Blair's entrance to the bullpen the next morning was greeted with a chorus of whistles. Detectives Rafe and Brown stood up, applauding.

Jim, a half-step behind Blair, swept the room, ending with the chaotic mess of papers that was Blair's desk, and the bouquet of roses that graced its top. The red-tipped white petals added a pleasant fragrance to the air. He nudged Blair in the small of his back. "Someone left you a present, Chief."

"All right, all right, chill, guys." Blair tried to hush the applauding duo, who stopped clapping, but kept grinning.

"Some blonde stopped by early this morning and left you those, said something about a wonderful evening?" Rafe held a small florist's card between his fingers.

Blair grabbed the card and scanned it quickly, then smiled delightedly. "Wow. Hey, I never got roses before." He rocked forward on his toes.

"'For my knight in shining armor. Love, Allison'?" Rafe quoted. "C'mon, spill."

"He pulled her out of a ditch last night, and let my cheese fries get cold waiting for the tow truck." Jim groused.

"Hey man, you buy me roses, next time I'll make the fries myself!"

Their laughter was cut short by Simon's bark. "Sandburg, Ellison!"

All heads turned, and Simon continued. "Helsang's Jewelry on Hathaway's been robbed. Get down there."

"On it, sir." Jim made an about face and deftly sidestepped Megan, just entering the bullpen. She nodded good morning, sipping carefully at her steaming mug.

Blair grabbed two roses from the vase and handed one to Megan with a small box that had come with the flowers. "Sorry I was late last night. Forgive me?"

Megan raised one eyebrow. "Is it chocolate?"

Blair nodded, grinning. "Allison sent it just for you as an apology."

"Then I forgive you." Megan tried for magnaninity, but the sudden gleam in her eye and the hasty snatch for the treat belied her. "Even for second-hand roses."

"You coming, Sandburg?"

"Yeah, man." Blair snapped the stem off his remaining rose and propped it behind his ear as he hurried out the door. "Hey, is it me?"

Jim snorted and stabbed the elevator button. "Only if you were a gypsy in a former life. Give." They were playing tug of war with the rose by the time the elevator arrived.

When they'd finally disappeared and Rafe judged them to be out of Sentinel-hearing range, he leaned against Megan's desk. "So, what's the scoop on Blair's new lady?"

Megan shrugged, maniacally unwrapping her precious chocolates. "He was supposed to go out and get me chocolate last night," she waved a negligent hand, "and I think Jim asked for something too, but there was this sheila in distress, and he stayed with her until pretty late. I gave up on the new ADA and left before Sandy got back, so I never got my chocolate." The plastic finally yielded, and Megan pulled out a single, round piece of brown manna.

"And?" Rafe persisted.

"And nothing. Her car broke down, Blair stayed, I know nothing else." Megan sank her teeth into her treat. "Ohh..." she mumbled, closing her eyes in pure bliss. "Hmm gmm Mm MmMmmMmm Mmm."

"What?"

Megan took a sip of her coffee. "He got me chocolate-covered macadamia nuts."

"Connor!" Simon's door opened, and Megan dropped the chocolate guiltily. The aforementioned ADA stood behind Simon, an all-too familiar folder in his hand.

The old blue and white Ford pulled up in front of Helsang's jewelry, splashing in the puddles along the gutter. The clear glass exterior of the shop shone, even under the overcast sky that still spat down intermittent raindrops. The sidewalks were still damp from the rains of the night before, and rainwater trickled over mossy trash in the gutters.

"This looks familiar." Blair tossed the rose he'd been playing with onto the car seat and closed the door.

"How's that?"

Blair craned his neck around. "I was just a block up from here last night."

"Your damsel in distress?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

Nothing more of import was said until they crossed the threshold of the store. The interior was sparkling clean, cases empty and gleaming. Jim wrinkled his nose, then glanced at his partner. "Didn't I tell you to leave the rose in the car?"

"Jim, I did." Blair turned his attention from the patrolman who was still with the store's manager.

Jim sniffed again. "Smells like a... a flower shop in here."

"There's one next door. Maybe they share the ventilation?"

Jim wrinkled his nose and sniffed again. "All I'm smelling here is your rose, Sandburg. Come on, it's not like I'm going to track down diamonds by smell."

"Yeah, yeah, well, how about sight-- let's see if they left any prints..."

After an exhaustingly thorough search, they had found nothing, not even the owner's prints. "Wiped clean," Jim grumbled. "I think I can smell the Windex past the flowers."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing but your damn roses." Jim sighed, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

~ring~ They both jumped and checked their phones. "Ellison." Blair put his away.

