Category: Crossover

Rating: PG-13

Series/Sequel: Not yet

Warnings: Spoilers for Sentinel Too. Blair angst, Jim owies, some smarm.

Notes: Timeframe is several weeks after Sentinel Too, part 2, and several months before the events in U.S. Marshals (if you've seen it, you know why). Anyone else you don't recognize belongs to me.

Disclaimer: Jim, Blair and Co. belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. Gerard and the Marshals belong to Warner Bros. I make no money, so please don't sue me

~*~*~*~

The June afternoon was warmer than most, prompting Blair Sandburg to drive down the freeway with his window open, his long curls blowing in the wind. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, excited to be nearly home. *Jim is gonna be so proud,* he thought. *An entire weekend away and no problems.*

Blair would admit to being trouble prone, often attracting unwanted attention from all directions and relying on his Sentinel to bail him out. Detective James Ellison had rescued Blair from various scrapes more times than the young anthropologist liked to remember. Involuntarily, Blair's memory turned to the last time. Alex Barnes...the fountain...Blair shuddered and pushed it out of his head. No use opening old wounds. Alex was out of his and Jim's lives, the nerve gas had been recovered. That's all that mattered.

POP!

The sound startled Blair, but not as much as the sudden swerve his car made. He gripped the wheel and pumped the brakes, letting the car slow down and right itself. The Volvo made its way to the shoulder and ground to a halt. Blair pounded the wheel in frustration. He was already late. A flat tire was just perfect.

*Dammit. If we miss the Jags game tonight, Jim is really going to be pissed.* Blair pulled his cell phone from his backpack. *Double damn. Battery is dead.*

Several minutes later, Blair was pulling off his ruined tire when a blue Corsica pulled up behind him. He sighed with relief and stood up, glad for the assistance. The driver's door opened and a man stepped out. Blair guessed him to be in his forties, muscular with blonde hair. And he looked familiar, very familiar.

The stranger approached and stuck out his hand. "Name's Bobby. Need some help?"

Blair grinned and shook the offered hand. The smile froze on his lips when he looked into the man's eyes. They were icy gray, world-weary and cold. The coldness seemed to spread outwards from the depths of the man's soul. The Guide held back a shudder and released the man's hand. Realizing his blunder and not wanting to arouse suspicion from the stranger, Blair said, "Blair Sandburg. Any good at changing flats?"

Bobby smiled, but it never quite reached those eyes. In less than a minute, the tire was changed and the Volvo was ready to go.

"I really appreciate the help," Blair thanked the man, eager to get on his way.

"It was no trouble."

Blair watched Bobby turn and walk to the Corsica. He sighed and got into the Volvo, quickly strapping on his seat belt. The instant he started the engine, the passenger door opened and Bobby plopped himself into the seat next to a shocked Blair, shoving the ever-present backpack to the floor.

"What the hell—?" Blair stopped when he was staring down the business end of a .38.

"Just drive."

Blair swallowed his fear and put the car into gear. *One weekend, that's all I asked for. Just one weekend.*

**********

A black Explorer had pulled to a stop just behind the abandoned Corsica. The driver nodded to his passenger. Both men pulled their guns and left their vehicle, approaching the other car. The two Deputy Marshals found the Corsica quite empty and suspected there were no prints to find, just like the last two cars.

Groaning, the larger of the two trotted back to the Explorer and grabbed a cell phone off the seat. He hit speed dial and waited. A gruff voice answered.

<"Gerard.">

"Sam, we found the Corsica on I-5, heading north to—" He inspected a map unfolded on the front seat. "—Cascade, Washington."

<"The driver?">

"Oh, God."

The voice of his younger partner turned the marshal's attention to the Corsica, its trunk now open. He momentarily wondered how it was physically possible for the younger man's face to be that particular shade of green when he took one step forward and stopped. In an instant he had seen enough of the bloody mess to haunt him for years. He turned his attention back to the phone.

"The driver's in the trunk. Most of him anyway."

Gerard knew exactly what Deputy Biggs meant. <"Set the Highway Patrol on that car and haul ass to Cascade. Renfro and I will meet you two there.">

Major Crimes was relatively quiet that afternoon. Various personnel went about there business, save on man. Detective Ellison was hunched over his desk, glaring at the phone. Basketball tickets were clenched in his left fist. He was somewhere between anger and concern over his partner's tardiness. The game was for charity and the tickets had been hard to get, not to mention expensive.

He was tempted to try Blair's cell phone again, but he had done that before and each time the service told him that number was unavailable. *Chief, if you got caught up talking to a girl—*

Before Jim could finish his silent threat, the door to the Captain's office flew open with a draft of cigar smoke only his Sentinel nose could detect. Simon Banks stood in the door frame long enough to bellow, "Ellison, in here now," before retreating back inside. Jim groaned. He knew that tone well enough not to like it.

Jim knocked once on the doorjamb as he entered. Simon closed the door and moved to sit behind his paper-strewn desk, motioning for Jim to do the same. The cigar Jim had smelled before sat smoldering in an ashtray.

"Where's your partner?" Simon asked, obviously stalling.

*Now I know I'm not going to like this.* "He's late is all I know."

The police captain snorted, but said nothing. He fiddled with the cigar momentarily before revealing the reason behind the conference.

"A man named Robert Kinski escaped from San Quentin two days ago. It's believed a local militant group supplied his accomplices, but that's just hearsay. United States Marshals have been tracking him and just called to inform me that Kinski is on his way here."

A strange, nagging feeling started at the back of Jim's mind, but he pushed it away in favor of his current question. "Who're the Marshals?"

Simon paused briefly. He knew this question was coming. "Samuel Gerard."

"Shit."

"My first reaction, Jim, but he's a good detective. Don't form your first impression from gossip."

"Of course not, sir."

Simon recognized his tone and frowned. True, Gerard was pig-headed and stubborn, but the man had a track record as impressive as Ellison and Sandburg's. He was fiercely protective of his people and hated working with local authorities. *Stooping to talk to the little people,* Simon mused. Hell, just his work on the Kimble case a few years ago—

"Simon?"

Banks blinked, realizing he had been staring at the wall. Zoned-out was the term Sandburg liked to use to describe Jim's habit of fine tuning his senses onto one thing until he became oblivious to the world around him. *Did I just zone?*

"Sir, when will they be here?"

"Gerard and another Marshal will be here within the hour. You and Sandburg have been nominated to work with them while they're here."

Jim rolled his eyes. Somehow he had expected this. Had he pissed off Simon in a previous life or something?

"Cheer up, Jim. Maybe this is just another stop-off for the fugitive and he'll be on his way again shortly, taking our guests with him."

Simon's attempt at humor made Jim crack a grin. He relaxed his grip and realized the Jag's tickets were still in his hand. Simon also noticed.

"Sir—?"

"Got it covered. Brown and Rafe will be taking your place at the game tonight."

Jim dropped his head into his hands, trying unsuccessfully to block out Simon's chuckle. This night was just getting better and better.

**********

The Volvo pulled into the first available space at the bus depot and parked. The driver's side door opened and Blair slid out, followed a moment later by Bobby. Blair's coat was draped across Bobby's arm, the .38 hidden underneath. Together they walked into the bus station.

**********

Jim heard them before he saw them. His hearing was maxed out, listening for the heartbeat that would herald Sandburg's overdue arrival. His phone calls to the loft went unanswered and he was about to tell Simon he was going out to search for his missing Guide when two unfamiliar and slightly annoyed voices reached his ears. He turned to stare at the entrance to Major Crimes and found it filled with the bodies of two U.S. Marshals.

The Sentinel recognized Sam Gerard immediately. The man was fit and commanding; years of hard work had etched lines in his face. The shorter man next to him was immaculately dressed, rivaling Rafe as "Mr. GQ." Marshal Renfro had dark blonde hair, a mustache and a slight air of self-importance. Jim raised an eyebrow, but made no move to greet the newcomers.

Gerard scanned the room—disdainfully, Jim wondered?—his eyes stopping on the door to Captain Banks' office. His target sought, the Marshal-in-charge wound his way around the bullpen, Renfro in tow, and rapped on the door. Simon opened it immediately and ushered them inside. His pointed look at Jim forced the detective out of his chair and into the office.

Simon made polite introductions that Gerard promptly interrupted. "We need all available moving units to be on the lookout for Kinski—"

"All units have his physical description and we are working on distributing copies of the mug shot you faxed us," Simon interjected, trying to mask his annoyance. "Without a vehicle to look for, though, we're sort of stuck for the moment."

Jim sneezed. Six eyes alighted on him. "Sorry, I think it was his cologne," Jim apologized, pointing at Renfro.

Renfro grunted. "I didn't think it smelled that bad."

Gerard shook his head. "Kinski is getting desperate. We found his latest getaway car on I-5, heading towards Cascade, the owner chopped up in the trunk. There was a jack on the side of the road, just in front of that car, so we are assuming he has another means of transportation. We just don't know who he got it from."

In Jim's peripheral vision, he saw a shape. It was a black mass, almost feline, that seemed to be pacing back and forth in front of another shape, this one shaggy gray. When Jim turned to look, nothing was there. But he knew what it had been-a warning. That nagging feeling came back and this time he didn't ignore it. He extended his hearing, blocking out Gerard's voice, the noises of the bullpen, and let himself listen down into the streets. A headache was building from his previous efforts at extending his hearing, but he ignored it, only concentrating on one thing. There it was, that familiar clunkety-clunk of the Volvo's engine. Beyond that was the precious sound of Blair's heartbeat, something Jim had once heard almost stop forever. Jim frowned. The pounding of his Guide's heart was fast and erratic. Then he heard his voice. <"Where to now?"> *Who was he talking to?* <"The docks. What the hell did you go by that police station for? You want a bullet in your brain?"> The voices grew fainter and Jim struggled to hear, resisting a strong hand on his arm.

"Jim?" Simon shook his detective by the shoulder, not wanting to embarrass the man in this company. No time for a zone-out. "Jim?"

Without saying a word, Detective Ellison strode out of the office, leaving behind two surprised Marshals and one concerned captain.

Renfro looked at Gerard a moment. "Was the cologne that bad?" he deadpanned.

**********

Jim practically flew down the six flights of stairs to the lobby and hit the street at a run. He focused his sight just in time to see the Volvo take a left turn several blocks down the street. He made a beeline for the parking garage. As he pulled the old Ford into traffic, Jim had to take several deep breaths to calm the beating of his own heart enough to listen for Blair's. A wave of anger washed over him, directed towards whoever that man might be who thought he could threaten his best friend.

A little voice in the back of his head screamed for backup. He reached for his cell phone and made a motion to toss it to the partner who was not by his side. In the three short years they had been partners, Jim had come to depend on Blair's presence more than he had realized. He hit the speed dial and put the phone to his ear.

**********

Blair repressed a shudder as he glanced over the surface of the water, gleaming in the late afternoon sunshine. The Volvo was near a boat ramp, way to close for Blair's comfort. He thought of the irony of the situation. A sunny day and look where he was.

Bobby waved the gun at Blair, motioning the younger man out. Blair put the car in park and complied, his stomach doing flip-flops. He only hoped his slight detour near the precinct had been enough to get Jim's attention. The captive straightened a little, unwilling to let his kidnapper see his fear.

Once out of the car, Blair tensed, waiting for a chance to bolt. No such luck. An explosion of pain forced the young man into darkness.

**********

Jim slammed his hand against the wheel in frustration. The traffic jam ahead of him showed no signs of clearing quickly. The docks were only a few blocks away now. Pulling over as far as he could, Jim Ellison turned off his truck and ran.

**********

Blair fought through the haze in his mind, trying to open his eyes. Why was it so dark? He groaned as pain shot through his head. He rolled over and landed in water. Blue eyes finally opened, quickly adjusting to the growing darkness. His surroundings became clear with a gut-wrenching reality.

He was on the rear floorboards of the Volvo, hands tied behind his back. But that wasn't what caused his fit of panic. That stemmed from the fact that the floor was covered in water. In fact, the entire car appeared to be submerged and sinking farther from the light above. Blair yelped and wormed his way back onto the seat, shivering uncontrollably.

He stared at the rising water, terrified. His mind involuntarily shifted back to that morning with Alex. Being hit. Falling. Waking up drenched and shaking, told he had been clinically dead for several minutes. The memories came back full force and Blair Sandburg screamed.

**********

Jim heard that scream before he saw the bubbles of air, the only evidence of the sinking car. He slipped out of his shoes and tucked his gun and shield carefully inside of one before splashing into the icy water. The shock took his breath away, but he pushed it away and dove.

The salt stung his eyes, but he could make out the figure huddled inside the Volvo. Blair was curled in on himself, shaking. Jim pounded hard on the window, hoping to get the anthropologist's attention. No luck. He swam around to the other side and pounded again. This time blue eyes met blue. Jim nodded at Blair and tried to smile, knowing he looked ridiculous, holding his breath the way he was. Giving his partner a thumbs-up, Jim swam back to the surface.

Gasping for air, he heard sirens coming ever closer. They'd never make it in time. The Volvo continued to sink and fill with briny water, forcing Blair's oxygen out in each tiny bubble. With another deep breath, Jim again disappeared under water.

An uplifting sight met Jim's eyes when he reached the car again. Blair had just finished sawing through the ropes binding his wrists. The younger man waved his Swiss Army knife at his partner. Jim grinned inwardly, ever amazed at the calm the kid could show in a crisis.

