Author: Daydreamer
Posted: 19 February 2003

Cold - Part 2

Simon closed the door again, assured that Murphy would keep the medical people out, but still relieved to know that Blair's howl had made them come running. He studied the man in the corner. His movements were familiar. The eyes darting around as if looking for silent watchers. The chant of 'cold, cold, cold.' The terrified expression that nevertheless held a smattering of acceptance. A 'this is my fate' kind of look. All that was missing was the slow crawl forward and the reluctant climb into the tub.

"He's seeing it again, Jim," he said.

"Seeing what?" Jim looked back from his crouch on the floor in front of his partner.

"The room. The tub." Simon nodded at Blair. "That's what he looked like on the tape. Terrified. Backed into a corner."

"I'm not backing him into a corner. I'm not going to force him to do anything." He turned back to Blair. "It's your choice, Chief."

At his words, Sandburg began to keen, pulling back even further into the corner and curling up fetally. Jim looked up, panicked.

Simon shook his head. "Wrong thing to say, Jim," he said. "That was what they kept doing. Making him make the choice."

Jim dropped his head into his hands. "Shit. Shit. Shit." He jerked his head violently. "I knew that. God damn it. I knew that!" He scrubbed roughly at his face, then turned and began to murmur again. "Shhhhhh, Chief. 'm sorry. It's all right. No choices. No cold. It's all right." He reached out, rubbing little circles on Sandburg's back. The gown was soaked with urine and reeked to his sensitive nose. He wanted nothing more than to get it off his friend, and get him into the shower for a real clean up. For some reason he couldn't understand, he just felt that if he could get Sandburg in the shower, things would be okay. Didn't make sense, but he'd learned to trust his instincts when it came to the Sentinel/Guide thing.

He moved forward again, sitting on the cold tile floor and reached out to Blair. He wrapped both arms around him and pulled and the small man rolled into his lap. He continued to rub and whisper soothing words, and the keening quieted until all that was left were sobs intermingled with the occasional cry of "cold." Content that the man was off the cold floor, he looked up at Simon and mouthed, "blanket," nodding gratefully when the other man dropped it over Sandburg and helped to tuck it around him. More rubbing, more whispers and the sobs eased into quiet tears and sniffles.

"Shower, Chief," he whispered into the now still man's ear. "Gonna get you cleaned up. "Ho --"

Simon cut him off quickly. "Warm. Warm shower, Sandburg."

Jim nodded. "Yeah. Time for a real clean up. A warm shower."

"C-c-c-c-old." Jim had thought Blair was asleep again. The word slipped out through suddenly chattering teeth and the sound tore through his heart like a knife.

"No more cold, Chief. Warm. Now." He looked up at Simon. "Let's get him up, shall we?"

"You want me to pick him up? I can just carry him to the bathroom."

Jim looked down at the man in his arms. "I don't know, Simon. He's still pretty skittish." He looked around for other ideas, found none other than putting Blair back down on the cold tile floor. Not an option. "Look," he said wearily, "I can carry him if you can just give me enough leverage to get my feet under me."

Simon nodded, bent over and placed his hands under Jim's arms. "On three," he said. "One. Two. Three." He gave a big heave, and Ellison rose to his feet, Sandburg still cradled in his arms. The younger man moaned, but made no other protest. "What about all the bandages?" Simon asked.

Jim shrugged. "They get wet. I can patch him up again later." He began to move toward the bathroom. "At least we're in a hospital. No shortage of supplies here."

He reached the steamy bathroom and lowered Sandburg to his feet. The other man stood there, groggy and swaying, but he stood. Jim untied the wet and smelly gown and pulled it off, passing it quickly to Simon. "You need the toilet, Chief?" he asked on a whim, and was shocked when Sandburg nodded. It was the first breakthrough. He'd asked a question. Sandburg had replied. A quick shuffle step brought them there and Jim was pleased to see his partner quickly take care of business, even if he seemed unaware of what he was doing. He refrained from offering a 'good job,' or 'way to go' comment, and instead said, "Shower, Chief."

Sandburg nodded and shuffled toward the curtained area, then stopped. "Not cold?" he whispered.

"Not cold, Chief. Warm." Jim took a step forward and tugged gently. Sandburg followed. They stepped in and Blair let out a sound that could almost have been a sigh of contentment.

"Not cold," he murmured, dropping down to sit under the warm flow. Tears quickly mingled with the water as he wrapped his arms around himself and began to rock. "Not cold. Not cold. Not cold."

Jim sat too, legs extended on either side of the crying man, wrapping him in his arms, rocking him gently, and echoing his chant. "Not cold, Chief. Not cold. Never gonna be cold again."

Sandburg stilled for a moment, head twisting around to look at Jim and for a moment the spark of recognition was there again. "Jim," he whispered, and then he began to rock again.

"Yeah, Chief. It's Jim." He tightened his grip on the smaller man. "I've got you, and you're not gonna be cold again."

"What do you need, Jim?" Simon asked from the door.

"Soap. Shampoo. Washrag. Lots of towels."

Simon nodded as he passed the first three to Jim. "I'll get someone in here to do the bed while you take care of him." He looked around as if not quite sure of what to say next. "I'll get some extra towels, and bring in some blankets too." He watched a moment as Jim poured out shampoo and began to wash Blair's matted, tangled hair. "And I'll see if I can find a comb or a brush or something."

Jim looked up, smiling a real smile for the first time since they'd realized Blair was missing. "Thanks, Simon." He nodded at the door. "You wanna shut that on your way out? Don't wanna let the warm air out."

Simon nodded and took that as his cue to leave.

Jim watched the door shut, then turned his full attention to the man who sat on the floor of the shower with him. He was rubbing the shampoo into the tangled mat of hair, massaging the scalp and even rubbing behind Blair's ears. As he worked, Sandburg leaned back in tiny increments until he rested fully against Jim's chest. It made it a little harder to wash his hair, because the man's head was practically in his face, but the even beating of his Guide's heart, the steady respiration and lack of all fear responses, made the slight inconvenience well worth it. He finished and whispered, "Let's rinse, Chief. Close your eyes." He place one hand over the other man's eyes, and then tried to rinse the soap out with one hand funneling the shower's flow where he wanted it to go. It took a very long time, but Sandburg seemed content to sit beneath the warm water and let Jim do whatever was needed. He was concerned to see that quite of bit of the younger man's long hair was coming out in his hand, but chalked it up to a combination of poor diet and lack of care. Once he was convinced the shampoo was out, he said, "Don't have any of that conditioner stuff you put on it, Chief. Gonna have to make do without."

There was the slightest shrug of shoulders against his chest, and he had to contain himself from actually leaping with joy. They'd communicated. He'd made a comment and Sandburg had responded. Sandburg had heard him, understood him, and acknowledged it. Jim grinned. He'd known the shower was the right thing to do.

"Let's get you washed now, Chief, okay?"

There was no answer this time, but Jim didn't let it bother him. It was enough that they'd connected the one time. He took a few minutes to remove bandages, letting the water soak them completely so that the adhesive wouldn't pull. He soaped up the rag and ran it over the other man's chest, arms and legs. It was a slow process and he had to be careful of the various still healing wounds, but eventually he finished. He leaned the other man forward and washed his back, this the most tender area as it was clear he'd been treated to the whip shortly before being released. Finished, he soaped up the rag one more time and carefully washed Blair's genitals, afraid the contact would upset the other man, but it evoked no response whatsoever.

Setting aside the rag, he felt the slight decrease in water temperature and knew it was almost time to get out. "Simon?" he called. The dark head appeared almost immediately.

"I got you a razor, Jim, and some shaving cream." He looked at the pair on the floor. "You want to try and shave him?"

Jim nodded and accepted the items Simon passed over. "Adjust the shower head, will you? So it doesn't hit him on the head?"

Simon placed several more towels and two blankets on the sink and then laid a clean gown on top. He stepped to the shower, reached up and shifted the flow so the water streamed down Blair's chest, instead of over his head. "Call me when you're done. I'll help you get him out."