"Jim." Simon's voice held an anxious tone that usually heralded terrorists, psychopaths or other threats of bodily harm to his partner. He glanced worriedly at Sandburg, who merely widened his eyes in a classic 'what?' look. "Connor's in the hospital."

Relief, shame, then worry flooded him. "What's wrong, Simon? She was supposed to be in court this afternoon."

"The doctors think it's too sudden an onset to be anything but poison. I want you down at the station, pronto, to check out her files, see if there's anything unusual about the case you two are testifying for. Rafe and Brown are watching her at the hospital."

"I'm on my way, Simon." Jim gestured roughly to his partner, and strode for the door.

"Hey, Jim, what's..." Blair turned and caught a fleeting glimpse of the tight, worried expression on Jim's face, and hurried after him.

It hit Jim like a wave-- the miasma of sickness roiling out of Major Crimes and specifically Simon's office. The sweet rose-scent, now familiar, was lost in the acid-stink of vomit and fearpainsweat. His face grew whiter as he groped for his dials, but he didn't break stride until he was by his captain's side. "What happened, sir?"

Simon shook his head and smoothed a wrinkle in the fax he held. "I don't know-- one minute she was fine, the next..." He handed the fax to Blair and clenched his fists. "It's a rare poison, they're still narrowing it down, but it's an ingestive," he met his detective's eyes and held them. "Jim, find it."

"Will do, sir."

Blair just shook his head. "I don't get it. She was testifying for a robbery today."

"And the triple-homicide next week?" Simon reached for his cigar, only now beginning to realize that it was currently crushed beneath his foot. "Don't leave any stones unturned, gentlemen."

Once out in the bullpen again, Jim frowned in concentration. The damn roses kept slipping onto his radar, obliterating anything that might be odd about the cold mug of coffee or the half-eaten chocolate on Megan's desk.

Blair nudged him, an unspoken 'What is it?'

Jim merely shook his head and picked up the coffee mug, sniffing. Ignore the roses, they're background... "French roast with chocolate syrup. Nothing..." He sniffed again. "She ate something with bread for breakfast. Something oily." He paused, sifting through his memories for the same smell. It had been shortly after Megan had first arrived. Pink dingo and tales of croc hunting and... "Where the hell did she get Vegemite in the States?"

"Vegemite? That's like, Australian for peanut butter, man."

"It's Australian for disgusting, that's what it is, Sandburg."

"Yeah, but it's not poisonous." Blair's grin seemed a little forced. "At least not to Australians."

Jim let any further protests die in a muttered grumble, and picked up the small golden box on the corner of the desk. "What are these supposed to be?"

"Macadamia nuts in dark chocolate. Megan said they were one of her favorites."

Jim's expression clouded. "I don't know what they are, but they're not macadamias."

Five minutes later, they were down in Forensics, handing the box and its contents to Serena Chang.

Blair shifted from foot to foot in front of the dingy apartment door. "Man..."

"C'mon, Sandburg. You're the knight, you get to talk to the damsel."

"You ever tell a girl you just met you suspect her of murder?"

"All the time, now ring the doorbell."

"You're the senior detective here, I just think you..."

"Should feed me a line of bull to make me intimidate her into confessing? C'mon, you can't be scared of her?"

The silence dragged out. "You're kidding me. You're scared of this petite little blonde who couldn't weigh more than a buck-oh-five sopping wet, who likely hasn't had a lick of combat..."

"Whoa, man, hold on there, Jim! You know better than that!"

Jim stopped, dumbfounded by the sudden turn into what he suspected might become the Sandburg Zone. "What?"

"You've dated! Admittedly, no one ever went out with you a second time, which might be explained by this, but you should definitely know by now the time-honored wisdom that fathers, or reasonable facsimiles thereof in my case, dish out to their sons, step-sons and girlfriend's sons."

Jim let his eyes cross as he swayed backwards.

Blair took a breath and rolled his eyes. "Don't even, Jim. You know. Never, ever, try to guess a woman's weight." He paused for a moment, considering. "Besides, she's maybe one-twenty, one-thirty."

"Oh, yeah, Detective?"

"Yeah, man, I've seen her sopping wet-- last night."

"Well, keep bragging, you'll get to see her again. Hopefully this time you can do more than guess her weight." Jim pressed the doorbell, then pulled Blair in front of him by his shoulders. "Oh Fearless One," he added sotto voce just as the door opened.

"You shit," Blair muttered through his welcoming grin, pitched only for Sentinel ears. "Ms. White?"