The water was up to Blair's chest, making both men nervous. It was hard to make out his heartbeat underwater, but there it was, still too fast. Jim made a circling motion with one hand. Blair understood immediately and slowly rolled down the window. Water poured in even faster, but both men knew they had to establish some equilibrium in the car if they were going to force the door open. The eyes of Sentinel and Guide locked together for an instant. Jim winked and swam up for one more breath.

**********

Simon Banks turned his car sharply. The marshals next to him clung to their seats, but said nothing. He was worried now. Jim had said Sandburg was in trouble—not surprising Simon in the least—and to meet them at the docks. Unfortunately, the docks were a big place. Jim's truck had been found abandoned and blocking traffic near here, so Simon was betting this was where they could be found.

As he scanned the area, Simon sent a silent prayer for the kid, then chided himself. That "kid" was twenty-nine years old. Hell, Sandburg would still be the kid when he was sitting in a wheelchair surrounded by grandchildren. Simon almost laughed at that mental image. Somehow he really couldn't imagine Blair anywhere but by Jim's side.

Jim! Simon slammed on the brakes and made another hard turn. Jim's head had just appeared from the water near a boat ramp. *What's he doing in the water?* The possible answers to that query made his blood run cold. Jim seemed to look right at him for an instant before disappearing again.

"What the hell is he doing?" Renfro asked, thoroughly confused.

"We're getting ready to find out," Simon answered as he ground the sedan to a halt a short distance from the water's edge. The three men tumbled out and stared at the bubbling water in front of them.

There was a larger rush of bubbles and two gasping figures surfaced. Simon waded in and helped the struggling men, Gerard at his back. Blair was pale and shaking, clutching Jim's arm in a grip that looked painful. But Jim gave no sign of discomfort. Together, the four men struggled to the asphalt. Blair sat down and immediately put his head between his legs. Jim knelt next to his friend, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words in his ear.

"Holy Moses!" Renfro exclaimed. "Was he sunk in a car?"

Jim nodded without looking up. All his attention was focused on the shivering man next to him. Simon brought a blanket from his car and wrapped it around the two men. Absently, Jim pulled it from his own shoulders and wrapped his partner in it. Two more police cruisers sped into the lot unnoticed.

"You okay, Chief?" Jim tilted Blair's chin up, forcing their eyes to meet.

Blair forced a crooked grin that immediately disappeared. "I panicked for a while. I kept thinking about Alex." His eyes clouded with pain as he mentioned that name.

Jim nodded. "Who did this to you?"

Blair took a breath. "I got a flat and a man stopped to help me and then he pulled a gun on me and said he had to get to Cascade and then we drove by the bus station and got some satchel and then he made me drive down here but I went by the station hoping to get your attention which obviously I did and then we got here and he hit me and I woke up underwater." Everyone was amazed Blair had gotten that out in one breath.

"Did he give you a name?" All eyes turned to Gerard, who had spoken for the first time.

"Bobby was all he said."

Gerard produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to Blair. Jim could hear his friend's heartbeat pick up when he saw the mug shot.

"That's him. He's the guy. Who is he? Who are you, by the way?"

Blair looked at Jim for help, noticing Simon was now conferring with four uniforms, his arms gesturing wildly.

"I'm United States Deputy Marshal Samuel Gerard. This is Marshal Renfro. The man who tried to kill you is a federal fugitive."

"Blair Sandburg. So you guys are tracking him?" The idea seemed to fascinate Blair for a reason that escaped Jim at the moment. But Jim was just thankful his partner's attention had been turned away from his submerged car and brush with death.

"Yes, we are," Gerard replied in a tone Jim usually reserved for talks with unintelligent children. The condescension made Jim prickle. "You said he wanted to come here?"

Blair nodded. Gerard considered this. "Maybe he decided to stop running, if this was where he was running to. We need to keep this quiet, let him get comfortable here."

Simon rejoined the group. "We're getting more units out here to search the area. He took off on foot, but there are a lot of places to hide around here. We are wasting no time…." Simon stopped and stared at Gerard, who had one eyebrow raised. "Is there a problem, Deputy?"

"Not at all. I was just waiting for you to finish so I could get started."

Simon was dumbfounded. Jim felt his annoyance at the arrogant Marshal multiply. Only Blair seemed unaffected. Gerard continued, "I am in charge of this investigation—"

Simon interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain. "You are now sharing charge of this investigation with Detective Ellison. This man has just committed attempted murder on one of my men and we will not sit on the sidelines and watch you work. I will go to your superiors if I have to, but I don't think that will be necessary, do you, Deputy?"

Jim was fascinated by Simon's speech. The idea of working alongside Gerard didn't sit well, but he was damned if he was going to sit around while Blair's attacker was running free in his city.

Simon was probably as shocked at Jim was when Gerard agreed to Simon's plans without any argument.

Only Renfro had anything to say. "He's a cop?" he asked, pointing at Blair.

Blair grinned. "I'm an advisor to the department."

Renfro snorted. Only Jim heard the comment Renfro whispered to Gerard. "What is it with kids and long hair nowadays?" Gerard gave a slight shrug. Jim cocked his head and wondered what that meant.

**********

Gerard watched the city of Cascade fly by him as Captain Banks drove himself and the two deputy marshals back to the police station. He was impressed at how the captain had stood up to him, yet still a bit miffed about sharing the case with Detective Ellison. The man creeped him out. He looked for all the world like a cold, steadfast Marine, emotionless to the point of being frozen. But his concern for the curly-haired police observer rendered Gerard's first impression moot. He was secretly glad to have Ellison in his corner. And he could completely understand that dedication to his junior partner. Sam had a habit of being overprotective of his people, especially his own long-haired subordinate.

A chirping sound brought Sam back to planet earth. He answered his cell phone with a gruff, "Gerard."

His ear was filled with the voice of his fourth deputy, Savannah Cooper. <"Sam? You're not gonna like or believe this one.">

Sam groaned. More good news.

<"We found that background on Robert Kinski. Turns out he's a 74 year-old man in a Cascade nursing home, recovering from a stroke. Our fugitive's prints are coming up negative in a systems search. They're going through the FBI computer now.">

"Good work, Coop. Fax the info to the Cascade PD and meet us there as soon as you can."

Gerard snapped the phone closed without waiting for a reply. He met Banks's inquiring eyes. "Seems our man is not who he appears to be."

"Go figure," Renfro muttered.

**********

Jim and Blair, dressed now in dry department sweats, were seated at the table in Simon's office. Simon, Gerard and Renfro were also present, grilling Sandburg about the events of the afternoon.

"….and I woke up in the car. That's it." Blair ran a hand through his damp curls, trying to push away the other memories his watery trap had surfaced.

Jim noticed the younger man's accelerated heartbeat and placed a comforting hand on his partner's shoulder. "It's okay, Chief."

Blair smiled at his Sentinel, then another thought occurred to him. "There was one thing about him, though. He looked familiar. Not like someone I had seen before, like he looked like someone I'd seen."

Gerard pounced on that. "Any idea who?"

"No, no idea."

Jim lost the conversation as he became aware of two unfamiliar voices in the bullpen. <"We're looking for Sam Gerard,"> a youthful voice stated flatly. Jim glanced through the blinds hiding the quintet from prying eyes and identified two men standing at the entrance to Major Crime. He saw Rhonda point towards Simon's door and continue with her work.

The knock on the door took everyone's attention away from the still-shivering anthropologist. Simon bellowed, "Come in."

The door swung open. The newcomers entered with an air about them—not quite superiority, but it still unsettled the Sentinel. The older man was built like a linebacker, with light brown hair and a thick mustache. He was dressed in a casual suit and seemed perfectly comfortable under the scrutiny of the local policemen. The younger of the pair was about Blair's age, with almost identical, if somewhat shorter, curly brown hair gathered into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wore a suit coat over jeans and a T-shirt.

Gerard stood and introduced Deputies Robert Biggs and Noah Newman. Newman and Blair eyed each other. Jim could see Blair thinking, "How come he didn't have to cut off his hair?" He caught Blair's eye and winked.

Ten minutes later, the two deputies had been informed of the afternoon's events and of Cooper's phone call. Then Samuel Gerard went into what his deputies fondly referred to as "Big-Dog" mode, bellowing orders not unlike a drill sergeant. "Cosmo, I want you to do talk to Mr. Robert Kinski and see if we can find out why his name is being used by a convicted felon." Renfro nodded and left the room. "Newman, I want to know everything about Kinski—"

"Which one?" the younger man asked.

"Both of them. Anything matches, you tell me yesterday. And for reference purposes, gentlemen, we will refer to our fugitive simply as Bobby for now."

Biggs grunted. Gerard hid a grin and continued, still addressing Newman. "I want relatives, friends, coworkers, you know the drill. Biggs, I want you to take a few officers and pick the brains of anyone at the bus station that could know anything or have seen anything. Dismissed."

The marshals immediately launched into action. Jim sat, feeling useless and a bit foolish. Simon was in Gerard's face in an instant. Without breaking the stare-down, Simon addressed his men. "Ellison, Sandburg, you are dismissed for now."

Sentinel and Guide crept out of the room, settling themselves at Jim's desk. Jim turned up his hearing, intent on what was happening in the office they had just left. Blair shifted his eyes from the office windows to his partner and back, dying of curiosity.

"Well?" Blair asked, a tad impatient.

"Gerard said you aren't a cop."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Simon is defending you."

Blair's eyes widened in surprise. Would wonders never cease? "Now that's not something I hear everyday."

"Yeah, well, you didn't hear it from me, Chief."

Blair grinned. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, startling the young Guide. He jerked away and looked up into concerned brown eyes. "Henri, man, sorry about that."

"S'ok," Brown assured his friend. Rafe was by his side. "Just wanted to see how you were. Heard about the car thing."

Jim shrugged at Blair's questioning glance. Gossip ran rampant at the police station. It seemed to be an unspoken rule. Then another thought occurred to him. "Aren't you guys supposed to be at the game? Simon's gonna be pissed."

The detectives exchanged glances. "Well, uh," Rafe seemed to struggle for his answer. "We heard the call on our way there, about the hijacking, and, uh...." The looks he was getting from Jim and Blair told him that, although they were touched by the thought, they knew the attempted drowning had not been openly broadcast. Coloring slightly, Rafe tried again. "Actually, we left after about five minutes."

"Why?" Jim asked Blair's own question.

"Well, know how the tickets were box seats?" Nods. "They were with that uptown lawyer, Towson, I think, and his daughters. His very loud daughters. No offense, Sandburg, but they make you look like a mime."

Jim and Blair couldn't hide their amusement over the idea of their friends running away from two talkative females.

"Charity event or not, it wasn't worth the torture," Brown said.

That did it. Sentinel and Guide exploded with laughter. Brown and Rafe frowned at them. Only Jim heard Rafe muttering as they walked away, <"So much for sympathy from your friends."> Jim knew they weren't really mad, but he couldn't help feeling a little guilty. Beside him, Blair had grown suddenly quiet.

"You okay, Chief?"

Blair wanted to say yes, he was fine. But he was lying and he knew Jim would be monitoring him. He just didn't want his best friend to worry too much. "I'll be fine."

Jim arched an eyebrow at the half-truth. "You want to go back to the loft? It's been a long day and I'd bet an exhausting weekend. You need sleep."

Mother-hen mode. Blair tried unsuccessfully to hold back a yawn, the fatigue of the past three days catching up to him. A mental picture of his warm bed made him grin, but the thought of the possible nightmares after his ordeal wiped the smile away. "Don't you need to be here?"

"From what I heard of that argument, they'll collect data tonight and go on it tomorrow after the last of their team shows up."

"There's another one?"

"Yeah, a woman named Cooper."

"Is she cute?"

Jim smiled. This was the roommate he knew and loved. "Down, boy. She's probably way too old for you."

The unlikely pair stood up when Gerard exited Simon's office, heading towards the break room. Simon stood in the doorway, watching his best detective team. Before Jim could even tell Simon of their retreat, the captain barked, "Go home, you two. Be here at eight, sharp."

Blair winced. "I have a class in the morning—"

"You think I don't know that? Get here when it's over." Simon turned, then as an afterthought he said, "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."

**********

//She was laughing at him, reveling in his discomfort. Her gun was buried in his back as they marched toward the fountain, its surface glinting in the early morning sun. He wanted to run, but knew he would be cut down before he made it five feet. And she was not afraid to kill him, of that much he was certain.

They stopped at the edge of the fountain. He felt pressure on the back of his neck, then fell. He seemed to fall forever. His descent ended as he splashed into water, deep water. He swam upward desperately, but was stopped from breaking the surface by…what? It felt like glass, clear and smooth, but it couldn't be. He looked up from his watery prison and saw two people smiling at him. Alex. The woman who had killed him...for a few minutes, anyway. The second face belonged to Bobby.

Blair pounded against his prison, lungs bursting for oxygen. Bobby laughed and tossed something into the water. Blair caught it as it floated downward. Jim's badge. What in the hell was he doing with Jim's badge? He looked up again. Alex had her gun pointed at Blair. She began to fire. //

**********

The first scream had Jim on his feet, automatically reaching for his gun, until a quick sweep of the loft told him that he and Blair were alone. The second scream pierced his ears as Jim opened the double doors to Blair's room. The younger man was twisted up in his bed sheets and soaked with sweat. His face was contorted and he seemed to be holding his breath.

*The same nightmare,* Jim thought, as he sat next to his Guide and gently shook him awake. Blair's eyes flew open and he struggled for a moment, his sapphire eyes adjusting to the dim light.

"Shh, it's okay, Chief. It was a dream."