Jim nodded, then began to lather his friend's face. Sandburg never spoke, but he seemed aware of what was happening, holding his head up, being still, shifting as Jim needed him to so he could get the jawline and the sensitive area by his ears. He finished quickly and Jim was surprised to find that shaving another face had not been as difficult as he'd thought. He wiped the last of the shaving cream off with the rag, then nudged Sandburg forward until the spray of water once more covered him. The smaller man sighed and leaned back into Jim's embrace. "Not cold," he said softly.

"No, not cold."

Jim sat with him there, under the flowing warm water, soaking in the heat and contentment, until he was sure even Blair could feel the difference in the water temperature. Then he rose, pulling the smaller man up with him, his back to Jim's chest. "Time to get dry," he whispered.

Sandburg tensed at his words. "Cold," he whimpered.

"No, Chief. I'm gonna get you out and wrap you up so quick, you're not gonna have time to get cold." He hugged the too-thin form before him, rubbing his hands up and down Blair's arms. "It's gonna be okay. We get out. We get dry. We get you dressed and then you're back in the bed, snug under as many blankets as you want."

Blair twisted in his arms, turning to look into Jim's eyes. "Jim."

"Yeah, Chief. It's me."

The spark of recognition faded as quickly as it had been born, but once again Jim was encouraged. "It's me, Chief," he repeated, as he stepped out of the shower and began to quickly towel dry the other man. The room felt warm to him, too warm, and the steam from the shower made it hard to feel anything could be completely dry. But to Sandburg, it was all moot. The minute he stepped from the warmth of the water, he began to shiver. Jim worked as quickly as he could, rubbing carefully over the wounds to dry the frail body before him, but the shivering just grew more violent, more convulsive. When tears began to fall, Jim threw the towel aside and wrapped his partner in the blankets Simon had left beside the towels. Being completely dry wasn't worth the misery he was witnessing.

Still dripping himself, he pulled the blanket-wrapped man to his chest, enfolding him in his arms and drew a deep breath, struggling for control. Something primitive, something primal seemed to arise in him, and he buried his head in his Guide's neck, again breathing deeply. "Better," he murmured to himself. "More Sandburg."

Sandburg's shivering stopped, and Jim began to unwrap him, not really conscious of the other man at the moment. He began to make a scent journey around the too-thin man. His hands flowed down with him, his nose pressed against the clean smelling skin. "Too much soap," he muttered. But when he got to the genitals, he smiled. "More Blair." He sniffed his way to Sandburg's feet, not even aware he was kneeling or that Sandburg stood still, calm, beneath this odd scrutiny. The shivering, the protestations of cold, were gone. The Guide stood ready, awaiting his Sentinel. Jim worked his way back up, breathing deeply again at the most "Blair" part of the body, and then his tongue came out to lap at one of the ugly puckered scars on Sandburg's belly. "Wound," he murmured, tongue snaking out to taste again. "Burn." He rose and sniffed his way back to the neck. He liked the neck. Buried there, beneath the hair, behind the ear, it smelled almost as Blair-like as he remembered.

He turned the man and began on his back. There were wounds here. He didn't like this. Scabs, not scars. He sniffed deeply and made a face. This was not good. He ran his face across the Guide's back, breathing deeply before he settled on one particular stripe. It smelled wrong. Even for a still healing wound, it smelled wrong. He focused on it, staring intently and could almost see the problem, when something grabbed him, pulled him away. He whirled, ready to defend the Guide, only to find Simon staring at him.

"I'm trying not to yell here, Jim. I don't want to upset Sandburg."

Jim shook his head, eyes closed, trying to remember what had happened. Blank. He looked up at Simon. "What?"

"You were taking forever, Jim. I stuck my head in the door, and you were -- sniffing -- Sandburg. All over." Simon made a slight face.

Jim rubbed his face, the modern man moving to the forefront, the primal Sentinel still there, but controlled. "It's a ..."

"Sentinel/Guide thing. I figured." Simon looked at him. "What were you doing?"

Jim rubbed his face again, then realized Blair was beginning to shiver. He quickly dressed him in the hospital gown then wrapped the younger man in blankets and walked him toward the bed. "I was checking him for myself, Simon. I needed to know he was okay."

"Is he?"

"One of the wounds on his back is infected."

"You could tell that?"

"I smelled it." Jim shrugged. "I think I could have seen it if you hadn't walked in." He turned Blair, pushing gently until the other man sat on the bed, then bent and lifted his legs, swinging them into the bed. He pulled the sheet and blankets up, tucking his partner in well, and watched as Blair drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

Simon held out a pair of dry underwear.

Jim raised an eyebrow.

"They're mine. From my gym bag. I went down and got them while you were in the shower. They're clean," he added unnecessarily.

"Thanks," Jim replied as he stepped into the bathroom to strip off the wet ones and dry himself. He was back in an instant, and quickly pulled his jeans, T-shirt, and sweater back on. "You, uh, didn't bring me any clean socks by any chance, did you?"

Simon smiled and reached into his pocket, holding out a pair of thick athletic socks. "Ta-da!" he said triumphantly, grinning when Jim laughed. "You feeling better?" he asked when Jim had the socks on his feet.

"Yeah. Sandburg and me -- we communicated."

"He talked?"

"Not really. Not much beyond the 'cold, not cold' thing. But he used the toilet. And when I told him I didn't have any conditioner for his hair, he shrugged." Jim's eyes were filled with unshed tears again as he looked at Simon. "He heard me, he understood, and he basically said it didn't matter." He reached out and touched the man on the bed. "That's progress, right?"

Simon laid a hand on Jim's arm. "Absolutely that's progress." He too studied the man on the bed. "He looks a lot better. Calmer. The shower was a good idea." He looked up, met Jim's eyes. "What now?"

"Did you get that comb?"

Simon nodded.

"Good." He reached over and slipped an arm behind his partner, lifting the sleeping man up. Blair never stirred. "Here, help me hold him up."

Simon stepped around to the other side of the bed so he could get a better grip and then took Blair in his arms. "What're you gonna do, Jim?"

The Sentinel was sliding into the bed now, working his way behind his Guide and once settled, Simon rested the sleeping man in his arms. The smaller man was a warm, solid weight against his chest, and he had to restrain himself from dropping his head to sniff once more at the neck that lay exposed to him. "Hand me that comb, Simon," Jim asked as he wriggled a little to get settled. "I'm gonna get this mess straightened out for him."

Jim started at the bottom of Blair's hair, taking small little sections and working the comb through carefully. When he got to a really snarled or matted place, he worked slowly, with extraordinary gentleness to assure that Blair didn't feel the first pull, or the slightest bit of discomfort. It must have worked because the man in his arms slept on, oblivious to the world. "This is gonna take a while, Simon," Jim said. "You don't have to stay." He stopped his ministrations for a moment, wrapped an arm around Blair and hugged. "I know what he needs now."

"What does he need, Jim?"

"He needs to come home."

Simon knocked softly, then entered. Sandburg was sleeping and it looked as if Jim had been as well. His chair was pulled over close to the bed and one arm still stretched out over his charge's leg. As Simon watched, he rubbed his eyes, yawned and then raised his arms over his head and stretched.

"Sleep well?" Simon asked. "I gotta take him home, Simon," Jim said ruefully as he rose and stretched again, this time working on kinks in his back. "I really need to sleep in a bed."

"So I would imagine," Simon said as he studied his friend. Despite the unorthodox sleeping arrangements, he looked better than he had three days ago. Of course, three days ago, he'd been at the end of a three-month separation from his friend and Guide, and now he'd had three days to reconnect with his partner. And despite Sandburg's obvious -- problems -- Jim had benefited from that reconnection. He held up the bag he carried.

"His clothes?" Jim held out a hand and accepted the bag.

"And yours. I put extra shorts in there."

Jim nodded again.

After the first shower, Sandburg had decided he liked the warm water. Just about every trip to the toilet was followed by a shower. Sandburg would use the toilet, then shuffle over to the shower and wait. Jim hadn't had the heart to say no, except for the one time in the middle of the night. At that point, he'd reintroduced his partner to the joys of washing your hands after using the bathroom. That also involved warm water, and Sandburg had accepted the change without another fit.

