"Way to go, Einstein," Bishop spat, making sure Nick knew just how much he was at fault.

A routine visit to a witness turned into a hostage situation, Bishop and Torres falling victim. On the surface, their witness Gretel was just that – a witness. In her late 80s, her lack of mobility hardly made her a suspect for murder. Long story short, Bishop and Torres were now seated in the center of Gretel's living room, tied at the hands by a rope, back to back in dining room chairs.

Bishop awoke to a throbbing headache, feeling like she'd been bashed over the head with a frying pan. The smallest amount of sunlight snuck through the curtains, letting her know she hadn't been unconscious for all that long.

She looked around the room in search for Gretel, but there was no sign of her. Wherever she went, Bishop just hoped she wasn't coming back any time soon.

"Nick," she whispered, hoping he had already regained consciousness, or was at the very least, alive. "Nick!"

Torres jolted awake, gasping for air. He soon realized his movements were stunted when he felt the rope burn against his skin. "Bishop? What the hell is going on? Are you okay?"

"I think so. Are you?" she asked, relieved to hear his voice.

"Yeah, yeah," he responded, trying to blink away his blurred vision. "I think we found our killer," he teased.

"No kidding, Nick," she said, letting out a dry laugh. "I found an untouched bottle of antipsychotics in her bathroom… What even happened? I stepped out of the room for one minute. Next thing I know, I'm taking a blow to the back of my head."

"I, uh… I think she may have drugged the tea," he admitted, slightly embarrassed.

"Way to go, Einstein," Bishop spat, making sure Nick knew just how much he was at fault.

"What?! How is this my fault?"

"Why would you even take a drink from a suspect?"

"She wasn't a suspect! She was a really nice, little old lady!" he defended. "Maybe if you could learn to hold your bladder, we wouldn't be in this mess!" he shot back.

Bishop let out a frustrated sigh. "Okay, we both let our guards down. Now we have to figure out how to get out of these chairs before she comes back."

"Oh… You mean like this?" Nick lifted his now free hands, smirking even though Bishop couldn't see his face.

"Wha –" Bishop started, turning her neck to see him now untying the rope at his feet. "You know what, nevermind. Just get me out of this!"

Torres moved fast and removed the rope from around Bishop's wrists, then kneeled at her feet to untie the rope at her ankles. He paused for a moment and looked up at Bishop with a perplexed look on his face.

"What?" she asked, half worried, half annoyed.

"Nothing, I just feel like I should have a ring. Or a glass slipper," he stated, then laughed.

Taking notice to his being on one knee, Bishop chuckled and playfully smacked him on the shoulder. Only Torres could make her laugh at a time like this.

Torres and Bishop got on their feet simultaneously, immediately searching for their weapons. Digging through drawers and searching under cushions, there was no way they were facing Gretel unprepared again.

"Torres!" Bishop called for him, finding the guns and handcuffs stored away in an ottoman. Nodding at each other, they split up and began searching the house, weapons up.

Turning the corner into the kitchen, a startled Gretel dropped a fresh batch of homemade cookies. "I just thought my new friends would like some snickerdoodles!" she exclaimed, putting her hands up in surrender. Bishop lowered her weapon.

Having heard the crash, Torres was quick to make it to Bishop. They looked at each other, feeling slightly sorry for this woman. Alas, Bishop pulled out her handcuffs and placed Gretel under arrest.