Blair took a deep breath, relaxing only a bit. Jim heard his heart beating way too fast.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Oh, God, Jim it was bad. I thought I was over these nightmares."

"About Alex."

Blair nodded, then frowned. "It started the same, but it wasn't."

"What was different?"

Blair swallowed, reluctant to burden his friend with his tortured psyche at this hour. "When I looked out of the water, that guy, Bobby, was standing next to Alex. They laughed at me. Then Bobby dropped your badge into the water."

Well, this was new. "Was that all?"

Was that all? "Was that all? Isn't that enough? I mean—"

"That's not what I meant. After what happened yesterday, you're allowed to have nightmares."

"But your badge?"

"You're probably just worried. Look, everything is going to be fine."

Blair knew it wasn't, but said nothing. He wanted to hug Jim tight and make him promise that everything would work out and they would both be fine. But he couldn't do that. Jim could never guarantee that, and would not make a promise he couldn't keep. Jim would do his best, as he had always done, to protect his Guide and friend.

"I'm sure you're right, Jim. It's probably just nerves or something. Sorry you had to get up and all."

Jim squeezed Blair's shoulder. "Don't sweat it. I had to be up in—," glancing at the clock next to the bed, "—three hours anyway. Good night, Chief."

Blair untwisted his sheets and curled back under them. "Night, Jim." Blair watched Jim leave. It seemed childish, but he was grateful to have someone around to wake him from his nightmares. Granted, that someone was a partial reason for the nightmares, but...no, that was unfair. His hijacking this afternoon had nothing to do with the work he did at the station. It was just a "wrong place at the wrong time" moment. And it had been Jim who had saved his life, as he had done numerous times in the past. His Blessed Protector. Blair smiled and drifted into a mercifully dreamless slumber...

…That ended all too soon. The sharp aroma of brewing coffee and frying eggs pulled Blair towards consciousness. He smiled, glad that Jim had decided to make breakfast that morning. Blair stretched and pulled himself out of bed, the decadent scents beckoning him from his cocoon.

It was 7:30 when the telephone rang. Jim answered before the second ring. "Ellison."

Blair watched from the table, his mouth full of eggs. When Jim groaned, Blair raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Yes, sir," was all Jim said before slamming the phone into the receiver.

"Problem?" asked Blair as he sipped his coffee.

"They're there already and want to get started."

Blair needed no further explanation. He nodded sympathetically at his friend. "Looks like it is going to be a long day."

"Yeah, well, no little stops between the University and the station this afternoon."

With mock innocence, Blair retorted, "How can you suggest I would do something that devious?" More seriously he added, "Besides, this is an important case and just a little personal."

"Don't I know it," Jim commented dryly as he put on his light jacket. "See you later, Chief."

"Bye, Jim."

Blair watched the door for several minutes after Jim had left. The idea of spending the afternoon with the marshals was not making him feel positive about the day ahead. Then again, if Cooper turned out to be really cute....

**********

Jim knew it was cruel, but he almost laughed when he saw Savannah Cooper for the first time. She was nearer Jim's age than Blair's and had a no-nonsense attitude that would make the younger man cringe. The heavy-set black woman was seated at the conference table with her colleagues. She nodded to Jim when he entered. Simon was pinching the bridge of his nose. *Headache already?* Jim thought. *Not a good sign.*

"All right, lady and gentlemen," Gerard began, anything but pleasant. "Cosmo, your report for the benefit of our Cascade allies, please."

Jim shifted in his chair. Apparently the marshals had already shared their information amongst themselves. He glanced at Simon and was rewarded with a glare, directed not at him, but at their "allies."

Renfro had the floor. "Mr. Robert Kinski, seventy-four, has been a patient at the Cascade Convalescent Home for the last seven years after he suffered a severe stroke. His wife, Mrs. Sharon Teal Kinski, died three months before the stroke. They have one son, but the ladies at the home didn't know his name. He never visits. Insurance pays the bills. Mrs. Kinski is survived by a sister, Angela Teal, who lives outside the city. They don't have any other relatives that we can find." Cosmo looked to Newman for confirmation.

The youngest marshal nodded in agreement and took over. "The only acquaintances of Robert Kinski we could track down turned up dead. All from natural causes. The son's name is Neal Kinski, but he disappeared over fifteen years ago. We're trying to track him down now. We do have a current address on Angela Teal, though. Neighbors say she's due to return from her annual trip to Las Vegas any day. But we still can't find anything to connect Robert Kinski to our fugitive."

*Unfortunately, it's our only lead.* Jim was tired of waiting for an answer to his unasked question. "What about his fingerprints?"

Gerard took that one. "The man is not on file. Everything we track him down to says Robert Kinski. If that is his real name, it's an awfully big coincidence that there is another one in the same city he wanted to come to."

Jim turned to his boss. "Simon, we should put some plainclothes around the convalescent home and Angela Teal's house, just in case they are involved in this somehow. Our Bobby character may try to contact one of them."

Simon nodded his agreement and excused himself from the room. Renfro stared at Jim before saying, "Robert Kinski's practically a vegetable. That man can't chew his own food without help. There's no way he could be helping our fugitive."

Before Jim could reply, Gerard stole the conversation. "Biggs, what did you hear at the bus station?"

"Two workers said they remembered seeing our fugitive and a long-haired kid walking through there yesterday afternoon. No one else remembered them. We also pulled one of Bobby's prints off the locker door. There's no record of how long the satchel could have been there before he took it out."

Jim was working on being angry. If he had gone to see the locker, he may have been able to pick up on something the others missed, something only a Sentinel could see or smell. But he had been so wrapped up in tending to Blair that he had missed an early chance to examine the locker. When Simon reentered the room, Jim turned to him.

"Simon, I'd like to go down to the bus station and examine the locker the satchel was removed from."

Simon knew why his detective wanted to go, but Gerard didn't...and was promptly insulted for his man.

"My deputies know their job, Detective Ellison," Gerard barked.

Jim looked at him sweetly. "I am in no way implying that they don't, Deputy Gerard. But as a member of this investigation, I have a right to examine all evidence currently at my disposal. At this moment, that means the locker."

"Jim, that locker will be your first priority this morning," Simon said.

"Thank you, sir."

Gerard grunted and stared at his deputies. "What else do we have, kids?"

Newman looked up from a paper he had been reading. "Sam, this says Neal Kinski majored in Education."

"Which means we check out the area's teaching records. If he teaches anywhere, we'll be able to find him," Gerard said confidently.

Jim wasn't so optimistic yet. "And if he changed his name?"

"We'll look harder," was the response. "Do we have a picture of the son?"

"Not yet," Newman answered.

"Why not?"

Newman nodded and muttered, "Why not?" Only Sentinel ears heard it, though.

Sensing they were done, Jim stood. He felt odd going to the bus station without Blair. He knew he would be in trouble if he zoned, but that hadn't happened in months. The marshals had already opened the locker, letting whatever faint scents that may have been retained escape. He just hoped he could pick up something, anything that would help.

**********

Blair felt his stomach drop to his knees when he saw the fountain. He swallowed hard and forced himself to ignore the feeling and keep walking. *Get a grip, Blair,* he admonished himself. *Yeah, try saying that when you're looking at the place where

you died!*

He was so intent on not thinking about his experience that he slammed into another person. Blair flew backwards, landing hard on his butt. A hand was extended toward him.

"Sorry about that," said a strange voice.

Blair looked up and froze. The man towering over him looked like Bobby...but not. It took him a moment to place a name with the face. Daniel Roberts was a teaching fellow in the Psychology Department. Trying to mask his sudden desire to run and hide from this man, Blair accepted the hand.

Once hauled to his feet, Blair looked at him more closely. Yes, there was a resemblance between this man and the hunted fugitive. "Sorry about that," Blair said, trying to hide his scrutiny. "I should have been paying more attention."

"It's not a problem. I think we were both day-dreaming. See you around."

Blair watched him walk away and disappear into the crowd of students. He had an overwhelming urge to call Jim and report what had happened. It could be a helpful lead. Blair knew it was unnecessary to prove anything to Jim and Simon, but he felt that if he could help, even a little, to solve this case, the marshals would accept him, too. *What do I have to prove to them? Newman has long hair and is my age. They accept him.* But Blair knew that Newman was also trained for this sort of work; he was not. *To hell with them, anyway. I'm here to help Jim and catch the bastard that sunk my car.*

Blair hadn't realized he had resumed walking until he found himself unlocking his office door. Automatically he went to his computer and pulled up the campus mainframe. Hacking into the University's personnel files was no problem and Blair soon found his screen filled with Daniel Roberts' face. He scanned through the personal information until he found pay-dirt. Under "Father," Daniel had listed Robert Kinski.

The young man almost upset a precariously placed pile of essays as he fumbled for the phone, absently hitting the print command on the screen. He tried Jim's cell phone first. When the phone company told him the recipient was not answering his or her phone, Blair fumed. *So much for yelling at me to keep my phone charged.*

Blair then dialed the station. Rhonda, Simon's secretary, picked up on the second ring.

<"Captain Banks' office.">

"Rhonda? It's Sandburg. Are Simon or Jim around?"

<"No, they headed out earlier with that Marshal—">

"Are any of the marshals there?"

<"Yes, there's one right here. Just a minute.">

Blair heard muffled voices, then a distinctively youthful voice filled the phone. <"This is Newman.">

"Hey, good. Look, this is Blair Sandburg and I think I got a lead on your fugitive." Blair explained his encounter with Daniel and his subsequent research. The marshal listened intently until Blair finished with, "So where is everybody?"

<"Doing their jobs."> Blair raised an eyebrow at the gruff reply. <"Did Daniel Roberts seem suspicious at all?">

Come to think of it— "No, he didn't."

<"All right, sit tight. I'll call Sam and see what he wants done.">

The line was disconnected before Blair could respond. Three minutes later the phone rang again. He snatched the receiver from the cradle before the first ring ended. "Sandburg."

<"It's Newman. We're to interview Daniel Roberts discreetly and gauge a reaction. If he's involved with our fugitive, Sam doesn't want him scared. I'll be at the University in ten minutes.">

"I'll meet you outside the Psych building." Blair could picture the youngest marshal nodding as he hung up. Blair replaced his phone and walked to the door, a plan of questioning forming in his mind. As an afterthought, he walked back and took the printout off his printer, stuffing it into his pocket.

**********

Exactly ten minutes later, Noah Newman pulled into the Rainier University parking lot. It was the middle of the day and students milled around, chattering endlessly about topics that Noah hadn't seriously thought about in years. Who has time to worry if your shoes are the "in-style" or not when you were tracking convicted murderers across the country? Of course, he still had his hair. Noah laughed inwardly as he remembered his first meeting with Samuel Gerard. The older man had scowled at him and Noah knew he had been wondering what sort of marshal he was, running around like a hippie college kid. But over the past six years, Noah had proven himself to be a valuable asset to the team, both professionally and personally.

Noah grinned when he saw his Cascade-counterpart pacing the steps to the Psychology Building. *He's a bundle of nervous energy, isn't he? Must be hard being the junior partner of the city's best detective.* Noah realized his own words. He himself was a sort of junior partner to Sam, arguably one of the best Deputy Marshals in the country. Maybe the two curly-haired youths had more in common than they realized.

Blair spotted him in the crowd and waved. When Noah reached him, the anthropologist was already verbalizing a plan.

**********

Daniel Roberts was grading an unusually bad essay about the Oedipal complex when someone knocked on his office door. *Some office. I'm stuck down in the basement with four other teaching fellows.* Sighing, he put down his red pen and called, "Come in."

The door swung open. In its frame were two men. One he didn't know, the other was the teaching fellow he had crashed into earlier that morning. Sand-something, he couldn't recall the name. The first thing he noticed were the identical ponytails the men wore. The second thing was the air of authority that seemed to hang around the stranger. It made him seem older than his youthful face and wise beyond his years. It also made Daniel very nervous.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" Daniel asked, trying to mask his unease.

"Mr. Daniel Roberts?" the stranger asked politely.

"Yes?"

The stranger looked at Sand-something and nodded. The teaching fellow nodded back and left the room. The stranger refocused his attention on Daniel and smiled.

"Mr. Sandburg was kind enough to show me where I could find your office."

*Sandburg! That's it! But who the hell is this guy?*

As if sensing his question, the stranger shifted his hold on a notebook and offered his hand, saying, "My name is Noah Newman and I am a representative of the Hardwicke Foundation."

Daniel felt more at ease now. He shook Newman's hand and offered him a chair. Once they were seated, Daniel asked, "What exactly is the Hardwicke Foundation?"

"The Foundation is a privately owned fund that bestows one-time only gifts of $5000 to graduate students seeking their doctorate in Psychology. You have been selected by your professors as the representative candidate for Rainier University."

Daniel's eyes lit up at the thought. "How many schools compete for this?"

"Universities across the state of Washington will each have a representative. We just have a few questions to ask you."

"Fire away."

Newman smiled. Daniel watched him open the notebook and scan a page. They went through a few basic questions before Newman through a curve.

"So, Mr. Roberts, your father's name is Robert Kinski?"

Daniel tensed and he knew the other man noticed. "That's right."

"And your mother's name was Sharon Teal Kinski?"

"You're two for two, Mr. Newman."

"Can I asked why you decided to change your name, Mr. Roberts?"

Daniel watched the other man. He seemed genuinely interested, but Daniel couldn't quell his suspicion. *What was this man trying to find out?* He weighed his options for a moment before answering. "I hate my father. I wanted to distance myself from him."