Of course, three showers with Sandburg meant Jim was completely out of dry shorts, and had been. His underwear and the pair Simon had brought both hung in the bathroom in a thus far fruitless attempt at letting them dry. Fruitless because, even though he was 'going commando' under his jeans, he kept climbing back into the shorts for the showers with his partner. Drying was going to take a really long time at this rate.

"You get the hair stuff?" Jim asked.

Simon pointed at the bag. "I went to that place you said. Shampoo, conditioner, gel." Simon raised his hand and touched his own hair, slightly embarrassed. "Jesus, Jim, do you know how I felt asking for that stuff? Guys don't ... I mean, men ... Well ..." He gave up and shrugged instead, smiling at the man in the bed.

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, well, he does. You've heard him enough. 'Don't touch the hair, man,'" Jim mimicked and Simon laughed.

"I got some of the rubber band things too, the cloth-covered kind?" Simon made a vague pushing motion on either side of his head. "So you could pull it back for him."

They both looked back at the man in the bed. Blair was awake now, laying silently within his nest and studying them. There was no recognition in his eyes. Jim moved to the bed and touched his face, pushing back the hair he had just been speaking of. "Hey, Chief, howya feeling?"

Sandburg's eyes blinked but that was all.

"You wanna get dressed? Put some real clothes on?"

Another blink.

Jim looked back at Simon. "I'm gonna get him up. He's gonna want to shower." He shook his head ruefully, but couldn't hide the smile. "This is gonna take a while."

Simon nodded. "I've got to get to the station anyway. Take care of Sandburg. You need anything, you call."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim said over his shoulder as the older man left. As soon as the door closed, he focused entirely on his Guide. Letting down the bed rail, he pulled and was pleased to note that Sandburg helped push himself into a sitting position. Jim took a minute to sit on the bed and pull the younger man into a hug. Sandburg squirmed at first, but Jim soothed him with quiet words and then buried his head in the Guide's neck. It was the best place, the best way, to keep the Sentinel reassured that the Guide was back, the Guide was safe, the Guide was getting well. And as odd as it seemed, when Jim was busy 'sniffing,' Sandburg stilled beneath his touch. Blankets or not, warm or cold, in the bathroom or on the bed, the Guide stilled for the Sentinel even though the man was still too damaged to respond.

Jim breathed deeply again, inhaling the heady Blairscent and let his hand wander over skin and bandages briefly before he pulled back. Almost at once, the man on the bed began to shiver. Jim touched him again -- skin warm to the touch, skin naturally ruddy -- there was no reason for his partner to be so cold. He shook his head sadly and wondered if he would ever be able to get the younger man completely warm again.

As if reading his thoughts, Sandburg turned to him and whispered, "Cold..."

Jim shook his head. "Not cold," he reminded his friend. "Let's get you in the bathroom, then when we're done, I'll help you get dressed. Maybe that will help chase the cold away."

He rose and tugged gently until Sandburg followed. The younger man shuffled barefoot to the bathroom and Jim made a note to work on getting slippers for him. Not only was the shuffling hard on the bandage on the burn on his foot, the tile floor had to be cold and if there was one driving force in his world right now, it was keeping Blair Sandburg from ever feeling anything cold again.

He stood next to the younger man as he used the toilet, then watched with a small smile as he moved to the sink for hand washing. Sandburg made no move to turn the water on, however, just standing and waiting as if he had all the time in the world. Jim smiled, moved the taps until the water ran warm, and watched as Sandburg simply held his hands under the running water. He reached out, touched the smaller man's face and brought it around to look at him. For a moment, recognition flared, and he heard his name from familiar lips. "Jim."

He nodded. "I'm here, Chief. I'm here. You're safe. It's okay now. You're with me."

There was the slightest nod and then Sandburg returned his focus to his hands and the water. "Not cold," he whispered, "not cold."

Jim moved behind the other man, enfolding him in his arms. He pressed tightly against him, willing himself to keep the other man warm, and dropped his head to rest lightly against the now soft, now smooth, now sweet-smelling hair. "Not cold," he echoed, "not cold again."

Sandburg leaned back slightly and Jim braced himself to accept the weight, supporting his partner while he played in the water at the sink. When he felt a slight tremble in the body he held, he reached out and turned the water off. "C'mon, Chief. Shower."

Sandburg turned obediently and shuffled to the shower. Jim had vetoed floor sitting after the first time and now a stool sat in the enclosure and Sandburg moved to it and sat. "Gown, Chief," Jim reminded softly. "Take your gown off."

Sandburg looked up at him, confusion in his eyes and his hands fluttered helplessly in the air. Jim waited a moment longer, then leaned over and untied the gown, drawing it off carefully. There were tears in Sandburg's eyes now, and Jim patted him gently. " 's okay, Chief. You're getting there. It's okay." He turned the showerhead down so he could set the temperature before the water hit his partner. Once it was nice and warm, he stripped down as well, rummaged in the bag Simon had brought and pulled out the shampoo and conditioner, then climbed into the shower and turned the nozzle so it sprayed on the man in the chair. There was the softest sigh of contentment as the almost too-warm water began to cascade over the too-thin body. Jim stepped behind his partner catching just a hint of a smile on the drawn face, and smiling to himself in return. The shower had certainly been a good idea.

For a non-talker, Jim had certainly done a one-eighty. He spoke almost non-stop as he touched the younger man, keeping up a running commentary on everything he was doing. "Put your leg out, Chief. Let that bandage get nice and wet so I can get it off without pulling." He moved the appropriate leg as he spoke. "Thaaaat's right. Feel that water soaking in? That's good, eh, Chief? C'mon, lift your foot. Don't make an old man bend down." He bent anyway, lifting the foot and slowly unwrapping the gauze that covered a healing burn on the side of the left foot. "Looking better, Chief. Almost healed." He continued his patter as he pulled off all the bandages, checking each wound as he went. Blair sat unresisting in the chair, his head tilted slightly upward into the water, eyes closed and that hint of a smile still on his face.

When all the bandages were off, he moved to stand behind the seated man, resting his hands on the younger man's shoulders. Blair tilted his head a bit more, turning to the side and looked up at him. His blue eyes were completely clear and he stared right at his partner as he said, "Jim. Not cold."

Jim felt his throat close up. His chest grew tight and his heart raced. He tried to speak but his mouth was dry. All the moisture had apparently traveled to his eyes, which were suddenly shiny with unshed tears. He bobbed his head, swallowed hard, and still couldn't speak. Blair was staring up at him, complete trust and faith shining from his eyes as he waited patiently for his Sentinel to respond. Jim nodded once, then leaned over, wrapping his arms around the younger man and burying his face in his neck. He breathed deeply, his chest suddenly clear, his lungs functional again, and murmured into his partner's ear, "I'm here, Blair. And you're never gonna be cold again."

He could feel the nod -- the full-fledged, 'I heard and understood' nod -- and then felt the first few tears spill over to mingle with the water that flowed over them both. He sniffed again, basking in the Blairscent, and realized that with his tears, there was now Ellison mixed into the scent. Jim nodded. That was as it should be.

He held the younger man a moment longer, then stood and flipped open the bottle of herbal shampoo. "This is your stuff, Chief. Simon went and got it." He held the bottle out for inspection and was pleasantly surprised when Sandburg took it and appeared to study it for a moment before his fingers went lax and the bottle slipped from them, dropping to the floor. Jim grabbed it before all the shampoo spilled out, capped it and placed it in the corner, then lifted Sandburg's head to look at his eyes. They were cloudy and dull again, the tiny spark that had lit them gone, and once again he felt tears prick at his own eyes. "It's okay, Chief," he whispered. "You can come out. It's safe now." There was no answering nod or glint of acknowledgement and Jim bowed his head a moment, feeling the weight of his partner's pain and fear. He leaned down and placed a kiss against the other man's temple, letting his lips linger a moment longer than perhaps they should, then rose and began his commentary again.

