"Ziggy!" Al howled. "Sam needs help or he's gonna get himself shot! What do you want?"

"Listen very carefully. Do not, under any circumstances, allow Detective Russell to shoot Detective Denby."

"I hadn't planned on it."

"I'm afraid it won't be that easy. Detective Denby is a very strong personality. It may already be too late. Go." The door to the imaging chamber slid open. "Quickly."

Al was into the chamber in a flash, watching as the dark, dirty warehouse shimmered to life around him. In an instant, he saw the worst.

"Don't do it, Denby!" the brunette hollered, cocking her sidearm at Sam. "I'll shoot you!"

Al followed the tip of her gun down to the floor, where Sam sat, crouched and trembling, his own weapon buried in the throat of the injured man in his arms.

He wanted to. Her gun... her gun... god, she was beautiful. She would take him, then. She would have to. He'd be hers and she'd never live another day without him. This was the only way. It was the only way. Just a little bit of pain. Just a little bit. Then...

Forever.

"Sam!"

Al's shout was almost a physical blow, knocking the consuming consciousness aside, bringing Dr. Beckett back out. The man appeared in front of him.

"Sam," he begged. "Don't do this! Drop the gun, please!"

His eyes closed as he felt the rush come behind them. "I wanna die," he hissed, still not understanding. "Why do I have to do this?"

From behind Al, the woman's voice came again. "You don't want to die." It sounded like she'd said it before.

It also sounded like it wasn't what she meant.

"Look at me," Al forced, wishing he could hit Sam, slap him, make him look. "Sam... come back for a second."

He opened his eyes again.