Newman raised an eyebrow. "By using his first name as your last name?"

"I never said I was very creative." It was meant to be a joke, but it sounded harsh.

"Mr. Roberts, do you have any other living family besides your father?"

"No."

He had answered that too quickly. He was beginning to wonder were this was headed when a thought occurred to him. "Don't you guys usually do this sort of thing over the phone?"

Newman faltered for a moment. "We like to observe our candidates, get to know them one-on-one. Personal interviews are our policy."

Now Daniel was really suspicious, but he tried not to show it. "How many candidates are there for this grant?"

"We select candidates from every eligible university in Washington. You're the lucky one from Rainier."

Daniel stared at Newman. The man was repeating himself and there was something vaguely familiar about him, but Daniel couldn't put a finger on it. They were silent for a few moments. It was Newman who finally broke the spell.

"Well, Mr. Roberts, I think that just about wraps it up for now. I'll be in touch about the grant. Thank you for your time." Daniel shook the offered hand and watched the other man leave. He paused, then stood and crept to the door. Daniel peeked out and glimpsed Newman turning a corner, followed by Sandburg. Daniel raised an eyebrow. He returned to his desk and reached for his phone, suddenly very interested in learning all he could about the Hardwicke Foundation.

**********

As soon as the pair had cleared the doors of the Psych Building, Newman pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Blair stood nearby, leaning on a pillar, wishing he could hear more than one side of the conversation.

"Sam? Newman...he was definitely hiding something. Said he changed his name because he hates his father, but nothing specific. And he lied about not having any other living relatives...yeah, must have forgot he has an aunt across town. He knows more than he's telling anyone, I'm sure of that…."

Blair tuned the conversation out. He had heard all this from his position outside Daniel Roberts' door. The man's constantly fluctuating tones set Blair on edge. He didn't trust the man at all. Blair's idea for questioning the man had seemed to work, but he wasn't going to place any bets.

"...looks like Sandburg's hunch was right on the money."

Newman winked at Blair. The shorter man smiled back. Then Blair saw something from the corner of his eye. He shoved Newman behind the pillar and shushed him when he protested. Following his gaze, Newman watched Daniel Roberts exit the building and head for the parking lot. A sharp squawk from the phone brought Newman's attention back.

"Sam, Roberts just left the building. Looks like he's going for his car...gotcha." Newman snapped the phone shut and tugged on Blair's arm. "Come on."

The pair trailed Roberts, keeping a discreet distance away. Blair looked at Newman. "Where are we going?"

Newman had a twinkle in his eye when he spoke. "Wherever he's going."

**********

Newman had managed to keep the Explorer a good distance from Roberts's Jeep as the marshal and anthropology student tailed him to a quiet neighborhood in east Cascade. When Roberts turned into a driveway, Newman parked several houses down. He was on the phone in seconds.

"We tailed him to a small house in the East Side of the city. Address is 624 Hawk Street...10-4."

Blair was amazed at the brief conversations the marshals always seemed to have with each other. "Now what?"

"We sit on him. Biggs'll be by in a while to relieve you. You can drive his car back to the station or wherever you're supposed to be."

"Oh." Blair was mildly disappointed to have to leave the stakeout, but glad too. He knew how tedious and downright boring they could be. "That's cool. Actually, the station is where I should be. I always go down after my morning class."

Newman looked at Blair, driven by curiosity. "So what exactly do you do, Sandburg?"

"Call me Blair. I'm working on my doctorate in Anthropology while I teach part-time at Rainier."

"How'd you get partnered with James Ellison at the police department?"

Blair blinked, his mind going to town on his obfuscation. "My thesis is on closed societies, in particular about the police. I convinced Simon Banks to let me ride around with Jim for a while and observe him in action. After I helped him out on a few cases, Sim—Captain Banks made me a consultant to the department. I do what I can to help."

"Is this a permanent thing?"

Blair picked over his answer. He had often wondered the same thing. What would happen when his dissertation was finally done? Sure, Jim needed his Guide; they needed each other. Their partnership had grown monumentally in three years, from detective/observer to Sentinel/Guide to best friends and beyond. Blair was willing to do whatever it took to stay with his Sentinel, to guide and protect him. Then he realized Newman was waiting for an answer. He went with the honest answer.

"I don't know. I'm not sure what will happen when I get my doctorate. I do know I love police work. Sure, I could do without the death-risk factor, but I'm sure anyone would. I don't know how I could manage a normal life after all this. And Jim—"

Blair stopped, wondering if he had said too much. He glanced at Newman. His expression, completely guileless and full of interest, prompted him to continue.

"Jim's become my best friend."

Newman arched his brow. He had observed Detective Ellison's temperament. The thought of the mismatched partners actually getting along, much less being best friends, really through him for a loop. Of course, he hadn't seen them together enough to honestly judge that. Blair recognized that expression.

"When I first came along, we had everyone in Major Crime scratching their heads and wondering why by-the-book Ellison would agree to hang out with a neo-hippie grad-student who needed a haircut. It was kinda funny when you look back on it."

"So why study Anthropology?"

Blair grinned and started talking. He told Newman about Naomi and his nomadic upbringing, about the countries he had seen, the cultures he had experienced. He had just begun telling Newman about his stay with a native tribe in New Guinea when a hand pounded on the passenger's side window, startling both men.

Blair rolled down the window and Marshal Biggs stuck his head in. The older man nodded at Blair, then tossed a paper bag at Noah. "I brought you lunch."

Blair glanced at his watch. It was already noon. He opened the door and slid out, taking the keys Biggs offered him.

"Nice talk, Blair," Newman said. "See you later."

"See you, Newman."

"Call me Noah."

Blair grinned. Biggs took his place in the Explorer and Blair walked toward the small Ford parked behind the larger vehicle. It was at this point that he realized he had done all the talking, as usual. Noah knew half his life story and all Blair knew was his first name. There was something about Noah that Blair trusted, that made him open up to the near-stranger. He was still trying to figure it out when he started the Ford and headed towards the other side of town.

**********

Jim was annoyed. His trip to the bus station had been completely fruitless. By the time they police had examined the locker last night, someone had put a gym bag into the locker. It was empty when Jim arrived, but the entire thing reeked and he was unable to learn anything new. And he hadn't been told of Blair's discovery of Daniel Roberts until just a half-hour ago. That didn't bother him as much as how Gerard had sent his Guide off on a stakeout of a potential suspect without his permission. No, that wasn't it. Blair had been on a stakeout without him. Jim had always felt responsible for Blair. The younger man was not trained for this type of work and Jim felt it necessary for him to be omnipresent to protect his wayward partner.

*What's the matter, Jim?* he chastised himself. *Feeling old because the kid is doing something besides standing in your shadow? He's become a better detective than you give him credit for and if Gerard sees that and acts on it, so much the better.*

Jim shook himself awake when the object of his thoughts plopped down in the chair next to his desk and waved a take-out bag under his nose.

"Eat yet?" Blair asked, already tearing into the bag.

"Nope," Jim replied as he accepted his sandwich, sniffing it carefully.

"Cool. This great new deli opened down the street. They make the best stuffed pitas. I hope you like Chicken Caesar. So where is everybody?"

"Gerard, Renfro and Cooper are talking in Simon's office."

"Cooper?"

"Whoa there, Chief. Trust me, she is not your type."

Blair threw up his hands in defense. "Hey, I was just asking, man."

Jim simply laughed and bit into his pita. As he chewed the first bite, his phone rang. He swallowed quickly and picked it up. "Ellison."

<"You're partner dries out well, Detective Ellison.">

Jim dropped his lunch and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. Blair looked up. Jim whispered, "It's our fugitive. Get a trace." Blair jumped from his chair and Jim turned his attention back to the phone. "You know who I am and we both know you're not Robert Kinski, so what should I call you?"

<"You can call me grandma for all I care. But remember this: my family is none of your business and neither am I.">

"I'm afraid I have to disagree with that one. It became my business when you tried to drown my partner." Jim caught Blair's signal from the tech's desk. Twenty more seconds.

<"Oh, well, if I had known who he was, I would have picked someone else and kept the local police out of this. Those marshals are big enough pests.">

Jim glanced at Gerard, who was now standing in Simon's door. "Look, pal—"

<"Gingerbread man."> He hung up.

Jim slammed his phone down and looked across the bullpen. Blair was shaking his head. "Sorry, man. We were five seconds off."

The three marshals herded out of Simon's office and met Blair at Jim's desk. Jim was deep in thought.

"Jim, what's "gingerbread man" mean?" Blair asked.

Gerard answered instead. "Run, run, run just as fast as you can."

"You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man," Jim finished, looking up. "He's taunting us." He paused a moment. "I heard train whistles in the background. Several of them at once."

"The train yards," Blair supplied.

Jim nodded. "Let's check it out." He turned to Gerard, prepared for a fight. None came. Instead, he turned to his deputies with a pointed look and they moved to leave.

**********

Blair scanned the area as the truck wove its way through the rows of warehouses and railroad tracks. He drove carefully, knowing Jim had only relinquished control of his vehicle so he could use his senses at maximum to search for their fugitive. The truck hit a pothole, knocking Jim out of his near zone-out. He glared at Blair, who shrugged, but kept his attention on the road.

Jim looked back out his window. A movement caught the corner of his eye and his Sentinel vision kicked in, making the almost quarter-mile distance shrink. A face disappeared from the third story window of a warehouse. He just caught a glimpse, but Jim was sure it was the fugitive.

"Straight ahead, Chief. I got him."

Jim reached for his cell phone at the moment it rang. Without moving his eyes from the window, he flipped the phone open. "Ellison."

<"It's Gerard. What've you got?">

Jim glanced in the mirror at the Explorer behind them. "He's in a warehouse up the street. We'll park here and check it out before he has a chance to move."

<"How do you know he's—">

"Because I saw him." With that, Jim ended the conversation. He turned to his partner. "Park it here."

They were three warehouses down from the one Jim pointed out. The four men and one woman climbed out of their respective vehicles and gathered around the truck.

"How'd you see him in that building?" Renfro asked.

"Binoculars," Blair offered. Jim nodded, then handed Blair his cell phone.

"Chief, call Simon and get some backup out here. We're going to look around inside that warehouse."

Blair nodded and took the phone. He hit the speed dial as he watched his Sentinel and the Marshals advance on the warehouse.

**********

Jim sneezed. Cosmo looked at his "partner" and shook his head. When the foursome had reached the warehouse they found it branched into two separate buildings. Gerard and Cooper had taken the farthest building, leaving Ellison and Cosmo together to search the other. Ellison was already starting to creep him out. He walked slowly, cocking his head as if listening to something only he could hear. And the sneezing. What was up with that?

"Not to sound rude," Ellison said, "but what the hell is in that cologne? Sage?"

"I don't know, maybe. Why, are you allergic?"

"Mildly," Jim deadpanned.

Cosmo was about to respond when Ellison held up a silencing hand and again cocked his head to listen.

"This way."

Shrugging, Cosmo followed, their footsteps echoing quietly off the walls of the narrow hallway. Ellison stopped in front of a heavy door at the far corner of the hall. The door was metal, vaguely reminding Cosmo of a bank vault. The handle turned and Cosmo eased the door open. Empty. He turned to Ellison, who was, once again, frozen in place and listening. A look of sheer horror spread across the detective's face and he suddenly sprang into action.

**********

Blair was across the street from the warehouse, pacing frantically. He hated that Jim was inside, using his senses without his Guide. He had only been inside about five minutes, but that was an eternity to the anxious man. The faint sound of sirens had eased his apprehension only a fraction. He allowed himself to release his death grip on Jim's cell phone when several Cascade PD cruisers and Simon's sedan squealed to a stop near him.

"Simon!"

The anthropologist dashed toward the police captain. He paused momentarily, a strange, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Blair pivoted in time to see the closest of the two connecting warehouses explode in a fury of fire, force and sound. He fell to his knees from the force of the explosion, breathless and stunned into silence. His eyes stung from the smoke and he closed them from the offending air. A thought made them fly open again.

"Jim!" The scream tore itself from deep inside of him and Blair launched himself at the burning building. His only thought was to find Jim and help him. Strong arms locked around his waist and pulled him down. Still he struggled, pushing against the object preventing him from reaching his Sentinel.

"Sandburg, stop it!" Simon screamed in his ear.

"No! No, Jim needs me! He needs me, Simon!"

A sudden burst of adrenaline gave Blair enough force to stand, taking Simon with him. Another pair of arms reached out to pin him down and Blair found himself unable to move.

"I have to help Jim! Let me go, dammit!"

"It's too late, Blair! If he was in that building…he's gone."

The reality of those words made Blair twist his head to look at Simon Banks. The police captain looked shaken to the core, like he could sit down and cry at any moment. Blair stared, wild blue eyes meeting sorrowful brown. And he knew in that instant that Jim was gone. He shivered, suddenly very cold and empty, as if part of his soul was missing.

The world suddenly seemed very fuzzy.

**********

Simon wondered briefly how everything had gone to hell in only a few hours. His first indication of a problem came from Sandburg's urgent phone call, telling him they had tracked down the fugitive to the old train yards. En route, he had received another call. This one had consisted of the sound of an explosion, followed by a maniacal laugh. Simon later learned that the explosion had been Robert Kinski's room at the rest home. He and two other patients had been killed by the blast.