"Gonna wash your hair now, Blair. With your shampoo. That's good. It'll smell like you do. I like that. It's familiar. Comfortable. Did I tell you I missed that while you were gone? Who'd have thought, huh? All those times I bitched at you about the mess in the bathroom, hair in the drain, hair crap spread out all over the sink, and then you're gone, and I miss it. Am I a sap, or what?" Strong fingers worked the shampoo into a lather, massaging the scalp and working through the few tangles that had dared to nest in the now well-cared for mane. He spent extra time just rubbing the head beneath his hands, feeling as Blair unconsciously shifted so his hands would go where the younger man wanted. He liked being rubbed behind his ears. "You like that, eh? Feels good? I'm glad. You just sit back and enjoy it." Jim reached out and gently pulled Blair back until the younger man's head rested against his abdomen. "Just lean here, Chief. I've got you." Jim spent several minutes alone on each of those spots and when he peeked around, Blair's eyes were closed in contentment.

He finally finished the wash cycle and began to rinse. Once again, it was a long process as he made sure no soap got into Blair's eyes. "Keep your eyes closed," he said as he placed one hand over them as an added protection. The younger man sat quietly, unmoving now unless Jim shifted him, and waited patiently. When the hair was clear of shampoo, Jim picked up the bottle of conditioner. "Never used this stuff, Sandburg. What do I do?" He wasn't surprised there was no response so he spent a minute reading the directions, then filled his hand with the creamy white lotion and began to work it into Sandburg's long locks. Once again, he spent extra time massaging the other man's scalp, murmuring soothing reassurances all the time. "You're here with me now, Chief. It's gonna be okay. You're safe. Nothing bad is gonna happen. I'm really glad you're back, you know that? Missed you. Not gonna let you go again. Sorry. Just can't. If you gotta go somewhere, I'm gonna have to come. Together. Can't let this happen again. Gonna be all right." He finished working the conditioner into the long hair, and wrapped his arms around his friend again, holding him close. "You're here, Chief. That's all that matters now. We'll work this other stuff out, okay? It's gonna be all right. You're safe and you're here." He kissed the temple again, arms holding the bony body against his chest. " 's all that matters. You're here."

"Not cold, Jim."

Jim gave a strangled half-laugh, half-sob and kissed him again. "And you're not cold. That matters too, Chief." He pulled back reluctantly and began the process of rinsing the hair again. Once more, it took a long time, but finally it was done and Sandburg's hair hung silkily against his back. Jim leaned down and sniffed appreciatively. "Now -- smells like you." He nodded approvingly. "Let's get you shaved and bathed." The shaving didn't take long. Once again, Blair tilted his head as needed, cooperating with the process, even when his eyes were closed and he seemed otherwise unresponsive. Bathing was quick as well, and Jim took the opportunity to check all the wounds as he worked his way over his partner's body. As he had before, he washed the man's genitals last, slightly uncomfortable with the task and half-angry at himself for feeling that way. And as before, he was relieved when his handling of those private areas didn't evoke any sort of response. He did a visual survey, studying the testicles and flaccid penis and was relieved to see there really hadn't been any injury there. He snorted. There'd been more than enough damage in other areas, but he was sure that when Blair was back to himself, he'd be glad he was unmarked here. Jim shifted his gaze to study Blair's face. The younger man was still painfully thin but the pallor that had bleached his skin almost colorless had been replaced by a healthier complexion now. And Sandburg was eating, so he'd eventually fill back out.

"Time to get out, Chief," he said quietly, watching as the closed eyes opened and the flicker of recognition sparked and then died. "Get out? C'mon, buddy." He pulled the other man to his feet and turned off the water, watching in amazement as he began to shiver almost immediately. Jim had learned the trick now -- he skipped the towels completely and went straight for a blanket, wrapping it around Blair and pulling him in close for a hug as he rubbed vigorously with the blanket. The shivering stopped immediately.

"Not cold," Blair whispered.

"Not cold," Jim agreed. "Not while you're with me." He finished the drying process, then grabbed a second blanket and wrapped his partner again. He used a towel to get the worst of the water out of the long hair, then tried unsuccessfully to wrap it around Blair's head in a move he'd seen on TV countless times. It was harder than it appeared and he gave up quickly, leaving the towel draped over the smaller man's head in a parody of a woman's scarf. "Let's get you patched up and dressed, Chief," he offered as he led the other man out into the hospital room.

The patching up took a little time. They'd almost worked out a routine. As long as Jim handled everything, Blair remained calm. Unfortunately, everything really did mean everything. Sandburg would eat, if Jim fed him. Sandburg would use the toilet, if Jim took him. Sandburg would allow his wounds to be checked and cleaned and rebandaged, if Jim did the checking and cleaning and rebandaging. It tended to make the doctors just a little snarky. They got through this last bout of bandaging and the concomitant snarkiness, and then, since Blair was not in immediate physical danger, and Jim was capable of handling him, it was agreed that the best thing was for Jim to take him home.

"Home, Chief. You hear that? We're going home." Jim thought longingly of his bed and the chance to actually lay down and sleep. He couldn't wait. Blair cooperated as he got him dressed for the first time. "Lift your leg." And he did. "Other leg." And he did. Jim pulled the sweat pants up and then bent again to slip socks onto Blair's feet before he could get chilled. The bandage on the left foot was a little bulky and caused a few problems, but Jim got the sock on without causing his friend any discomfort. T-shirt, sweatshirt, flannel shirt. All the standard layers went on without problems. He got Blair settled in the bed again, then sat next to him, the tube of hair gel in his hand. He studied it a minute, wrinkled his nose in confusion and finally set it aside. "It was a nice thought of Simon's, but if you want that stuff, you're gonna have to do it yourself." He shook his head and shifted on the bed, moving slightly behind the other man. "I'll comb it for you though." With the detangling from the conditioner, the comb ran through smoothly and easily and Jim finished the job quickly. He used another towel to dry the hair again, wanting to get all the moisture the combing had brought to the surface, and then combed it one last time. When he was done, he leaned back against the wall, legs hanging off the bed. Blair followed immediately, resting his head against Jim's chest. He turned on his side and snuggled in, one arm coming out to drape across Jim's abdomen. Jim dropped an arm over the other man's shoulder, then pulled the blankets up and tucked him in.

"Let's just rest a bit before Simon gets here to take us home, okay?" he whispered in Blair's ear. There was no answer but the in and out of breaths, the solid rhythm of a steady heart.

And yet, it was enough.

Leaving the hospital, the ride home, coming up to the loft. It had all gone much more smoothly than Jim had anticipated. Sandburg had ridden in the wheelchair without fuss, as long as Jim kept one hand on his shoulder and walked beside him. He'd climbed into Simon's car obediently, but clung to Jim's hand and the Captain of the Major Crimes Division had ended up a true chauffeur, with two passengers in the back. And when they reached the loft, not even the biting cold wind of mid-winter in Cascade had done more than cause Blair to close his eyes and wrinkle his nose as he moved into the building, Jim's arm wrapped around him and holding him tight to his side.

Entering the loft, the young man had paused, eyes staring around with interest. Jim watched for a flicker of recognition, but while there was curiosity, nothing seemed familiar to his partner. "Home, Blair," he said softly as he drew the tired young man all the way into the room. "You're home now."

Jim led him to the center of the room, then released him.

"You want me to stay a while, Jim?" Simon asked from the doorway where he held the single bag containing Blair's and Jim's things.

"Thanks, Simon, but no." Jim glanced back at Blair still standing motionless next to the coffee table. "I think we need to get a routine, see if anything seems familiar to Sandburg."

"I'm keeping a guard outside," Simon said gruffly.

Jim looked up, surprised. "That's not necessary. I can, you know, check things."

"You need to sleep, too," the older man replied. "Guard outside. For a while." He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "We still don't have a clue who did this or why."

Jim moved to stand in front of the other man, one hand reaching out to take the bag. "If you'd let me look at ..."

"No," Simon said sharply, then glanced up guiltily as Sandburg jumped and then began to shiver. He shook his head again and there was real sorrow in his face as he said, "No, Jim. Just trust me on this one, okay?" He jerked his head toward Sandburg. "Go take care of your partner. Let us be the detectives this time."

"I want to do something, Simon," Jim said in frustration.

Simon laid a hand on Jim's shoulder. "You are, my friend. You're keeping him warm." He pushed gently and Jim began to move toward the skinny form in baggy clothes who was now adding tiny little moans to the increasing shivering. "Just keep him warm."