Allison of the roses swung the door wide and threw her arms around Blair. Jim smiled tightly. Perky. She was a few inches shorter than Blair, slender, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The only thing missing was the cheerleading skirt and pom poms. "Oh, Blair! I'm so glad you dropped by! Oh, how fabulous!" She pulled back and stuck her hand out at Jim, cocking her head to the side. "And are you his partner Jim?"

Jim shook and released her hand as quickly as possible. "Detective Ellison, ma'am."

"Oh, that sounds just like my name, how quaint! I'm Allison. Oh, come on in, both of you, how fabulous." She paused in mid-stride. "I didn't give you my address, how..." Allison turned back to them, shaking her finger. "You're so clever, I'll bet you looked it up in one of your police systems."

"It was the phone book, to be honest." Blair shrugged apologetically as they stepped inside.

The interior of the apartment was in marginally better condition than the outside, cleaner, neater, but it still held the aura of age in the faded rose wallpaper and the dingy shine of wear patterns on the carpet. The furniture was overlaid with white slipcovers embroidered with roses and accented with rose-print pillows, but underneath it all, the cushions sagged with age and wear.

"Oh." Her smile wavered a second before perking up again. "Oh, good! Is there anything I can get you? Coffee, tea? I even have some more of those chocolates you wanted to give to your girlfriend."

"Inspector Connor, a colleague of ours, was poisoned this morning." Jim's solemn, pointed tones brought an instant, worried frown to Allison's face. "We have reason to believe that the chocolate-covered nuts you procured for Detective Sandburg were the agent that put her in the hospital."

"Oh!" Allison grew pale and wavered. Her arm under his hand seemed to thunder as Jim led her unprotestingly to the couch. Her pulse rate stayed elevated as she seemed to grope for words. "Is she... I didn't... Oh my god, I could have..."

"Ms. White. We have a few questions we need to ask you." Blair was softly insistent. "Where did you get the chocolates?"

She gulped for air, then spoke shakily. "Just, just next door. Matty makes up some special batches sometimes, and gives me some if they're really good, and, and, and I took this box a week ago when he was out."

"Where next door? Here at your apartment?"

"No, at the florist's, where I work." She sniffled a little. "Matty runs the candy-making part of the store, we call it next door, but it's really the same place, and sometimes we add jewelry from next door, the real next door, Helsang's, into an order, too, especially with V-Day coming up, and I didn't just get him in trouble, did I?"

"Not if it was just a mistake, Ms. White."

"Oh, it must have been! Matty wouldn't ever have wanted to hurt anyone, really!"

Jim almost rolled his eyes at that one, but settled for a significant glance at Blair. He sniffed, trying to clear his nose of the lingering rose-scent, but it was here, too. Not surprising, considering the woman worked for a florist. It also explained a lingering hint of cocoa butter hiding behind the roses. Still, neither scent sat quite right.

Jim dialed back his sense of smell and concentrated on listening to Allison instead. They managed to extract Matty's working hours from her, but further questions just seemed to agitate Allison into incoherence, and they left her to pursue the one lead.

The phone book, huh? Two can play that game, Detective Sandburg. Allison paged idly through the 'S' section, eyes focusing instead on a mental image of Blair. Those curls, those eyes... Finally, after reaching the Sandes, she stopped, irritated, and checked again.

'Sandburg B 852 Prospect 307...' Perfect. She carefully took a pair of scissors and cut out the address. The brown, no, the blue book, I think. It matches his eyes. The address was carefully pasted into the velvet-covered blank book she pulled from a drawer.

That small task successfully accomplished, she sat back, idly caressing the outline of the address. Inspector Megan. Blair should have told me he worked with her. Now poor Matty will have to get in trouble. She sighed and closed the book. Poor Matty. I would never hurt a friend of Blair's. He'll just have to pay the price... She smiled. Pity he likes chocolate so much. I'll have to send flowers to the funeral.

"Constable Kinsey, please." Jim waved away the file Blair held out to him as he waited on the phone. "No, I'm sure, Kinsey-- K I N S E Y, Kinsey. Yeah, sure, I'll wait." He hooked the mouthpiece of the receiver under his chin as the hold music came on, a country song of some sort.

"So who's that?" Blair opened the file himself as he leaned against Jim's desk. He smiled at Rhonda as she passed by with a stack of reports.

"Mountie in Victoria-- met her while I was liaising for the CIA." Jim shifted the phone to speak into it. "No, I'm waiting for Constable Kinsey." He returned his attention to Blair. "Anything on Matty past June '97?"

"Nope. Faked his Social, has a post office box for his tax records, so that's a dead end. His work records aren't computerized, and the clerk wouldn't contact the manager. He's supposed to be in for work tomorrow. So why a Mountie?"