Then there was the warehouse. Simon had watched Blair Sandburg run toward him, then stop suddenly and look across the street. The older man had just stepped from his car when the warehouse nearest the men had exploded. He had deduced from Blair's lung at the ruins that Jim had been inside and he had grabbed the anthropologist. Simon had been amazed at the strength the young man had shown in trying to extricate himself from his grasp. He probably would have succeeded if Gerard hadn't emerged from the other building and grabbed hold of them both. When the shock of what happened registered, Blair had collapsed.

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, the rest of the details too painful. Gerard staring at the fire, a comforting hand on Cooper's shoulders. The clipped phone call to his two remaining marshals. The second half of the building exploding not minutes after the first. Blair coming to, staring at everything and nothing with wide, unfocused eyes, his only movements from drawing breath. The fire marshal saying the blaze would probably continue for several more hours. Gerard refusing to return to the station.

*Damn the man,* Simon thought. No, that wasn't fair. As much as Simon wanted to blame somebody, it wasn't Gerard's fault that Bobby or Kinski or whoever the hell the man was had come to Cascade. Nor was it his fault that his finest detective had just perished in a bombing that was probably just meant as a distraction from the bomb placed at the rest home. *But Gerard lost a man, too. He's got to be hurting. That man takes everything personally.*

Simon threw his unlit cigar onto his desk and looked out into the bullpen. Blair was hunched over Jim's desk, still unresponsive to everything around him. Cooper, Newman and Biggs were in one of the interrogation rooms, grieving privately. Gerard was still at the scene, refusing to leave until he saw hard proof that his man was dead. Simon wished he could afford the luxury of that certainty, but other concerns kept him from indulging himself. The fugitive was still lose, the rest home bombing had to be investigated, and to top things off, Daniel Roberts was missing. A search of Roberts's house discounted foul play, so he knew he was being watched. They had immediately put an APB out on Roberts.

The black man again found his gaze stopping on Sandburg. God knew how this was affecting the young man. Simon had never pretended to understand the Sentinel/Guide bond between his best detective team. The two men were closer than any partners, hell, any brothers he had ever seen. Losing Jim like this was likely to tear the kid to pieces. And Simon wasn't sure anyone would be able to put him back together again.

Simon was amazed to find himself by the young man's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. He didn't remember leaving his office, but here he was. Amazingly, Blair looked up and into Simon's eyes. On the surface, Blair was devoid of emotion, as cold as Ellison had been pre-Sandburg. But in his eyes lay a myriad of churning emotions, all swirling together, none able to overcome the other and bubble to the surface. It frightened Simon. *When this kid finally blows...*

"Can I go home now?" Sandburg asked, his voice shaky, but flat. It was more of a demand than a question

"Sure, Blair. I'll drive you."

Blair nodded once, then seemed to fold back in on himself.

**********

Blair had trouble finding his keys to the loft. Where had he left them? They were in his backpack, which he had left in the truck. The truck. He looked at Simon, who was fishing a set of keys from his own pocket.

"The truck?"

Simon looked at the shorter man. "One of the officers drove it to the impound lot. It can stay there as long as you need it to."

Blair nodded, ignoring the last statement. He noticed Simon unlocking the door to the loft. "When did you get a key?"

"A while ago. Jim thought it would be a good idea in case something happ.…" Simon trailed off, realizing his blunder. Blair didn't seem affected.

"Thoughtful of him," was all the anthropologist said as he walked into the loft and headed automatically for the kitchen.

Simon closed the door behind him and watched Blair open the refrigerator and stare at its contents.

"I should have gone shopping," he muttered. "It's my turn to cook dinner."

*Oh, Lord,* Simon thought. *I hope the kid hasn't flipped out.*

"Sandb—Blair, why don't you sit down for a while?"

Brown curls bobbed. "Okay, Simon."

As Blair walked past, Simon coughed, finally catching a whiff of the other man. He reeked of smoke and sweat and his clothes were streaked with soot. Simon looked down at his own suit and caught identical streaks. They could both stand for long showers and a change of clothes. But Blair seemed oblivious to his state.

Simon followed Blair to the couch and watched him sit, staring blankly ahead. "Blair?"

"Mhmmm."

Simon took that as his cue to continue. He wanted to question the kid, to find out every detail of that fateful afternoon. He wanted to shake Blair fiercely until the dam broke and his emotions were allowed to surface. More than anything else, he wanted to tell the Guide that his Sentinel was coming back, that he wasn't dead. But he couldn't make himself voice any of these things. Instead, "Go take a shower. You could use it."

Blair blinked at him, then looked at himself. "Shit," he spat, launching himself off the couch. Simon took a step back at the reaction. Both men looked at the gray stain that marked Blair's previous location. Blair stormed into the kitchen, muttering, "He'll kill me if he sees this."

Simon shook his head, helplessly watching the younger man grab a sponge and clear bottle of liquid. A shrill noise filled the loft. Blair ignored it as he moved toward the couch once again. When the noise repeated itself, Simon realized it was his cell phone. He flipped it open and barked, "Banks," hoping to intimidate the person on the other end into leaving him alone. No such luck. He listened to the voice, arguing a few times, as Blair proceeded to use his sponge and liquid to clean the spot on the couch.

The conversation ended with a sharp, "Fine, twenty minutes," from Simon and the phone snapped shut. The agitated captain looked at Blair apologetically. "I gotta go. Will you be okay? Do you want me to call Brown or Megan or someone?"

"I'm fine." Blair stopped scrubbing and looked up. "Really."

Simon was not convinced. The kid was anything but fine. Blair had returned to his task. "Blair, I'll send someone to check on you later if I can't make it."

"Whatever," was the mumbled reply.

With one last look at the small figure kneeling in front of the couch, Simon Banks left the loft.

**********

Every part of him was numb. Even his brain wouldn't function. If it had, he would have noticed much sooner that instead of seltzer water, he was scrubbing the stain with vinegar. Frustrated by his mistake, he just scrubbed harder, as if his efforts could will the clear liquid to change into the correct substance. The scientific part of his brain was screaming at him, telling him he was just making it worse, but he couldn't stop. To stop meant failure and he couldn't fail Jim again.

He had failed him that afternoon...failed to be by his side in that warehouse...failed to die by his side as he should have. His job was to protect his Sentinel and he couldn't even do that and Jim had died, alone and terribly. How could he ever forgive himself for that?

He wanted to stop the back-and-forth motion of his hand, but couldn't make his arm respond. His knuckles where white and his muscles sore, but he kept on, trying to blot out all the memories that came with that soot stain. The smell of the vinegar made him sneeze once, then cough. But the cough sounded ragged. He coughed again and again. His eyes were stinging and he squeezed them shut. A drop of warm wetness landed on his free hand and he stared at it. A second joined the first and he finally stopped scrubbing the cushion.

The coughs became sobs, the drops of wetness too numerous to count. Wrapping his arms around his own trembling from, the devastated man cried out his grief. His body was wracked by the sobs of one who had lost part of himself, part of his own soul. And he had. Jim Ellison had become more than his partner, more than a brother. As Sentinel and Guide, they were connected on a spiritual level that even they had not fully understood. The two could always count on each other to be there for one another, come hell or high water. After Lash, he had come to depend on Jim's presence; it always served to make him feel safe and protected. His Blessed Protector...

*God, will I ever feel that safe again?*

Knowing the answer was well beyond his reach, the young man pushed all thoughts out of his head. He cried for his lost friend. He cried for an uncertain future that he was afraid to face alone. He cried for himself and the emptiness in his heart. He simply cried.

**********

Simon entered the safehouse, still thankful that the woman had finally chosen to come home, allowing the Cascade PD to bring her here under protective custody. He walked into a small room and studied the woman in front of him. She was about sixty years old, her hair completely white and hanging in a long braid down her back. Each finger was decorated with an ornamental ring and her gray eyes flashed fire. She was seated in a wheelchair, Gerard to her left, Biggs to her right. Simon approached her carefully.

"Ms. Teal?"

"Yes? Are you Captain Banks?"

"Good. Now what's this all about? You take me from my home and put me in here and won't tell me a damn thing about what's going on. Why?"

Simon pulled a crumpled mugshot from his pocket and gave it to Angela Teal. The old woman studied it for a moment, then gasped. Her hand began to tremble and she looked up at Simon with frightened eyes.

"I take it you know this man," Gerard said dryly.

*A master of stating the obvious,* Simon mused. "Ms. Teal, you were place in protective custody because we think someone may make an attempt on your life. Your brother in-law was killed tonight and we think it was done by this man." Simon pointed to the mug.

Ms. Teal didn't seem the least bit upset by the news. She almost seemed amused, even glad. "I never thought it would take him this long," she muttered.

Gerard caught it. "Excuse me?"

The elderly lady looked heavenward. "No use in keeping that secret no more, Bobby. At least now *my* soul will be able to rest in peace."

The two marshals exchanged glances. Simon raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms expectantly. Ms. Teal looked at each man in the room before she spoke again. "Get comfy, gentlemen. I've never told this story before.

"Robert Kinski married my sister, Sharon, and I hated her for it. I had been in love with Robert years before they met, but he never loved me back. Several years into their marriage, they had a fight and Robert came to me for comfort. Imagine my surprise. Needless to say, I took his side and we ended up in bed together to get even with Sharon. When I became pregnant, Robert said it wasn't his. So I told Sharon what I had done. We told Robert that he and Sharon would raise the child as theirs or I would tell the press. Robert was starting his own business then and bad press would have ruined him.

"Anyway, Jake was born and I gave him up. Robert sent me money for years, which I just put away in the bank in case I needed it some day. I had planned to give it to Jake for college, but his...criminal tendencies rendered that idea moot."

Simon noted her words. And he thought he knew where this story was going. The look he got from Gerard said the marshal knew the same thing.

"Jake was a teenager before Neal was finally conceived. Robert spoiled that baby rotten. It had taken so long to have a child with his wife that he neglected his bastard. That's what drove Jake to steal. He tried to regain his father's attention. Jake began to hate Robert."

"Ms. Teal," Gerard began impatiently, "I don't mean to interrupt, but are you saying that this man," indicating the mug shot, "is your son?"

Ms. Teal looked at Gerard with steely pride. "Yes, Jacob Teal Kinski is my son."

"And Daniel Roberts' brother," Simon filled in. "Dammit."

"Does Dan—Neal know his brother is his cousin?" Biggs jumped in.

Ms. Teal frowned at the marshal's wording, but nodded the affirmative. "Yes, he found out about Jake fifteen years ago."

"When he changed his name."

Ms. Teal nodded. "Poor Neal was furious with his father. He said he never wanted to see him again. The last time any of us saw him was at Sharon's funeral."

Simon was turning the possibilities over in his mind. "Do you know if Neal still keeps in contact with Jake?"

"I don't know. I didn't even know poor Jake was in jail again. I lost track of him after a while."

"Thank you for your help, Ms. Teal," Gerard said as he stood.

"Is my Jake in trouble? Robert Kinski deserved what he got."

"Perhaps," Simon said bitterly, "but he's hurt a lot more people than just Robert Kinski and we need to make sure he's put where he can't hurt anyone ever again." *Hell would be a nice place for him.* "We'll need to keep you in protective custody until Jake is found."

"I understand. Please don't hurt him. Jake was such a good boy."

Simon looked at the woman. The Jake she remembered was a teenage boy whose father still loved him. The Jake Simon knew was a stone-cold killer who had robbed him of his best detective and an even better friend. Instead of voicing this, he smiled sympathetically at the woman and said, "We'll try."

**********

It was dark when the three men exited the safehouse. Evening traffic was light and they stood for a moment, digesting what they had just learned. Gerard turned to Simon.

"We need a warrant to search the Roberts house."

Simon nodded and pulled out his cell phone.

To Biggs, Gerard said, "Get Coop and Noah to meet us at Roberts's house in fifteen minutes. We'll be along with the warrant."

Simon's call was finished before Biggs' and he heard the marshal exclaim, "Where the hell is he?" There was a pause and Gerard stared expectantly at his man. Biggs finished the conversation with, "Well, you get there and we'll find him later." The phone snapped shut. "Noah's gone."

"Where the hell did he go?" Gerard exclaimed.

"I asked him for a favor," Simon piped up.

Two sets of surprised eyes fixed on Simon.

"Well, actually he volunteered."

"To do what?" Gerard's voice was verging on annoyance.

"He went to check on Sandburg."

"Who, the kid? What for? I need him here."

"Blair's had a rough time today and Marshal Newman volunteered to go over to the loft."

"Well, you're police advisor needs to grow a backbone and learn to deal with life."

Simon caught the venom in the other man's voice and suddenly heard it reflected in his own. "What, like you? That kid watched his best friend and partner get blown into next week and you think he should just blow that off and move on. Not everyone around here is a damned iceberg."

There was murder in Gerard's eyes and Simon knew he had struck a deep nerve. He didn't care. He couldn't pretend Jim's death had never happened and move on with the case accordingly. How could anyone?

Gerard clenched his fists and moved until he was nose to nose with Simon Banks. Never looking away, Sam uttered, "The next time you so much as hint that I don't care about what happened to Cosmo, I'll reserve you a private slab at the morgue."

"Don't threaten me, Deputy," Simon spat, returning the stare and resisting the urge to flatten the arrogant man who was in his face.

"We don't work for you, Captain—"

A shrill whistle cut off the rest of Gerard's retort. The stare-down ended as both men looked at Biggs.

"No matter how much I hate to break up a good fight," the marshal said, "we have work to do. I'm sure this can wait until the case is over and guilty parties are neatly tucked away behind bars."

The chastised men didn't speak. Then Simon grunted and started for his car. "I'll meet you both at Daniel Roberts's house," was all he said.