Jim nodded, his attention already focused on Blair, and Simon slipped out, locking the door behind him. Jim looked at Blair. His mouth moved but there was no sound, no words. His heart was racing, his breathing shallow. His shivering was rapidly moving into uncontrollable. Jim grabbed an afghan from the back of the couch and wrapped it around the younger man. "It's okay, Chief. You're home now. No more cold." The shivering slowed, but did not stop. "C'mon, buddy, let's get you settled." He gently seated Blair on the couch, lifting his legs and curling them under him when the other man made no move. Jim darted into the downstairs bedroom -- Sandburg's room -- and brought out several brightly colored hand-made throws the anthropologist had picked up on his many travels. He swept the comforter and blankets from the bed as well and carried them all out to the living room.

Jim added two more wraps to the afghan, set the rest of the bedding on the floor and then sat beside Blair. The other man's violent shivers had calmed to slight tremors and he swept his partner into his arms, holding him close as he murmured, "You're not cold, Blair. You're not. It's okay now. It's over. You're here with me, Chief. Home. Home with Jim. It's all right now. You're home with Jim."

Sandburg curled against him, his head a solid, comforting weight against Jim's chest. The trembling slowed and then ceased and finally his heart had slowed to a normal rate. His breathing deepened and slowed and his eyes closed. Jim held him there, wrapped in blankets, safe in his arms, and thought that he was asleep. The older man was leaning his head back, resting against the couch, intent on a little nap of his own, when Blair spoke.

"Jim," he whispered.

"Yeah, Chief, it's me. I'm here."

"Not cold," Blair mumbled into Jim's shirt.

"No. Not cold." Jim tilted his head down and sniffed the comforting Blairscent in the crook of the neck so trustingly revealed to him. "Home," he whispered back into the ear beneath his lips. "You're home now."

There was the slightest nod against his chest and then Blair fell asleep, and Jim followed him. When he awoke several hours later, his back hurt, his neck ached, and he was kicking himself for not taking his partner upstairs to the big bed. They could have taken a nap up there just as easily and much more comfortably than they did on the couch.

He shifted slightly, trying to ease the kinks in his back and Sandburg woke immediately. "'s okay," he said quietly to the waking man. "You're home. See?" He lifted his arm from around his friend and gestured at the loft. "Home."

Sandburg shifted uncomfortably and stared up at Jim with clear eyes, but did not speak.

"What?" Jim was out of his league. He looked at the other man. Blair's eyes were focused, tracking him, trying to tell him something, but no words followed the look. "You gotta talk to me here, Blair," Jim said in frustration. "I don't know what you want."

Sandburg shifted again and then, very softly, said, "Cold."

Jim reached out, touched the younger man's brow. He felt warm. He studied the other man. Color in his cheeks, no shivering or trembling. Just the awkward shifting from side to side that was increasing.

"Cold," Blair said again, a quiet but more forceful complaint.

Jim shook his head. "I don't know what you want, Chief." He reached out and touched the other man again. "You're not cold. You're home now. Safe." Jim leaned down and grabbed one of the blankets off the floor. "You want this?" He wrapped the blanket around the younger man and watched as Blair's eyes filled with tears. Jim reached out and captured his Guide's face in both hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears. "It's all right, Chief. It's over. You're home." He tried to soothe the younger man back to sleep, but the eyes were crystal clear, staring at him, beseeching him to -- something. He shook his head in frustration. "I don't know what you want, Chief. You gotta help me here." Sandburg stared at him a moment longer, then seemed to close his eyes in acceptance. Jim watched. The younger man wasn't asleep, but he seemed to have retreated back into himself, no longer accessible to the outside world. "Chief?" Jim called softly. "How about something to eat?" No response. "Or a drink?" No response. "Well, how about you rest here a while, and I'll fix us something?" Still no response. Jim sighed softly and extricated himself from his partner's grasp, settling the younger man back in the corner of the couch and adding yet another throw to the growing cocoon of covers that swaddled his partner. "You just sit here, Chief. I'll be right back."

Jim had expected that to at least rate startled eyes opening to stare at him, but there was no reaction. He rose and moved swiftly to the bathroom. Business first, then a meal. He was washing his hands when it hit him. Sandburg needed to go to the bathroom. He hadn't been since before their shower that morning. It was late afternoon now. He smacked himself on the head, muttering, "Stupid, stupid, stupid," and flew out to the couch.

"Blair, buddy, c'mon," he said as he began to peel the layers off the other man. "Bathroom, okay? Let's get you to the bathroom." He finally reached his partner and pulled him to his feet, startled as his eyes opened and he stared at Jim. His face, his eyes, his whole expression said 'Thank you' as clearly as if the words had been spoken. For a minute, Jim wondered if they had, but then he just said, "Sorry it took me so long. I forgot." He led the other man to the bathroom, one arm wrapped around his waist. "And you're welcome," he added as he stood Blair by the toilet and then stepped back. Sandburg didn't move for a minute, then he fumbled at the waistband of his sweats. His movements were jerky, slow, and uncoordinated and Jim found himself mourning the loss of the those hyper-active hands as they illustrated some far-fetched tale flowing from the non-stop mouth. It took a minute, but eventually Sandburg finished and Jim checked him to make sure he hadn't missed and gotten his clothes wet. The operation confirmed to be a success, he turned on the water in the sink and watched as Sandburg smiled and moved to extend his hands and luxuriate in the warm water flowing over them.

He looked up at Jim, recognition in his eyes and a smile on his lips -- a real, honest, true smile. "Not cold," he said and Jim could hear the happiness in his voice.

It was frustrating. Jim looked over at his partner who stared unseeingly across the room. He broke off another piece of bread and held it out. "C'mon, Sandburg," he said softly, "take another bite." The lips remained closed until Jim nudged them with the bread, then the mouth opened, he popped in the food, and Sandburg closed his eyes and began to chew. With his eyes closed and the expression of sheer enjoyment on his face, it was almost possible to think there was nothing wrong. But then, his partner swallowed and opened dead eyes and Jim wondered once again what it was going to take to really bring his friend home.

Food was good. Sandburg really got into eating. He'd made lasagna after the bathroom thing. He'd led Sandburg back to the couch, settled him once more in a nest of blankets, afghans and throws, made a mental note to take him to the bathroom every couple of hours, and then he'd come to the kitchen and made lasagna. He'd bought the meat and ricotta the day Sandburg was due to come home, never expecting that he'd be at the hospital for four days. But it was still good, and he needed something to do while he tried to figure things out.

The assessment at the hospital was brain damage. Specialists suspected the repeated freezing had caused brain damage of some kind. But it wasn't totally hopeless. Blair's aphasia seemed to be at least partially psychological -- a defense mechanism against what had happened to him. Perhaps there had been some slight damage that made it difficult for him to find the right words, and he had then just decided it was too much work to keep trying. He just didn't have the energy to deal with the torture and maintain that incredible vocabulary. And now that he was home, he should be able to rest and recover and when he felt safe again, he would begin to speak. Jim sighed. That had to be it. He couldn't bear to think of that brilliant mind trapped without words for a lifetime.

He was pulled from his thoughts when his partner gave a little mew of complaint. It was the closest to a request Jim had gotten and it made him smile. "All right, already," he grumbled with a laugh, "it's coming." He picked up a bite of the lasagna and held it up to Blair's lips where it promptly disappeared. Sandburg had pretty much stripped the world down to two states of being - cold was pain, discomfort, a need of some kind. Not cold was safety, security, contentment, and of course, being warm. He forked up another bite of lasagna and held it up, then offered the bread again. It was repetitive, and a little messy as he hadn't mastered the fine art of feeding his partner completely, but they got through it. Jim cleared the dishes while Blair sat unmoving and then he led the younger man back to the couch, turning the TV on low to an episode of Archaeology. He laughed at himself then and gently tousled his partner's hair as he perched on the arm of the sofa. Sandburg had been in his life for so long, he now recognized John Rhys-Davies as the host of Archaeology, and not just Indiana Jones' buddy. Sandburg leaned into his touch, so he spent a minute rubbing his head, running his fingers through the long hair and pushing it back out of the other man's face. When the younger man began to lean against him, eyes drifting shut, he stood and shifted him on the couch, helping him curl onto his side and wrapping him in blankets. Without realizing what he was doing, he leaned down and kissed the cheek that lay exposed to him. "Rest now," he whispered. "You're safe."