"Come on, with a name like Matthieu Foucault, you're either French, Canadian, or Cajun, and I don't know anyone in Paris or New Orleans." Jim shrugged. "If this doesn't pan out, we can always look somewhere else."

"You sure you're not trying to put too much of an ethnic spin on the name, Jim? I mean, I knew a guy in my Intro Chem Class - Adrienne Barnadeau, and he had the thickest Texas accent I've ever heard."

"A twanger?" Jim arched an eyebrow.

"You could play him like a banjo," Blair grinned.

"Yeah, Kinsey. Nice to know they answer the phones promptly in Canada. Listen, I got a suspect I think might be from your neck of the woods..."

The hallways of Cascade General Hospital were bright but empty in the night hours. Outside the walls full of the scent of sickness and medicine, rain fell lightly, a soft pressure against the eardrum that didn't quite merit the rank of sound.

Blair slipped into the darkened hospital room, his shoes squeaking against the waxed floor. Outside the door, Jim stood watch with Rafe and Brown, his hearing stretched for the first sign of the nurse on duty. Gently, silently, he slid a hard plastic chair closer to the bed and sat down.

In one corner, a heart monitor beat steadily, and the other instruments added to the dim red and green glow of the room. "Megan?" Blair's voice was whisper soft, yet seemed to echo in the small space.

"Hey, Megan, we just wanted to check up on you. The doctors say you should recover fully as soon as the last of the toxins are flushed from your system. You'll be back eating Marmite and taking your coffee with sugar and chocolate within a couple of days.

"We're still trying to find out who made the chocolates. We haven't found our main suspect, but we've got a paper trail leading into Canada and then disappearing. It's like he didn't exist before two years ago. We're going to try and corner him at the store tomorrow. Jim called a friend in Victoria to see what the Mounties could dig up on him." Blair continued, detailing what little they had found out about Matthieu Foucault, who had appeared in Cascade two years previously and was now the chief confectioner at 'Confection and Other Scentiments'.

He further detailed their misadventures in trying to do a background check with Ottawa, which had resulted in nothing but hours on hold with a cranky Quebecois who refused to speak English. Blair paused finally in his narrative, his head drooping a little.

"I just wanted to say I'm so sorry, Megan. I had no idea what was in that box I gave you. I didn't mean-- god, I sound like such a whiny little kid, but I really didn't mean to poison you." A strangled laugh escaped him. "Jim says he'll check all of your chocolate for you from now on, just in case."

Blair glanced at the closed door. "I told him that since it was my fault, I'd have to do the taste-testing. After all, we don't want to ruin his figure." A soft knock at the door ended his jesting.

"Get better, Megan. We miss you."

The ride home had been silent, both men tired and worried, both content to let the engine noise and the emptiness of the streets after midnight lull them into a companionable quiet.

"Feel better, Chief?" Jim finally asked as the elevator doors slid open on the third floor.

"Yeah. I know she couldn't hear me, and I'll have to do it all over again, but it felt good to apologize."

"One thing, Chief."

"Yeah?"

"When she's conscious this next time around?"

"Yeah?" Blair's agreement this time was more drawn out.

"Lay off on the crack about my figure."

Blair snorted. "As if, man, that's the best part of the act."

Jim pulled out his keys and fit one to the lock. Before he could turn the key, the door swung open in front of him. On cue, both men exchanged a look and pulled their firearms, their bodies tensing minutely.

Blair nodded toward the end of the hall and the fire escape. Jim shook his head and paused for a moment, listening. The muscle in his jaw jumped once, twice, then stilled as Blair whispered quietly to him.

"Easy Jim, don't break your own jaw. What do you hear?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing as in nothing or nothing as in..."

"Nothing as in the hum of the fridge, a squeaky pipe in 305, and some guy snoring in 304 nothing."

"Oh, that sort of nothing." Blair eased the door open and stepped in and to the side, scanning the room. Jim followed on the opposite side of the door, mirroring him.

The living room was a mess, cushions everywhere, books and CDs flung willy-nilly. Strangely enough, there was no major damage; the appliances were untouched, and the furniture had not even been shifted an inch. Jim flicked his eyes from Blair to his room, then headed down the hallway to check out the bathroom.

Blair flicked on the light to his room, gun ready, and then let it drop limply at his side. He was fairly certain that there hadn't been any tornado warnings in Cascade that day, and yet now his room resembled nothing so much as the collection of debris left over from a tornado-ravaged trailer park.

He dimly registered Jim's footsteps ascending the stairs, pausing, then descending. He was still standing at the doorway when Jim appeared at his shoulder, gun holstered. "What is it, Chief?" Jim stopped, stunned at the fury that would have been required to demolish his friend's room so thoroughly. "Oh."

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