Patrick O'Hanlin, captain of the District A-7 precinct in East Boston, greeted Martin Proctor with a stern expression the second he entered the station and unceremoniously directed him to sit in his office. The fact the regional union rep stood next to his boss prevented Martin from arguing.

What the fuck happened now?

After ten minutes of sitting in an uncomfortably lumpy chair and holding his head high despite the curious glances from the other detectives who passed by the captain's office, Martin got up and began to pace.

O'Hanlin opened his office door, stepped inside, and slammed it behind him. His cheeks flamed a deeper red than Martin could recall seeing--a true accomplishment. For a moment, Martin worried for the captain's health.

"What the fuck did I do now?" Martin asked.

O'Hanlin walked around his desk, falling heavily into his chair. "I swear Proctor, you'll be the death of me. If you weren't my best detective, I'd write you up for this."

Martin had no idea what he was talking about. "Captain, why was the union rep here?"

O'Hanlin sat, staring at Martin for a long moment. "What does the name Peter Murphy mean to you?"

Martin dropped into a chair. Peter Murphy. Two days ago Martin had a premonition where he saw Peter die. He could still see it as if it had really happened; drunk at a local strip club, Peter had grabbed one of the dancers, and then picked a fight with a bouncer. The fight escalated from words to fists, and ultimately, a broken bottle swiping across his neck.

When Martin went to the club, a risky endeavor since he was on duty and hadn't been called in, his intention had not been to arrest Peter. What choice had the guy left him, though? He was drunk and belligerent, cursing at anyone who approached him, and harassing the dancers. Martin looked at the captain, not sure where this was going.

"Yeah, that was the disorderly conduct from a couple days ago. I arrested him and had him sober up overnight."

The captain nodded. "And do you know who Peter Murphy's father is?"

Heat flooded Martin's cheeks. "Uh, no?"

"He's a goddamned cop...a captain." O'Hanlin placed his hands on his desk and pushed himself up. "Jesus, Martin. He wants your shield."

Martin's breath caught in his chest. My fucking shield? "Captain, you can't. I mean it was a clear 10-50. You should have seen the way he groped the girls, and the bouncer looked like the type of guy who would send Peter out in an ambulance. It was only a matter of time before the manager officially complained and then the charges would have stuck."

"Maybe everything you say is true, but since you didn't wait, we'll never know, will we?"

Martin began to protest, but decided to shut his mouth instead.

"Look," O'Hanlin said. "I'm not taking your shield, but the only way I managed to protect you is to promise you would write an apology to both Peter and to his father."

"But--"

"Not a word! You got off easy." O'Hanlin walked around his desk. "What I don't understand is why you keep putting yourself in these situations. You solve more cases than any other detective in the precinct. I don't know how you manage to remain a step ahead in your investigations, but your perps never stand a chance against you. Despite your record, you constantly step in shit, leaving a trail behind you to be cleaned up."

Martin slouched in his seat. O'Hanlin was on a roll. As the captain continued speaking, Martin mentally kicked himself. Ever since he realized his premonitions weren't just bad dreams, he had found himself in these precarious situations. His compulsion to prevent bad things from happening overrode the inconvenience of the trouble he ultimately faced. At least until recently.

This wasn't the first time O'Hanlin had to bail him out. Martin wasn't sure how many more chances the captain would give him before the trouble stuck.

So why do I do anything? It's not like I'm not busy enough with the cases assigned to me.

Martin dismissed the question as soon as it crossed his mind. He followed up because he couldn't live with the alternative. If he did nothing, people would suffer, or worse, die. He had to at least try to keep that from happening. The trick was figuring out how to do it within the letter of the law so he didn't continue to put himself or the captain in positions like the one they faced right now.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Martin?"

Martin had no idea what O'Hanlin had said, but he knew the correct answer. "Yes, Captain."

"Good. I'd like to see the apology letters before you send them out."

"Not a problem." Martin stood. "Thanks. I owe you...again."

Without looking up, the captain waved him off.

Outside in the squad room, all eyes were trained on him.

Damnit to hell.

Martin walked over to his desk and sat down to write the apology letters. The heat flooding his cheeks spread to his neck and crept down his spine. If it weren't for the lives he saved, following up on his premonitions wouldn't be worth it. But he was saving lives.

I'll just have to be a lot more careful in the future.