He sat in the chair across from the sofa and allowed himself the indulgence of just watching his Guide sleep. One would think that with all the time he'd spent doing just this thing in the hospital, the novelty would have faded. The reality was that, after three months of separation and the agony of thinking Blair was missing -- gone! -- it had been such a shock andd surprise to find him only to discover he had been so horribly mistreated. Something inside this good and generous man had broken. Watching him was a luxury he didn't think he would ever tire of, just as being with him was a privilege he would never take for granted again. Blair moved a little, sliding more deeply under the blankets and his lips moved soundlessly. Even with Sentinel sight and hearing, Jim couldn't make out what the other man was saying. If indeed he was saying anything at all.

He let himself sit and watch the sleeping man and was astonished when his own eyes opened again and he found almost an hour had passed. He ran a silent scan over his partner -- sleeping soundly, breathing normally, heartbeat steady, and most importantly, comfortably snug and warm -- and then hefted himself from the chair and padded into the kitchen. He quickly wrapped the remaining lasagna and stored it in the refrigerator then turned to the sink. Dishes stacked to one side, plates on the bottom, silverware on top, glasses next to the sink. He turned on the tap, adjusted the water and began to rinse everything prior to loading the dishwasher.

Almost immediately there was movement from the couch. Jim turned to watch. Sandburg sat up, looking warily around the room but with none of the fear responses he'd evidenced before. He rose a little unsteadily, blinked twice, his head turning from side to side as he took in the room. When his eyes lit on Jim, he froze, swallowed hard, and his mouth moved silently. "Jim," he said without saying, and Jim answered, "Right here, Chief. I'm right here."

Sandburg took a few steps forward, stopped again, then began moving toward him. His footsteps were muffled by heavy socks and he walked awkwardly as if he were favoring the injured left foot, but trying not to. Once in the kitchen area, he stopped again, looking around in confusion. Jim could see the eyes clear in recognition and then see the light fade as some internal struggle was waged somewhere deep inside his friend, far beyond his reach. " 's okay, buddy," he said softly. "Everything's okay here." Jim was torn between moving to his partner, trying to convince him that he was safe, and holding his place, just to see what Sandburg would do next. He'd already demonstrated more independent action in the last 2 minutes than he had in the last four days. He compromised, asking, "You want something, Blair?" in a soft and quiet tone. This earned him a clear look of recognition that once again faded quickly, but then Sandburg moved forward to the running water, holding out his hands beneath its flow and sighed. He stood unmoving, staring at the floor as the water sluiced over his hands, between his fingers, splashing up to dampen the cuffs of his flannel shirt. "Not cold," he whispered Sentinel-soft, and once again Jim smiled.

He moved to stand behind his partner, wrapping his arms around the younger man and taking the smaller hands in his own. Holding them carefully beneath the flowing water, he said, "No, Blair. It's not cold anymore."

They played in the water for a while, Sandburg resting his weight against Jim, apparently confident that the larger man would support him, would take the weight and never falter, and then Jim reluctantly pushed Blair forward, waiting patiently until the other man stood steady on this feet. He rinsed the glasses, working his way to the water between Blair's hands, taking the hand-me-down drops that slipped off his partner's wrinkling-wet skin. The forks and knives were next, easier to slip into the water without depriving his friend of its comforting warmth. He had to work at the plates -- the hour he'd napped had allowed melted cheese and tomato sauce to harden and they didn't rinse quickly. As he was picking at a particularly stubborn spot, another hand slipped onto his, another finger traced the plate, and another arm moved back and forth against his own. Sandburg was helping.

He swallowed hard, murmured, "Thanks, Chief," and kept picking. When the plate was completely free of any possible spot of remaining food, probably cleaner than the dishwasher could ever get it, he pulled it from their shared grasp and added it to the bottom rack. "That's about got it now," he said softly. Water off, soap in dishwasher, close the door, turn it on. Sandburg still stood by the sink, his hands held out to water that no longer ran. Jim took a towel and dried Blair's hands, then led him back to couch. He settled him once more, wrapping him carefully in the layers of blankets and afghans and throws that cocooned him and kept him warm and feeling safe, then sat on the floor beneath him. Reaching up, he took the remote and scanned through the channels, searching for something else that might capture his anthropologist's interest. A History Channel program on the Great Wall of China caught his eye, and he put the remote down, then turned to look at his friend. Sandburg lay on his side, staring at the TV, not really totally there, but not with the vacant, dull look he carried so often now. Jim smiled. Things were getting better. He turned his attention to the show. "Thanks for helping with the clean up, Chief. I appreciate that."

A soft hand touched his head and he had to refrain from pulling away or turning to look. Slowly, and without a sound, Sandburg began to rub his head and this time, it was Jim who leaned into the touch.

It was comforting, the touch on his head, the fingers in his hair. He'd missed the touch of his Guide. Somewhere deep inside, a wound he wasn't even really aware of seemed soothed by the balm of this touch. Jim drew his legs up and dropped his head, burying his face against his knees and ignoring the damp spots that appeared beneath his eyes. Sandburg's hand slid down from his head to the base of his neck and two fingers stroked him there. He closed his eyes and shuddered, the thought of never knowing this, never having this connection with this man crashing against his consciousness like waves against the rocks in the midst of a violent storm. He felt battered and beaten and more than a little scared. Sandburg's touch, so trusting, so sure of his acceptance, placing so much faith in him -- what if he couldn't live up to it? What if he wasn't enough to really bring his partner back from the black hole of hell? What would he do then?

He lifted his head, straightened his shoulders, and turned to look at the man on the couch. Sandburg's hand still rested on his neck, no longer moving, and his eyes were fastened on the flickering screen of the TV. "Hey, Chief," Jim murmured, as he turned to face the other man, suddenly bereft at the loss of his touch, "let's get you covered up, okay?" He took the exposed hand, held it for a long moment before gently kissing the palm, then carefully slipped it beneath the covers, and tucked his partner in. "I'm gonna start a fire for you."

He pulled himself up and stacked wood in the fireplace, threw in a firestarter and lit it. Soon there was a roaring fire and it had every bit of Sandburg's attention. Completely ignoring the TV, Blair stared at the fire, watching Jim's every move as he poked at the wood and shifted the stack to allow the chimney to draw better. Satisfied at last, he came and sat on Blair's couch, settling into the opposite corner. He glanced up at the TV, resting an arm across the other man's legs, and commented, "I had no idea there were people buried in the Great Wall." He looked over at this partner. "Bet you knew, didn't you, Einstein?" He rubbed Blair's legs gently through the blanket. "Why don't you come on back and tell me all about it?"

There was no answer, but he hadn't really expected one, so he settled in to watch the last half of the program. Sandburg, however, seemed lost in watching the fire. When the final credits rolled, Jim rose and stretched. He was hot now -- too hot. Keeping the thermostat set higher than usual and then adding a fire on top had created just a little more heat than his Sentinel sense of touch could handle. He needed to cool off for a bit. He looked at the balcony longingly, then looked at his partner. "Don't get too involved in the next show, Chief," he said as he headed for the fire again. "We're going to bed."

He lifted the poker and stirred the fire, letting the logs break and settle onto the concrete flooring. Once he was sure the fire was banked for the night, he hung the poker on the rack and replaced the screen. He walked back to the couch, laid a hand on Sandburg's head, saying, "I'm going onto the balcony for a bit, Sandburg. You stay here. I'll be right back." There was no response, no reaction. It was as if the other man had not heard him speak. Jim shook his head. If this on again, off again interaction was frustrating for him, how much more so it must be for Blair, trapped in his own mind and unable to make his way out?

He stepped out on the balcony, the cold air welcome to his overheated senses. He paused only a moment before closing the door. He didn't want Blair to think he was alone, but he also didn't want to let the cold air seep in and make its way to his partner. There'd been progress tonight and Jim wasn't taking chances.