**********

The shower hadn't helped. Blair had scrubbed his skin for nearly a half-hour, but he still felt as if the soot and dirt were clinging to him. He absently ran a hand through his damp curls, not even feeling the chill in the evening air. His mind was fuzzy, his eyes swollen and he had a killer headache. He knew his body was cold, but his brain refused to acknowledge that fact and tell his feet to leave the balcony for the warmth of the loft. He looked down at the cement three stories below, his thoughts turning sour. It would be so easy to just go head-first and let his cranium go squish against the ground...

*Stop it, Blair! This won't help. Besides, you haven't seen a body. What if he survived?* Blair laughed inwardly. *Survived? Yeah, and maybe I'll grow wings and fly south for the winter. Face it. He's not coming back.*

Tears welled up in his crystal blue eyes, but Blair resisted. *Not until they find the body.* There was a sharp knock on the door, but he ignored it. He didn't want to move. If he moved, feeling would return to his stiffened limbs and Blair didn't want to feel anything right now.

But the knocker wouldn't go away. Blair twisted his neck around and shouted into the loft, "It's open!" Then he resumed his position, not bothering to see who entered. He knew it was a stupid thing to do, but he didn't care. If it was Simon, fine. If it were Bobby or whoever, he would deal with it as best he could and try to survive long enough for...what? For Jim to come to his rescue?

A hand on his shoulder startled Blair. He jerked away and raised his hands in a defensive position. When the face registered, he relaxed.

"Sorry," Noah said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to scare you like that."

"S'okay." Blair was confused as to the reason for the appearance of the young marshal. "Is something wrong?" *What else could possibly be wrong?*

"No."

For the first time Blair noticed that Noah's eyes were also red-rimmed, his youthful face pale and drawn. Then it hit him. While he was so busy mourning Jim, he had forgotten Marshal Renfro had also been inside the warehouse when it blew. Blair immediately felt guilty.

"How are you?"

Noah seemed surprised by the question. He hadn't been expecting sympathy from a man he had come to console. "I'm okay. It's a hard thing to digest."

"Tell me about it."

Neither man spoke for several minutes, lost in their own thoughts. Finally Noah shivered and asked, "Mind if we go inside? It's chilly out here."

"No. I mean, sure, go on in."

Blair trailed Noah into the living room. Noah stared at the couch, wrinkling his nose.

"I didn't know vinegar cleaned couches," Noah deadpanned.

Blair smiled faintly. "It's an old Sandburg family secret. It also takes varnish off walls, feathers off tar and corn off cobs. Want some coffee or tea?"

"Coffee's good. Thanks."

Blair shrugged and walked into the kitchen. Noah looked around the loft, taking in the tribal artifacts, framed photos and general neatness of the place. His gaze fell on a small framed photograph. Jim and Blair looked back at him, both grinning widely. Jim's arm was resting on Blair's head and the shorter man was shrugging his shoulders. They seemed so comfortable with each other, so at peace. Noah looked at it for a long time before he realized Blair was by his side.

"Simon took that a couple months ago. We were goofing around and he pulled a camera on us. I think Jim secretly loved the fact that I'm so much shorter than him. Made it easier to make me follow all his anal rules." Blair picked up the photograph and studied the smiling face of his partner. *He was so happy that day.* Blair shook his head and put the picture back on the shelf. *Dammit, Sandburg, not until they find a body. Only then...yeah, yeah then.*

"What?"

Blair realized he must have spoken aloud. "Nothing. Uh, coffee should be ready soon."

Noah nodded and the two men wandered into the kitchen. On the counter was an open bottle of bourbon and a half-full shot glass. Noah raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. When Blair turned to his guest with a steaming mug, he noted the objects of his interest.

"I thought about it real hard, you know?" Blair confessed, sounding like a lost child. "But I knew it wouldn't help. For a while, I'd feel nothing. But in the morning I would have a hangover that would kill a horse. Then I'd have to drink again to make that pain go away. I didn't want to start that cycle."

Blair handed Noah the mug, then reached for the shot glass. In one swift motion, the contents fell into the sink. Moments later, the bottle followed. When empty, Blair left the bottle in the sink and picked up his own mug of herbal tea, motioning for Noah to follow him. The men settled at the table and sipped at their respective drinks in silence.

**********

The door to Daniel Roberts's, a.k.a. Neal Kinski's, house was kicked in. Gerard, Simon, Biggs and Cooper swarmed inside, guns ready and split up to search the house.

Outside, Detectives Rafe and Brown waited until they were needed. Simon told them to wait as backup in case an unexpected visitor made an appearance. The pair was alert, constantly checking and rechecking their surroundings. After several minutes of silence, they glanced at the house. There was no sign of motion inside. The partners exchanged looks.

Brown brought a walkie-talkie to his mouth and said, "Captain, you there? Simon?"

There was no answer. Together, the pair cautiously made their way across the lawn and onto the porch. The front door was still open. A peek inside revealed nothing. Brown nodded at his partner. He was going in. Both men raised their guns and readied to enter the house, unsure of what they would find.

**********

A sharp moan escaped his lips. His whole body felt as if it was on fire. Had it been? He couldn't remember. He couldn't think. His whole world was the pain coursing through his tortured form. He felt heat from all sides, but the ground beneath him was cool. He tried to sit up and a spasm of pain brought the darkness back. He succumbed to it willingly, grateful for the release.

**********

Finally, Blair broke the spell of silence.

"So, why did you say you came over?"

Noah thought about his answer. "I realized you did all the talking in the car this morning and I wanted to return the favor."

Had that only been that morning? It seemed like months ago. "No sweat, man. I love to talk. Just ask...ask anybody." He had almost said ask Jim. Jim was gone, though. *Maybe my subconscious knows something I don't and it's trying to tell me.* He sighed. *I should be committed.* Instead of finishing his muse, Blair turned his attention to Noah. "Have you always lived in Chicago?"

"Born and bred," Noah answered proudly. That opened the dam. Then next three hours were filled with stories of Noah's life in the great city of Chicago. He had grown up in a modest three-bedroom apartment with his parents and little sister. He devoured mystery novels and idolized Dirty Harry. He was eighteen when his parents were murdered in their home, the incident that saw Noah Woodrow Newman drop out of pre-med school for a career in law enforcement. He raised his sister, five years his junior, until she entered college. They kept in touch religiously. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he always managed to call her and let her know he was all right.

Blair also learned of Noah's great respect for Samuel Gerard. He got the impression Noah looked up to the man as the father he had lost. And he loved to talk about him. "Sam goes with his instincts on people, never giving an inch if he's sure he's right. And he usually is. The only time Sam had ever openly admitted to being wrong was right after the Kimble case. He was so sure the Dr. Kimble was guilty, just like the rest of the country."

"I remember reading about that in the paper," Blair interjected.

"Who didn't? Sam really cares, you know. He acts distant, because he doesn't want us to take our work personally. He says he's the only one who's allowed to do that. Him and Cosmo were real close, or at least as close as Sam would let himself get. He tries to be strong, but I know this is tearing him apart."

"They're not dead."

Blair said this so suddenly and with such conviction that he startled himself. Why did he say that? He didn't know, but something had told him to. He looked into the living room and was only mildly surprised to see a gray wolf, his spirit guide, staring back at him from its position on the ruined couch cushion. Blair blinked and it was gone.

"How do you know?" Noah repeated. "How could anyone survive that sort of blast?"

Blair opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the shrill ring of the phone. Silently grateful, he stood and picked up the cordless from its place on the table behind the couch.

"Hello?"

<"Blair? It's Rhonda. Have you heard from Captain Banks?">

Simon? "No, why?"

<"They pulled the marshal from the warehouse. He's alive and on his way to Cascade General.">

Blair felt his heart skip a beat. He turned to Noah and said, "Renfro's alive." Blair heard the empty coffee mug clatter to the table. To Rhonda, "Did they find Jim?" There was a sharp breath. "Rhonda?"

<"I'm sorry, Blair. They found another body, but no one could identify it. The burns...">

Blair dropped the phone, an icy chill spreading through his body. Noah was already at the door. Robotically, Blair followed his friend out of the loft, preparing to face the worst.

**********

"I don't get it," Noah muttered, shoving his cell phone into his jacket. "No one is answering."

The duo made their way into the emergency room area, searching desperately for someone with answers. Two uniforms Blair didn't recognize where pacing outside the doors of an exam room. When Noah flashed his badge, they stepped aside and let the men enter the room.

Cosmo Renfro was sitting on an exam table, stripped down to his boxers. Two nurses where applying salve to several large burns on his face and torso. He was red and sweaty, but very much alive. He caught site of Noah and smiled. The grin immediately transformed to a grimace. "Kid, I have never been so glad to see your ugly face in my life."

"God, Cosmo, we thought you were dead." Noah wanted to hug the older man and reassure himself he was, indeed, alive. But those angry burns held him back. "What the hell happened?"

Renfro scrunched up his face, thinking hard. "Ellison and I were looking down a hallway. I remember a vault of some sort, and Ellison getting this really weird look on his face, like he heard the bomb before it went off. Then he shoved me into the vault and took off."

Blair turned this over in his mind. Jim had heard the bomb and had tried to protect the marshal. But why not join him in the vault? "Where did he go?"

"Don't know. Everything happened so fast. All I remember after that is the heat." Renfro closed his eyes at another invading memory. "And that scream. I tell you it was inhuman."

Blair thought he was going to be sick. He swallowed hard and excused himself, fleeing the exam room. The two marshals watched his retreating form. Cosmo looked at his teammate for an explanation. Noah shook his head sadly.

"They found a charred corpse near where they found you. I guess Blair was hoping for a miracle or something."

"Poor kid." Another thought filled Refro's head. "Where's Sam, anyhow?"

**********

Blair leaned his forehead against the cool, smooth surface of the bathroom stall. His dry heaves had subsided, but the intense fear was still running strong. He had been so sure Jim had found a way to survive the blast. But Renfro's story, the scream, the corpse...it all served to reinforce the idea that Jim was dead. But his spirit guide…

*You probably just imagined it in some perverse attempt to keep a hold onto your extremely thin thread of sanity. Face it, Sandburg. You're alone now.* Another thought occurred to him. *I'll be damned if this guy doesn't pay. One way or another.*

Blair stood, filled with a determination that both scared and excited him. He walked to the bathroom door and pushed at the same time Noah pulled from the outside. Noah was consequentially banged in the forehead in an almost comic fashion by the door. Not sparing the breath for an apology, but noting to do so later, Blair turned to his friend.

"I need your cell phone."

**********

Noah stopped the Explorer half a block from the Roberts house. Blair's call to the station had Rhonda telling them Simon and the marshals had gone to search Roberts's home after interviewing Angela Teal. She had few details of the interrogation, but knew that Teal had admitted that she and Robert Kinski were their fugitive's parents. Roberts was now a suspect along with his brother/cousin Jake. Their newest information had come in ten minutes ago from the First Bank of Cascade. They had said that Robert Kinski had made regular withdrawals of two thousand dollars from his savings account for nearly seven years. The recipient was unknown.

After much debating it was Blair who postulated blackmail. One of the sons, or both, could have been blackmailing the father about his relationship with his sister in-law for many years. The theory made sense, but they had no real evidence to support it. But that evidence could be waiting for them in the house down the street.

The two curly haired men exited the Explorer and crept nearer to Roberts's house. Noah pulled a back-up pistol from his ankle holster and offered it to Blair. The anthropologist was tempted to take it...for about half a second. He shook his head. Noah simply nodded and replaced the weapon. Together, the two men advanced on their target.

They crept silently onto the porch and positioned themselves on either side of the front door. The knob was tested—locked. Noah kicked it in and went in gun first. Blair followed close behind. Sprawled on the floor of the living room were Rafe and Brown. Blair ran to them while Noah continued his sweep of the residence.

Both men had strong pulses and were beginning to regain consciousness. Blair slapped Rafe's cheek lightly, bringing the man out of it. The detective blinked hard and tried to sit up. His head protested and he lay still for a moment.

"You okay?" Blair asked, simultaneously coaxing Brown back to the real world.

"What hit me?" Rafe rubbed the back of his neck absently. "Where's Henri?"

"Right here," Brown answered for himself, sitting up with great effort.

Noah returned and helped Blair pull the groggy men to their feet. "House is empty. But I did find this." He handed Blair Simon's cell phone. "Desk is cleaned out, garbage is emptied. The fireplace in the kitchen has recently been burned."

"Wonderful," Blair muttered. "You guys have any idea what happened to Simon?"

"None," Rafe said. "They all charged in here and when no one came out, me and Henri came in and were hit from behind."

Blair nodded, his throat tight. "Forensics needs to go over this place. Can you guys see to that?"

On any other day, the detectives would have been amused at Blair's take-charge attitude. Today, they just nodded. Blair left the house, Noah not far behind. He followed Blair silently to the car, then put a hand on his shoulder, forcing the shorter man to stop.

"Blair, where are we going?"

"I'm not sure. This guy has our friends. Where would he take them?"

As if to answer the question, Simon's cell phone began to ring. Blair snapped it open quickly. "Hello?" No answer. "Hello?" Then he heard it. A rasping sound that seemed to echo inside an enclosed space. Breathing? But it was more than one person doing it. "Simon? Are you there?"

<"He's here, but he's busy at the moment.">

The familiarity of the voice made Blair cringe. His mind automatically went back to his car, slowly sinking into the bay. He pushed the memories away.

"What do you want?"

<"For you to listen to your friends die.">

Blair's blood boiled. "You son of a bitch. Kinski!"

