushing his way through the now silent crowd.

The sight before him caused him to falter for a moment. His partner was lying on a stretcher, paramedics surrounding him. Simon was kneeling beside him, holding a bloody towel to Blair's neck. A breathing tube protruded from the young man's mouth, a paramedic was squeezing an ambu bag that was attached to the tube, forcing air into stilled lungs.

"Oh my God! Blair!" Jim dropped to his knees beside Simon, automatically reaching for his Guide.

"Don't Jim!" Simon laid a constraining hand on Jim's arm. "There's no exit wound."

"What?" Jim looked at his captain in confusion.

"The bullet is still in his neck," Simon explained again.

"Bullet? He was shot?" Jim reached out a trembling hand to touch his Guide's face. "What happened, Simon?"

"I don't know, Jim," Simon's quiet voice caused Jim to stare at him in confusion.

"We're ready to roll, Sir," one of the paramedics that had been attending Blair interrupted, laying a gentle hand on Captain Bank's shoulder.

Nodding, the Captain arose and stepped aside, allowing the medics to take over. Reaching down he pulled Jim to his feet, realizing that his best detective was in shock.

"Jim, go on with Sandburg," he said, giving the man a slight push toward the elevators.

Confused eyes turned his way. "What?"

"Go with your partner, I'll be along shortly."

"Okay," The Sentinel slowly moved to follow the stretcher that carried his best friend.

"Joel, go with him, will you?" Simon turned to the Captain of the Bomb Squad and a good friend to them all.

"You got it, Simon," Joel Taggert moved to follow the big detective.

Simon watched as the elevator doors closed on his best team, then slowly turned to view the crowded room.

Henry Brown stood by his desk, his usually cheerful countenance wreathed in horror, eyes glued to the elevator doors.

"Brown!" Simon's sharp voice caused Brown to jump to attention.

"Yes sir!" Brown turned his full attention to his captain.

"I want answers. You and Rafe find out just what happened here. You got that?"

"Yes sir!" Brown replied, determination steeling his features.

Glancing down at the blood that stained his hands and clothes, Simon took a shuddering breath, remembering for a moment where that blood had come from. "I'm going to get cleaned up and then I'm going to the hospital. I want to be informed the minute you find out anything. Anything at all. You got that?"

"Okay," Brown started to move away. Stopping, he turned back to his captain. "And sir, tell Ellison and Sandburg we're all routing for them."

"I will, H," Simon's face softened for a moment. "I will."

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The Wrong Target Part 2