He could see Cascade from the balcony. Stretching out his vision, he looked west over the ocean and watched two ships pass in the night far away in the shipping lanes. Two ships in the night. It was a well-used euphemism for so many of the relationships in his life. He turned and looked back into the loft. Sandburg still lay unmoving on the couch. His relationship with Sandburg -- the Sentinel with the Guide -- was the most stable relationship he'd ever had. Even his marriage had been haunted by a sense of transience, while there had been something permanent about Sandburg from the moment he'd set foot in the loft.

Jim drew back his sight and watched the lights of the city as a normal man. It was pretty. White lights shone in the clear, crisp air, their reflections twinkling in the snow. It was quiet in the building, quiet on the streets and he began to stretch outward, listening. The Sentinel of the Great City protecting his people. He could hear people talking, cars, doors opening and shutting, phones ringing, televisions -- a great cacophony of sounds, but somehow oddly comforting by the very normalcy of it all. He listened a bit longer, then began to slowly draw back, filtering it all until there was only one thing, one sound that echoed in his ears.

One heart.

Sandburg's heart.

The only sound that really mattered.

He piggy-backed smell onto sound and sought out his Guide's unique scent. This threatened to overload him as he breathed in deeply and was suddenly engulfed in the familiar, comforting scent of Blair. Hands reached out to grip the balcony railing and he reached out mentally, slamming the dials down before he could zone. It still left him reeling. He swayed where he stood, clinging to the rail for stability, then turned and hurried back into the loft. Drawn by the powerful compulsion, he almost stumbled to the couch, scooped up the now-sleeping man, and buried his face in his neck. "Blair," he whispered, almost desperate to make contact. "Blair, come back. I miss you. I need you." He breathed deeply, drowning in Blairscent, being swallowed by Blairskin as his hands ran over the lax body in his arms. His emotions were raging -- he felt out of control -- and it was only by the thinnest of threads that he managed to pull away from his Guide, pull back from the overload, and struggle to his feet. He stumbled into the kitchen and turned on the tap, splashing cold water on his face, then standing erect, muscles trembling as the modern man fought for control with his primitive Sentinel.

He heard a sound behind him and turned. The sound of the water was drawing Sandburg's attention. Jim quickly turned it off. Just the sight of those confused eyes looking warily around the loft was enough to pull Jim firmly back into control of himself -- senses and emotions.

"Time for bed, Sandburg," he said softly, not wanting to startle the skittish man. He checked his dials -- scent, touch, hearing -- all turned firmly down. He stepped forward and placed an arm around the other man's waist, pulling him close and leading him to the bathroom. He waited patiently while Sandburg once again fumbled through toileting, then played in the water. He helped him back to his bedroom, scooping up blankets and comforter as he passed the couch, then waiting again as Sandburg studied the bed as if it was a foreign object. "Bed, Sandburg. Time for bed." The younger man looked at him, eyes clear for a moment as if he wanted to say something, and then his eyes darted about the room as if searching out hidden enemies. "It's safe here, partner," Jim said, gently pushing the man forward, seating him on the bed. He lifted Blair's legs, pulled up the sheets and then proceeded to swaddle him in covers. Once he was sure that the younger man was completely covered and well tucked in, Jim sat on the bed and began to rub his back. Sandburg moved beneath his hand, rolling onto his back and staring up with clear and lucid eyes.

"Jim."

It was one word, but it was enough.

"Jim," the older man repeated back, "I'm Jim and you're home." He looked into the other man's eyes, waiting for the dull and vacant look to return, but they stayed clear, watching him patiently but without any weight of expectation in the gaze. Jim's hand made lazy circles on the smaller man's stomach as he met Blair's eyes steadily, trying to will it into the other man that he was home, he was safe, they were together. Finally, he said, "Close your eyes, Chief. Time to go to sleep." And the eyes closed obediently. "I'm just going to sit here until you fall asleep. Then I'll be right upstairs. If you need me, I'm here."

It didn't take long for Blair's breathing to settle into the steady rhythm of sleep, but Jim sat a few minutes longer, once again allowing himself to drink in the presence of his Guide. He ran his hand lightly over the long hair, brushing strands back from his face. He let his hand linger on the raspy jawline, rough with evening beard, and settled two fingers against the pulse point on the neck, counting each beat, synchronizing his own breathing to the steady pulse beneath his touch. And then he leaned over and brushed his lips against the forehead, breathing in the scent of soap and shampoo and Blair, tasting salt and sweat and Blair, and forcing himself to pull back abruptly as he once again threatened to get lost in the presence of his Guide.

He rose on once more shaky legs and climbed slowly to his room.

He awoke in the dark, confused at first as to what woke him. He scanned the loft. Blair was awake and moving around in the living room. That wasn't so unusual. Sandburg often worked in the middle of the night, fingers tapping on his laptop or pen scratching across papers he was grading. Jim turned on the bed, and looked down into the living room. The comfort of waking to normal Blairsounds faded quickly as he caught sight of his Guide standing by the fire, the metal poker heated to red hot and held out in horror as Sandburg began to cry.

The memory of the last few days crashed in around Jim, erasing the comfort of first-waking, and he leapt from the bed, almost falling down the stairs in his race to reach Blair. He pulled himself up hard when the younger man turned around, the hot poker still in his hand. Tears ran down his face and he looked at Jim in desperation. "I choose," he whimpered, hand extending toward the red hot metal as if he would grasp it.

"NO!" Jim roared, jumping the last few feet to reach his partner, and quickly wrestling the poker from his terrified friend. He threw the metal onto the hearth and gathered Blair into his arms. "Shhhhhh," he soothed. "No more choices. No more choices."

Blair sobbed relentlessly, chanting, "I choose, I choose," shivering violently beneath Jim's touch.

"No more, no more," Jim whispered, "never again."

"Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold ..." The words were wrung from Blair's lips, pouring forth as if they would never end.

"Not cold," Jim challenged him, dragging the man away from the fireplace and back toward the couch where he could reach the blankets and begin to wrap his partner in as many layers of warmth as it took to make him feel safe. "Not cold." He had one blanket over his shoulders and was working on the second when he smelled it.

Urine.

Blair's bladder had released.

"Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold ..."

Blair was shaking so hard now, he couldn't stand on his own and he leaned heavily into Jim, then began to slide downward, settling on the now wet floor. Jim followed him down, refusing to let go, refusing to let Blair be alone for one second longer. "Not cold," he whispered fiercely. "You will not be cold with me." He pulled the man close, oblivious to the wet, the smell, the discomfort and chanted, "You're home, Blair, home. You're with me, Blair, Jim. You're safe, Blair, safe. It's all over now. It's all right. Nothing can hurt you here."

Slowly, very slowly, the tears stopped and the shivering lessened. Blair's cry of "cold, cold, cold," quieted until he could barely make out the word. And then, the word changed. From a whispered "cold," to a murmured "Jim."

"Jim. Home. Jim. Home."

"Yeah, Chief, you're home. You're with Jim. I've gotcha. It's all right now. Home, Blair, home. You're home safe. With me. With Jim. It's all over and I've gotcha." He held the shivering man to his chest, stroking his back, his arms, his hair. Burying his own face in Blair's neck, murmuring reassurances directly into his ear and comforting himself with deep breaths of Blairessence.

Even the odor of urine couldn't distract him from the scent of his Guide as the man stilled beneath his ministrations, and calmed at his touch. But it was getting uncomfortable.

"Home, Blair," Jim repeated over and over again. "Safe. Jim. Home. Not cold." All the right words, spoken over and over again as if sheer repetition could make Blair finally believe and be at peace.

When the man in his arms stilled completely, Jim dared to move. He stood, dragging the limp form he held up with him, and then waiting patiently as Blair looked around with unfocused eyes but finally stood on his own feet. "Bathroom, Chief," Jim said quietly. "Shower. Let's go get cleaned up." He snagged two more blankets from the pile on the couch and gently pulled his nearly somnambulant partner toward the bathroom.