No answer. Instead a different sound filled the receiver. It caused cold tremors of fear to radiate down Blair's spine. A train whistle.

The young police observer turned to his temporary partner. "The train yards. Now."

**********

While Noah drove, Blair was still glued to the cell phone. He spoke in his best Guide voice, hoping to coax anyone within hearing range back to consciousness. He was soon rewarded with an annoyed moan. A familiar annoyed moan.

"Simon?"

<"Sandburg?">

"Simon, find the phone."

He heard scuffling noises. The captain's voice sounded distant and tinny, like it was echoing off of something.

<"I see the phone but can't get it. My hands and ankles are tied.">

"Where are you?"

<"We're in a van of some sort. The windows are blacked out, but I can hear whistles, sounds like a train or something. Where are you?">

"On our way. Are you sure you can't see anything that could help us find you faster?"

The phone was filled with scraping sounds. There was a loud grunt and Simon muttered an expletive.

"What happened?" Blair shouted, hoping the captain could still hear him.

<"I fell on Marshal Biggs. It's crowded in here."> More grunting, then, <"There's a crack in the paint. I can see part of a sign. Looks like it says 'Walkens.' ">

Blair racked his memory. "Walkens Plastics. Damn, don't they have an old warehouse a block away from..."

There was no need to finish the sentence. Instead, Blair began pointing out directions to Noah, praying silently to any deity out there that they arrived in time.

Noah tossed Blair his own cell phone and said, "Call for backup."

Blair nodded and shifted Simon's phone to his other ear.

**********

His mind began to clear again. The pain had not subsided, but was slowly being replaced by an urgent need. But a need to do what? He couldn't remember. There was someone he needed to talk to, wasn't there? The ground had become unbearably uncomfortable. He opened one eye, prepared for an assault on his senses. He was relieved to find his surroundings dimly lit, if unfamiliar. Automatically he stretched his hearing, searching for a heartbeat. But whose heartbeat? There was no memory. Only the immediate pain and faint sense of duty to someone. That duty began to overtake him and the tortured figure tried to stand.

**********

"Simon, we see the van. We're almost there."

<"Look out for snipers.">

Blair hadn't considered that. The black work van they were seeking was astride a length of railroad track, facing the Explorer. Half a dozen different tracks ran through the same empty lot and there was no cover for several hundred yards. The buildings on both sides of the tracks had ample hiding places for men with guns. Blair was determined that no one else die today.

Noah took the service road leading to the tracks and stopped several yards away from the van. Both men looked cautiously at their surroundings.

"We're here," was the last thing Blair whispered before dropping the phone on the seat. He and Noah exchanged a look, opened their doors and got out. Blair flinched, expecting a hail of bullets. None came. Instead, another train whistle sounded, very close. The two men looked down the track. A freight train was less than a mile away on their track and approaching fast.

"Shit," they said simultaneously.

The pair sprinted to the van and quickly assessed it. Every door was colorfully wired. The wires trailed along the body of the van and were attached to an explosive taped to the back door. There was no timer, but it was connected to a pressure plate. The instant they removed it from the door, it would detonate.

"Damn," Noah muttered. "We open the doors, they blow. We do nothing, they get flattened. We need some more options here." He tried to peer in the darkened windows. "Sam, can you hear me?"

"He's still out!" was Simon's muffled response. "But he's coming to!"

"Simon!" Blair yelled. "The whole van is wired to explosives!"

"Call Taggert and get him over here."

"We don't exactly have that sort of time."

"Is there a timer?"

"No, but there's a really big freight train coming right at us."

"Newman?"

"Sam?" Noah moved closer to the door.

"Pick a wire, Noah! We're out of options and I'd rather go boom knowing a friend did it, than be mowed down by an angry train."

"That doesn't help much, Sam!"

"It wasn't supposed to. Now pick a wire!"

Blair watched Noah take a Swiss army knife out of his back pocket. *Would the similarities never cease?* Noah looked at him.

"Better take cover in case this goes sour."

"Forget it."

Noah stared intently at the brave (suicidal?) man in front of him, before returning his thoughts to the bomb. He carefully picked through the wires, ignoring the warnings of the locomotive that was still speeding in their direction. He picked one, closed his eyes and cut.

Nothing.

Quick as lightening, the young marshal yanked the trigger off the van door and heaved it away from the vehicle. The curly haired men braced themselves against the explosion. Coughing through the cloud of dust, Blair ran to the driver's side door and yanked it open. He shifted the van into neutral, then joined Noah at the fender. With a combined burst of strength, they moved the van safely out of danger mere moments before the train thundered across the tracks, its breaks squealing in protest.

"That was way too close," a deathly pale Blair whispered.

"No kidding," Noah mumbled, his hands shaking. "I got a few grays out of that one."

"Sandburg!"

"Newman!"

The cries came from the van simultaneously. Grinning with relief, the two junior partners went around to the back doors and opened them. Four pairs of eyes blinked against the sudden onslaught of light. Simon wiggled around until he was sitting at the edge of the van.

"Noah, you still have your knife?" Blair asked.

"I dropped it when we pushed the van."

The marshal in question looked at the train that had finally stopped. There were at least twenty cars in each direction and no other service roads nearby. *I guess back-up will be a little late,* he mused. To his friends he said, "Cosmo's alive. He was in some kind of vault when the warehouse blew."

An enormous smile threatened to split Gerard's face. "Hot damn, I knew that man was a fighter."

Blair tensed. *Jim was a fighter, too. It's not like he gave up.* He wanted to shout those words into the face of the happy marshal. Instead, he reached around behind Simon and began tearing at the tape binding the captain's wrists, perhaps a bit too roughly. Noah did likewise for Gerard.

Blair had just freed Simon's ankles when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Noah, who was standing straight up, head cocked. Blair also listened. There were sirens in the distance.

"Backup's finally here," Noah commented.

In that split second, Noah Newman slumped to the ground, the left side of his head darkening with blood. A millisecond later, the gun's discharge reverberated through the canyon created by the buildings and boxcars.

"Noah!" Blair and Gerard screamed. Blair lunged for his friend, but Simon held him back. Gerard was still fighting his bonds, his yells echoing in the small van.

**********

*Those were gunshots.*

He instantly knew the sound. He also knew he had to find the source of it. Groping around in the semi-darkness, the man found a ladder leading up. But up to where? Right now he didn't care. An instinct to protect was filling his being, urging him to ascend that ladder as quickly as possible.

**********

Simon tumbled from the van. He found Newman's pulse strong, then pulled the marshal's gun from his shoulder holster. The captain scanned the buildings around them. Blair crouched next to Simon and peeked around the open van door. On the roof of the Walkens Plastics Building were two men. The young anthropologist didn't need Sentinel vision to know who they were.

"There," he said, pointing for Simon's benefit.

Simon trained his borrowed gun on the two men. The snipers fired again. Simon and Blair ducked behind the van door. When the barrage ended, Simon leaned into the open and returned fire. Blair peeked through the crack between the side of the van and the door. One of the men screamed and fell backwards. The second also disappeared from sight. Simon double-checked that the snipers were gone, then took off running toward the Plastics warehouse. Not bothering to turn around, he yelled, "Sandburg, stay at the van!"

"Not this time, Simon. These guys killed Jim." Blair started forward, but was stopped by a shout from Gerard.

Simon's longer legs carried him quickly to the warehouse. He leaned against the wall and stole a glance upward. Seeing nothing, the black man tried the only door on that side of the building. It was locked. All the ground floor windows were boarded. Inching to the corner, he entered the alley gun first. He proceeded slowly down the narrow space. Simon heard the sound a split second too late.

**********

"Finish getting me outta this tape!" the marshal-in-charge ordered.

Urged on by a need to protect Simon (*As you failed to do for Jim,* he admonished himself), Blair tore through the last of Gerard's bonds and took off after Simon. He peeked around the corner of the warehouse the same instant a large figure leapt from a second story window onto Simon, knocking the police captain hard into the opposite wall. Noah's gun flew from his hand and landed a few feet from Blair. Recognition dawned on him as Jake "Bobby" Kinski stood up and kicked Simon's unconscious form. Fury boiled inside Blair. He didn't feel himself pick up the gun and wasn't aware he had called Jake's name until the latter was staring straight at him.

"You know," Jake started, advancing slightly. "You're partner was a lot easier to kill than you've been."

Blair prickled and felt his grip on the revolver tighten, hate radiating from his body.

"You won't shoot me," Jake continued. "You don't have it in you to kill another man. I can see it in your eyes."

Blair blinked. No, he couldn't kill another man; he didn't think he would ever be able to. But this guy had killed Jim, his best friend. And he had tried to kill Simon and the marshals. There was no way this man was going to get away again.

"Go to hell, Kinski," Blair shot back icily.

"Not without me he won't."

The new voice startled Blair. The gun was knocked from his hands and someone shoved him into the warehouse wall. His head cracked against it. Blair blinked and steadied himself before turning to face his attacker. Neal "Daniel Roberts" Kinski now had Noah's gun trained on Blair. The former was pale, his right shoulder soaked in blood. Blair stared at him, fighting against a headache and the darkness that was threatening to engulf him.

Jake joined his brother/cousin and leered at Blair. "We tried to be sporting about the whole thing, but you had to go and be so damn clever. So I guess we'll just have to take you out the old fashioned way." Neal cocked the trigger.

Blair simply stared at them coldly, old instincts kicking in. *If you can't beat them, talk them to death. Stall.* "There are cops swarming all over this place. How far do you think you'll get?"

Jake shrugged. "Plenty far, I think. And we'll live long, happy lives, content with the knowledge that we rid Cascade's underworld of its most problematic police officers in the city's history."

"Gee, you'll be heroes," Blair sneered. Neal raised an eyebrow at the attitude, but Blair was on a roll. "You think I'm afraid of you? Of dying? You killed the most important thing in my life. Do you really think death could be any worse than living with that? Than living alone for the rest of my life? Do you?"

Blair knew he sounded hysterical. He didn't want to die, but he was afraid to live. He wanted to lash out against the Kinski's, but the gun held him back. His head was pounding and he was terrified of losing consciousness and waking up in a hole six feet deep. *Dammit all, if I'm going out, I'm going out fighting. That's how Jim...* Blair prepared to charge Neal.

A length of iron pipe smashed into Neal's wrist, causing the man to drop the gun and squeal in pain. A second swing crashed into Neal's head, sending him into oblivion. Jake turn to face the newcomer and his jaw dropped open. Blair also saw him. His youthful face paled and his expression became a jumbled mix of shock, joy and utter disbelief.

Jim Ellison stood on wobbly feet, a dangerous glare locked on Jake. The Sentinel's upper body was speckled with burns of all degrees that peeked out through his scorched shirt. His face was red and blistered in various places, his brown hair singed on the left side. He couldn't seem to catch his breath, as if he had run a long distance. The pipe was clenched in his blistered hands like a baseball bat.

"Jim?" Blair squeaked, sure that he had either died without realizing it or was certifiably insane for dreaming up the ghost of his dead friend.

The apparition blinked and tore his gaze away from Jake. Crystal blue eyes landed on the trembling young man to his left. Blair looked into a mask of confusion that slowly softened into distant recognition. The young Guide felt his heart swell. No, he wasn't a ghost and he wasn't dead; neither of them was. The pain on the older man's face was too real.

Momentarily forgotten, Jake took that instant to tackle Jim, sending the larger man sprawling to the ground with a shriek of agony. That scream struck something in Blair. *No! Not again!* He launched himself off the wall and grabbed a handful of Jake's shirt. Adrenaline surged through his veins and he lifted Jake off of his Sentinel and sent the man careening into a garbage can.

Blair was on him in an instant, attacking blindly, his mind repeating *nononononono* in a constant monologue. He never felt his knuckles split, nor could he see the blood coating them. He didn't feel Jake's nose break under his barrage. He didn't notice the man slip into unconsciousness.

"Blair?"

The desperate plea, barely audible, finally penetrated Blair's haze. He immediately left Jake and scrambled to his best friend's side. Jim was lying on his back, staring at the sky, fighting against a sudden overwhelming fatigue. Blair was alarmed that his breathing was still shallow and labored. Two pairs of blue eyes locked onto each other and the rest of the world seemed to fade into the background. Blair shifted into Guide mode, calmly whispering to Jim, telling him to dial down the pain. It worked and the Sentinel's breathing became easier, his expression less agonized.

The pair was vaguely aware of Gerard and Biggs turning into the alley, several uniforms on their heels. They stopped short when they saw Jim, staring open-mouthed at the man they had never expected to see again. Gerard recovered first. He turned on an officer and ordered, "Get the paramedics here now." Then he moved to help Simon, who was just starting to come around.

Without breaking his gaze, Blair asked, "How's Noah?"

Biggs knelt next to the trembling anthropologist. "He's alive. Doesn't look too good, though."

This made Blair look up. *No. No!* His mind was racing. *We did not come this far to have him die now. Jim's alive. Renfro's alive. The bad guys are busted. How can he die now?*

As if sensing his thoughts, Jim placed a blistered hand on his Guide's, his eyes communicating what he couldn't find the breath to say. Blair simply nodded and silently urged the paramedics to hurry.

**********

Simon Banks tried not to laugh, partly because of his splitting headache, partly because it would just piss the kid off even more. Blair had refused to move from Jim's side since they were reunited, swearing at anyone who tried to make him. Once they arrived at Cascade General, the emergency doctors got tired of maneuvering around the anthropologist and had Simon drag him out of the trauma room. Then Blair had become a statue at the trauma room doors, his gaze fixed intently upon the injured party that was the object of everyone's interest. Now Jim had been moved upstairs and Blair had been forced into an exam room himself.

Sandburg was royally pissed at having to sit still while his knuckles were bandaged and his head examined. When the doctor was done, Blair had gauze wrapped around his head, making his unruly hair poof out at the top.

*Hot damn, he looks like one of those troll doll things,* Simon mused, fighting off the grin.

Blair was alternating between glaring at Simon and at the doctor. "When can I see Jim?" he demanded.

The doctor scribbled something on a chart and looked at his infuriated patient. "I'll call upstairs and see if he's been settled in yet."

Said patient managed a slight smile. "Thanks."

Blair watched the doctor leave, then slid off the exam table. Every muscle protested the action. Simon put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. Both men had danced with a brick wall that afternoon and would be feeling it for a while to come. Simon fingered the bump on his own forehead and wished immediately that he hadn't. He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the pain to go away.

"You okay, Simon?"

Blair watched him, concern etched across his tired features. He was never so focused on himself that he didn't notice when someone else was hurting. That's what made the kid unique...well, one of many things. Blair was a natural caregiver. He would treat other people's wounds before even noticing that he himself was also wounded. He had actually been surprised to see his own knuckles and the condition they were in. Between worrying about Jim and Newman, he had been totally oblivious to the pain. Newman...

"I'm fine, Blair," Simon answered, putting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "C'mon."

Together they left the exam room and reentered the waiting area. Marshal Renfro had just been released and was waiting with his fellow marshals in the hard plastic seats that Simon had become too accustomed to sitting in over that last three years. Only Gerard was standing, well, pacing actually. Marshal Biggs caught Simon's eye and shook his head—no news.

One of the doctors from before, Dr. Pincus, entered the waiting room. He blinked nervously as twelve anxious eyes fixed on him. Clearing his throat, he said, "Ellison?"

Blair was on him in an instant. "Is he okay? Can I see him now?" His tone was fixed between asking and demanding.

"I'm afraid only family—"

Simon groaned. How many times did they have to go through this? "We are his family."

Dr. Pincus raised an eyebrow, but didn't question it. Instead, he said, "He's in ICU. You can see him for ten minutes, one at a time."

Both men nodded. They had become accustomed to the workings of the ICU over the last three years, too accustomed. And there was no question of who would go in first.

**********

He didn't know what to say. Thousands of questions were racing through his mind, each one begging an answer. How had you survived? Who was that burnt corpse? Can you forgive me for not being there for you? No, for not being there *with* you. His Sentinel had faced danger, had faced death, and he had been alone. Ever since he had seen Jim, alive and breathing in that alley, there had been an unsettled feeling in his stomach. Now, as he watched his friend sleep, Blair could finally identify it as guilt.

*God, Sandburg, Jim would say you're being an ass. He wouldn't have wanted you with him when he faced that fire. He would have been glad you were safe.*

But he still felt guilty. And he wanted to punch himself for believing that Jim was dead. He wasn't dead, a fact he sadly had to keep reminding himself of. Jim was lying in an oxygen tent, bandaged like a mummy, dehydrated and exhausted. He knew his Sentinel would probably sleep through the night and never hear a word, but Blair had to say it all now.

"I love you, man," he whispered, gently slipping his hand under the oxygen tent and placing it over the bandaged hand of his best friend. "I lost a part of myself when I thought you were gone. I don't ever want to feel like that again. I need you as much as you need me. And I'm not talking about the Sentinel thing; I'm talking about the friendship thing. Somehow my doctorate got turned into a forever kind of a deal and I wouldn't trade that for ten lifetimes of other experiences.

"Sure I was scared at first. Shit, I'm scared every time I stare down the barrel of a gun or face a serial killer who wants to be me or an insane Sentinel who wants to drown me. But you taught me that it's okay to be scared sometimes. And I don't blame you for Alex Barnes, either. Yes, we've gone over that in detail, but I keep getting the feeling you still blame yourself for my...you know."

It was weeks ago, but Blair still found it hard to think about. His death and resurrection, you could call it. He found it especially hard to say it now, as if speaking the word aloud would somehow jinx Jim's chances of survival. The doctor had given him even odds, but fifty-fifty tilted both ways. He couldn't think about that now. He had to say his peace before Dr. Pincus kicked him out.

"Don't worry about me. You just do your part and let your body heal. You saved Renfro's life. You saved my life. You survived an exploding building. You deserve a nice long recovery."

There was a tap on the door. Blair withdrew his hand from the tent and stood, cringing as his muscles pulled in protest. He took one last, long look at his resting friend, whispered, "I'm always here for you, man," and left the room.

As he passed Simon, the older man discreetly handed a tissue to the younger. Blair accepted it, quite puzzled until he realized tears were streaking both of his cheeks. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose, then looked around. Nurses and doctors bustled about, each intent on their duties. At the far end of the ICU ward, Blair spotted three distinctive figures and walked towards them, suddenly very concerned about another friend.

**********

".…heard the ticking. We were deep inside the building, so I shoved Renfro into that metal vault and ran towards the ticking sound. I found an adjacent hallway and saw a manhole, probably part of the old system that was used before the warehouses went up. Anyway, I kept going and heard the ticking stop. I remember a wave of heat, some pain. And I vaguely remember crawling to that manhole and getting in somehow."

A fit of coughing stopped Jim Ellison's recollection of his disappearance for almost twenty-four hours. Blair put a supportive hand on his shoulder, partly to steady his Sentinel, but mostly just to have physical contact. In the five days following the capture of the Kinski's, Blair had slept in the hard chairs in the waiting room until Jim had been moved to a private room. There he had positioned himself next to the bed, only moving to answer the call of nature. Simon brought food and he ate. The captain was often at the hospital, keeping watch over his best detective whenever Blair couldn't. Only after Jim had been taken off oxygen the previous day and been told he would make a full recovery did Blair go home and shower.

For that, Jim was thankful. He much preferred the herbal scents his roommate now emitted than the odors of four-day old sweat. And he felt better knowing the kid was taking care of himself.

"How'd you find us at the train tracks?" Blair prompted.

Jim blinked at the smaller man and tried to refocus his thoughts. He cleared his raw throat and prepared himself for the hoarse, scratchiness that was his temporary voice. "I kept going in and out from the pain. I kept thinking that there was something I needed to do, but couldn't put my finger on it." Jim stared at his bandaged hands as if they held all the answers he sought. "Then I heard gunshots and something came over me."

"Something?" Ever the scientist, Blair pounced on this one.

"Like a feeling, some sort of instinct to protect."

Jim glanced pointedly at the tape recorder next to Simon. All three men knew it was his Sentinel instincts that had kicked in and there was no need to verbalize it. Instead, Jim continued.

"I followed the tunnel I was in until I found a ladder and climbed up. I think I came out behind the warehouse the snipers were in. I remember finding a piece of pipe and swinging really hard. Then Blair, the ambulance...everything else is a blur."

Simon pressed the 'stop' button on the recorder. Another thought occurred to Jim. "Did they ever ID the corpse they pulled from the fire?"

"Martin Woolly," Simon supplied. "He was the man who helped break Jake Kinski out of jail. Guess they didn't want to share the money with him."

"So Daniel—"

"Neal," Blair interjected.

Jim looked pointedly at his Guide before continuing his thought. "So Neal was blackmailing his father for the last seven years. He found out Jake was back in jail and set up a plan to break Jake out, kill their father and leave the country with the money."

"That's about it," Simon said wearily.

"And did we find out what he got from the bus station?"

"Clean clothes, some cash and the C-4 he blew the warehouse up with. Placed there by Neal."

"The whole militant group thing was bull," Blair offered. "It was just a rumor meant as a diversion to keep the marshals guessing."

"So where's the money going, Simon?"

"Probably to Angela Teal."

Jim nodded, satisfied with the answer. He looked at Blair, proud of his partner for his part in the apprehension of the Kinski's. Even with Jim's "death" looming over him, Blair had come through and helped save a lot of lives. Jim had never been more proud in his life.

"Get some rest, Jim," Simon ordered, gathering up the tape recorder. "I'll get this typed up and back over here for you to sign."

"I shall await with baited breath, Simon, sir." Jim gave his captain a mock salute.

"Sir Simon," Blair joked, mimicking Jim's salute.

Simon rolled his eyes and left. Blair caught Jim's wink and both men laughed. The pair basked in the golden moment. They had come so close to losing each other forever and neither man could easily dismiss that thought. It was silent for a few minutes. Blair contemplated telling Jim everything he had said during the older man's first few hours of unconsciousness, but decided against it. Somehow he was sure Jim had heard him and knew what was in his heart.

Blair looked up and caught Jim still staring at him. The young Guide gave his friend a lop-sided grin. He was about to entertain Jim with his no-work-for-several-more-weeks

-and-I-don't-want-any-arguments speech, but a knock at the door stopped him.

"Come in," Blair said.

Marshal Renfro stuck his head inside the door. "You up for some company?"

Jim nodded and shifted straighter in is bed. Blair cringed along with his Sentinel when the older man hit a sore spot.

Renfro took a few steps into the room. He almost looked nervous. "Doctors finally said we could transfer Newman back to Chicago. He wanted to see Blair before he left." The marshal glanced out the door, then back at Blair. "Try to be sensitive," he whispered to the pair.

Jim and Blair exchanged glances. What did that mean? As if on cue, Gerard's formidable presence filled the doorway. He was pushing a wheelchair with a dejected looking Noah Newman in it. Jim did a good job of hiding his expression. Blair envied him his Army training, because nothing he tried could stop his jaw from falling open in shock.

A bandage covered the whole left side of Noah's head. The right side was completely bald. All of Newman's golden curls had been shaved off by the hospital staff. Blair's hand jerked automatically, reaching to reassure himself that his own curly mane was still in place. He had had nightmares about waking up in the hospital without his hair and had sympathy for the young man in front of him.

Noah was alternately eyeing Jim and Blair, daring either man to mention his hairless state. Neither did. Gerard pushed the wheelchair fully into the room.

"How do you feel?" Blair asked, pushing his shock to the background.

"Naked," Noah responded, absently rubbing his newly shorn head. The five men laughed together.

"Neal Kinski's been taken to Chicago," Gerard began. "Jake's set to be released tomorrow, then he'll be flown back."

Blair avoided Gerard's gaze. He felt bad about the number he had done on Jake Kinski's face. By nature he abhorred violence, but that day, something had snapped in him. All he wanted to do was protect Jim. No other thought had registered while he broke Jake's nose and bruised his face; the face of the man who had tried to kill both Sentinel and Guide. The cuts on Blair's knuckles were a constant reminder not only of what he had done, but of the life he had protected. He had done his duty to his Blessed Protector, whether he regretted his methods or not.

Gerard noticed the kid's discomfort and kept going. "With several counts of attempted murder against them, they should be away for a long, long time."

"Yeah, well, next time keep your fugitives out of my city." Jim said with a grin. It was taken as a joke, but Blair sensed what Jim hadn't wanted to say. Cascade had enough of it's own criminals and crazies without borrowing any from the government.

Gerard offered Jim his hand, which was shaken without hesitation. "Good luck, Detective."

"You, too, Deputy."

The marshal moved toward Blair. The anthropologist stood and shook his hand. Gerard smiled down at him. "Excellent work, young man."

Blair figured this was as close to a thank-you as he was going to get from Gerard, so he just grinned broadly. "Thank *you*." Gerard smiled back.

Renfro edged his way to Jim's side. "Thanks, man. You saved my ass back there."

Jim dismissed it with a wave of a bandaged hand. "Forget it."

Blair caught Noah's glance and walked to him. Together the young men left the room. Blair wheeled the chair a few feet from the door before he stopped and crouched in front of his friend.

"I don't do good-bye's," Noah explained. "How does 'until next time' sound?"

Blair grinned. "Sounds good."

"We made a good team out there. You'd make a pretty good marshal."

"I got a day job. Well, two, actually. Besides, my life is here."

Blair's subtle glance at the door to Jim's room was not lost on Noah. He simply smiled and handed him a business card. "Keep in touch, Blair."

Blair accepted the card. "Will do. Good luck out there."

"You, too. This is a pretty damn hard job for an anthropologist."

"You have no idea, man."

They laughed. Gerard and Renfro appeared in the hallway. Blair stood and, with nods from both men, watched them travel down the corridor.

"Hey, Noah?" Blair shouted. The trio stopped and Newman craned his neck to see Blair. "Don't worry. It'll grow back."

Newman rolled his eyes and all three disappeared around a corner. A laugh drew Blair back into Jim's room. The Sentinel was perched on the edge of his bed, watching his Guide. There was an evil glint in his blue eyes.

"What?" Blair asked.

"You know," Jim said, stroking his chin in thought. "Those doctors might be onto something."

"Huh?"

"I wonder how much it would cost to get them to shave your head next time you have a head injury."

"Hey! One, no one touches the hair. Two, what makes you think there will be another head injury?"

"Chief, trouble follows you like a shadow."

"Yeah, but it's not like I go looking for trouble. It tracks me. And it's not like I asked to get car-jacked last week. Besides, you end up here almost as much as I do. Speaking of which, after this one, you are taking it easy for a couple of weeks. You aren't even going to think about another case until those burns heal...."

Jim grinned as Blair began his tirade. The mother-henning would be nice for a change. Well, for a few days, anyhow. After that, he'd probably be ready to kill the kid. Some things never changed...

Finis

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