Once inside, he started the shower, letting the bathroom fill with steamy heat before he began to undress the many layers of Blair. Two flannel shirts, a T-shirt, sweatpants, two pairs of socks and the boxers all came off, leaving his partner looking very thin, very small, and very uncomfortable as he sat on a towel on the closed toilet seat. Jim stripped quickly as well, not even leaving his boxers on as was his wont: everything he had been wearing now reeked of urine. He pulled Blair to his feet and said, "Shower, Chief," and was rewarded when his partner moved forward and stepped beneath the warm water. He followed quickly, wishing he'd thought to put a chair in the bathroom, but resigning himself to sitting on the floor until the hot water began to run out.

Blair stood passively for several minutes. Jim used this time to move everything he would need from the shelves to the floor; soap, shampoo, conditioner, and the cup he had thought to put in the shower to help with rinsing all of Blair's long hair. He touched the razor and then decided to wait until morning to shave his partner again. Just as he placed the washcloth on the floor, Blair stepped back, leaning against Jim. That lasted a few more minutes and then his legs seem to begin to give, and Jim lowered him to the floor, sliding down behind him and settling him back against his chest.

"It's okay, Chief," Jim murmured. "You're safe now. Just rest and let me get you cleaned up." He began to wash Blair's hair again, rubbing gently and spending extra time massaging the scalp.

"Feels good," a sleepy voice said softly.

Jim froze.

"Sandburg?"

"Yeah?"

"You all right?"

"Tired, Jim. And my head hurts."

"Your head?" Jim reached up and touched the bandage gently.

"Inside, not out."

"You're talking."

"I'm warm."

"But you're talking."

Sandburg leaned back, resting his head against Jim's chest. "I'm really warm," he said contentedly.

"You know where you are?"

"Home. Safe. With you, Jim." The words drawled out slowly, comfortably, and with total assurance.

"You remember what happened?" Jim bit his tongue as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Blair was talking and the first thing he does is ask him to talk about what happened. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Never mind."

Blair shook his head. "'s okay, Jim. I remember. But I don't want to talk about it now. I just want to sit here and be warm and let you finish washing my hair." He turned around and looked up at his friend. "Can I do that?"

Jim swallowed hard, ridiculously pleased that the water from the shower masked the tears falling down his face. "You can do anything you want, Chief," he murmured huskily. "Whatever you want."

"Good." Blair turned back around and let his head rest against Jim's chin again. "Wanna stay warm. Wanna stay here. With you."

Jim wrapped his arms around him partner, his friend, his Guide, leaned in close and spoke softly into his ear, "I'm so glad you're back, Chief." He squeezed the younger man tightly, drawing him close. "God," he shuddered, "I missed you. And I was so afraid."

Blair nodded, his arms coming up to cover Jim's. "I missed you, too, Jim. I called for you over and over but you didn't come."

His mouth dried up and words strangled in his throat. "I didn't know, Blair, I didn't know ..." he finally choked out.

Blair nodded again, and patted his arm. "That's what I figured. If you'd have known, you'd have come."

Jim sobbed, a single cry ripped from his bowels and swallowed harshly back. He would not do this. He was not the injured one here -- he would not let his emotions, his feelings pull from what Blair needed. And Blair needed him strong, needed him in control. Blair needed him to fix things. He leaned forward and buried his head against Blair's neck, smothering the sobs there, mixing the tears with the water that flowed over the other man's skin. "You're okay now, Blair," he whispered when his voice would function again. "You're home. It's over and you're home. Safe. With me."

"Hair, Jim," Blair prompted, and Jim set to work.

He finished Blair's hair, shampoo and conditioner, then washed the man and himself and then sat in contented silence, flesh to flesh, skin to skin, Sentinel to Guide. He let himself breath in Blairscent and touch Blairskin and listen to Blairsounds and feast on the sight of Blair. He even permitted himself to reach out and lap at the water the pooled in the hollow of the younger man's neck, tasting of the Blairskin that cradled the drops. Blair didn't speak again, and when the water began to turn, Jim realized he had fallen asleep.

He spoke softly into the ear that rested beneath his chin. "Hey, Chief. Time to get out." The relaxed body stirred in his arms. "Gotta get out, Water Baby. Time to dry off." Blair nodded agreeably and when Jim stood, allowed the older man to pull him to his feet. Jim wrapped him in a blanket and began to dry him, using the same trick he'd learned at the hospital.

"Not cold," came a whispered voice, Blair's, but different from the voice in the shower. Jim looked down to see the younger man staring ahead with dull and vacant eyes.

Jim stopped and closed his eyes. Like a statue, he stood unmoving for long minutes, waiting, praying that when he opened his eyes again, his Blair, his Sandburg, his Chief would be looking back at him. But when he looked, there was no one there. His breath hitched and he fought back another sob. He could look at this two ways. This could be a set-back or -- the conversation in the shower could be a sign of hope that things would eventually be fine. Blair would heal and things would be normal again.

He decided to hold on to the hope.

His hands began to move again, rubbing and drying and then, because his heart was breaking and he needed something to connect him to this incredible man who still lay trapped in his own mind, he let the Sentinel out. He unwrapped his Guide and began to journey over him. Eyes examining him, ears listening to his breaths and heartbeats, hands caressing soft skin covering hard bone. He dipped forward, breathing deeply and began to sniff. Slowly, carefully, with none of the primal urgency his prior experience with this had, he began to travel down the planes of Sandburg's body. He sniffed neck and arms and abdomen, allowing his tongue to slip out and add taste to the whole sensual experience. He paused at the genitals, then buried his face there and breathed deeply, repeatedly, and once again allowed himself the smallest of tastes. Legs and feet and toes. Sound, and sight, and scent. He was lost in a world of heightened awareness, heightened enjoyment -- lost in a world of Sentinel and Guide.

Beneath his touch, his Guide stood silent. Waiting, accepting, patient.

Jim moved around to Blair's back and worked his way up again -- slowly, carefully, caressing the skin, reveling in the touch. Drawing Blair in with each breath as if he were the air, and of course, he was. He moved upward, firm, round butt, the dip in the small of his back. That dip had a unique scent, a softer feel and Jim lingered there, touching, tasting, breathing, before moving up over the newest scars on the back and finally diving in beneath the wet hair to nibble kisses across the base of the neck. He was floating in Blair, drowning in Blair, willing to die in Blair.

Sandburg shivered then, a slight tremor that nonetheless drew Jim back to himself. He pulled back, wrapped the man in the blanket and covered his head in a towel. Wrapping another towel around his waist, he padded out holding Blair's hand and led the way to the stairs. At the foot, Blair stopped and Jim looked into his eyes. They were the eyes of his friend. "Upstairs," Jim said softly. "I want you to sleep with me."

Blair nodded once and murmured, "Not cold," then followed Jim up the stairs and settled quietly into the bed, falling asleep almost at once.

"Gonna be hell doing you hair tomorrow, Chief," Jim whispered as he did his best to towel dry the heavy curls. He let his hand rest on the stubbly cheek. "You rest, Blair. It's all gonna work out."

He put on his boxers and then slipped downstairs, making sure the fire was banked and dying, replacing the poker, cleaning up the floor, checking the doors. He grabbed clothes from Blair's room, knowing the younger man would need to dress when he woke in the morning and might be disconcerted to find himself naked in Jim's bed if it was indeed Blair who awoke.

He climbed the stairs again, then slipped into the bed and rolled onto his side. He indulged in Blairwatching a bit longer, then glanced at the clock. Late, and a comfortable lassitude was stealing over him, his limbs relaxed and the horrible knot that had stayed in his stomach for four days had faded almost beyond acknowledgement once he'd gotten his Guide home. Oh, it still flared when he let himself think of what Sandburg had gone through or when he struggled to understand the other man's needs, but just having his partner here with him seemed to make all the wrong things in his life go right. He turned his head and gazed out the window, watching the lights of the city and staring at Blair's reflection in the glass at the same time.

He was a sap.

Sandburg was facing such an uphill battle to return from wherever his brilliant mind had taken refuge, and there was no one to really help him except one stubborn, middle-aged cop -- not necessarily the most likely choice of companion for the journey ahead, but certainly the most appropriate. For this was a journey to be undertaken by the Guide, and the Sentinel protected the Guide. And yet it was a journey to be taken by a man as well -- Blair Sandburg, the man. It was a journey that would require support, and patience, and comfort, and -- love.

And for that there was no better companion than Jim Ellison -- the man who loved Blair Sandburg.