Prologue

The searing whirlwind would be heralded by the arrival of two unexpected guests. With gale force, it would search and destroy, to leave in its wake mere ashes and dust where life once flourished. Normally-- naturally-- it originated in the vast, overwhelming heat of the desert, or perhaps in the churning, boiling depths of the earth. Once or twice, it had swirled from a tower of colliding atoms blooming in a mushroom cloud. Despite the lack of the defining cloud-- truly, the lack of anything visible to the naked eye-- this sirocco would be similar to that which destroyed Nagasaki and Hiroshima: for it was going to be hot, deadly....

And entirely man-made.

Chapter One

It was an accident, a stupid freak kind of thing that should have merited a "whoops", not the "oh, shit" that she was constantly muttering as she fled the building. But she'd seen too many movies, read too many thrillers, and knew better than to hang around, digesting what she'd accidentally seen on her computer screen. The information was hot, too hot for her to handle alone. But who could she turn to? She had no evidence, and wasn't too keen on trying to get some herself. Who would take her word at face value, and have the guts to follow up on what she had seen?

She giggled nervously as the answer came to her. He had loved her once, and knowing him, he probably still did in his detached sort of way. It wasn't his fault that it hadn't worked out. She wanted more than he had to give. She'd known he was deficient that way when she'd married him, but she'd convinced herself that she could change him. Hell, there had been tons of women before and after her who'd thought the same thing. Never thought it would be a younger man who would get the job done. Was he sleeping with him? She didn't know, didn't care. If it had just been about sex, they never would have gotten divorced. No, this man had some other kind of connection to her ex. It was almost tangible, yet indescribable.

Anyway, all that mattered was that both of them were happy-- she and her ex. At least, she'd been happy until she spilled her coffee on her computer, and instead of the circuits frying, they had taken her to a forbidden page, and she had seen what she ought not to have seen. When the page went suddenly dark, she had known that someone else knew she had seen it, and she'd gotten the hell out of Dodge. And now she had to get to her ex, because he would believe her, because he had loved her. And he would do something about it, because that was the kind of man he was. A Boy Scout, with a past that could probably handle whatever shit was about to hit the fan.

But first things first. She needed money. Thank God for credit cards...except credit cards could be traced. Bank card? Same deal. But.... She pulled out her wallet, and smiled. She'd always known there was a reason she hadn't cleaned the thing out in nearly a decade. The card was part of the joint account she had with her ex. There was a chance he had changed the account or the PIN, but there was also a good chance he hadn't. She could hear him now, giving a little shrug and saying, "I knew you wouldn't use it unless you had to, and I think if you had to, then I would want you to use it." Sometimes she wondered why she had divorced him. If she had just held on, his young friend would have shown up, and changed him anyway. A threesome might have been interesting.

"You're getting edgy and silly," she warned, as she pulled up in front of a bank machine. Hopefully, they wouldn't think about checking for activity under her married name. She had given it up a long time ago, hadn't really wanted it in the first place. Looking around, she stuck the card in the machine and punched in the remembered PIN.

The words appeared in fluorescent green: WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO?

Live a long and fruitful life. See Paris. Go on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire and win without using a single lifeline (she'd never seen so many dumb women in her life). Oops. Maybe she should win first, then see Paris. Made more sense that way, right? Aw, hell, who was she kidding? All she really wanted was to see tomorrow. With an anxious look around, she withdrew as much cash as she was allowed, and headed toward the airport.

After purchasing a ticket, she changed a ten for a roll of quarters and went to the pay phones near the rest rooms. His voice sounded so sweet to her that she almost cried. But she had to hold it together a little longer. "It's me. I'm in trouble. My plane's about to board, so I don't have much time. Can you pick me up at the airport in an hour?"

Moments later, she was strapped in her seat, and silently singing the praises of the man she had married. No questions. No hesitation. No hint of impatience. He would be at the airport, and he would help her.

"Jimmy Ellison, you were, and always will be, the best thing that ever happened to me," Carolyn Plummer sighed, earning her a puzzled look from the woman seated next to her. She shrugged, and for the first time since those accidental moments in her office, she relaxed.

*****

Police Detective Jim Ellison replaced the receiver, his brow furrowed worriedly.

"Problems?" his roommate and partner, Detective Blair Sandburg, asked. Although they were officially off for the evening, he had learned back in the days when he'd just been an observer that policemen were never off the job.

"That was Carolyn," Jim replied softly.

"Carolyn? As in your ex-wife?"

"Yep."

"Something wrong?"

Jim shrugged. Although they had parted the marriage as friends, he hadn't seen Carolyn in a number of years. A few months after he'd met Blair, Carolyn had moved to San Francisco to head the city's Forensics Division. "She wants me to meet her at the airport. Her plane lands in an hour."

"It takes more than an hour to get here from San Francisco. She called you from the plane?"

"She's not in California anymore. About a year ago, she took a position at a research facility in Oregon. She got tired of fighting the City Council for every little thing her division needed, so when this company-- GenoTech-- made her a very good offer, she accepted. I didn't tell you?"

"No, you didn't tell me, but that's okay. What's going on now?"

"I don't know, Chief, but--" He gave his head a small shake as if to jostle out the answer he knew was up there.

"What is it, Jim?"

"Carolyn is a strong lady. Her job exposed her to a lot of terrible crime scenes, and none of them ever really got to her. But tonight, on the phone, she was absolutely terrified. I could hear it in her voice, and in her heartbeat." He took his gun from its usual resting place and checked its clip.

"You need back up?" Blair started to reach for his jacket.

"You have a guest to attend to, Chief," Jim said, reaching for the door. Naomi Sandburg stood there, a hand raised to knock.

The redhead took a disconcerted step back, then held out her arms to embrace the man in the doorway. "Hi, Jim," she nearly squealed. "How's my second-most favorite guy?"

Jim smiled, and returned the hug. "I'm fine, Naomi. Just in a bit of a hurry. You'll be around for a while, right?" he asked. Sometimes her visits with her son only lasted a couple of hours before she flitted off to some other landing perch.

"A couple of days at least," she replied.

"Great. We'll have time to get together." He turned to his roommate, who was in the process of receiving his own hug. "Later, Chief."

Blair nodded. "Be careful, Jim. And call if you need me."

"I will."

Blair frowned as the familiar back disappeared down the stairs. With a sigh, he turned to his mother. "So, Mom, what brings you to Cascade?"

"Can't a mother just visit her son?" Naomi quizzed, as Blair took her heavy satchel and ushered her inside.

"Sure. But that's not why you're here."

"When did you become so spiritually gifted that you can discern my motives so easily?"

"For one thing, I've spent the past five years of my life working with cops. Ferreting out motives is sort of a specialty of theirs. For another, I love you, Mom. That gives me incredible insight into your thoughts."

"I just wanted to see how you were doing, honey."

Blair nodded. He had accepted her year-long absence for what it was: penance, atonement, whatever. Against his express wishes, she had made his dissertation public, and all hell had broken loose. The casualties had been high, almost too high. Captain Simon Banks and Inspector Megan Conner had been shot, and in a way, Jim being shot was also related to "Fiasco '99", his personal title for the disaster. Jim would have gotten the assassin, Zeller, before anyone was shot if the press hadn't distracted the Sentinel. The press wouldn't have distracted Jim if Sid, Naomi's publisher friend, hadn't released blurbs from the dissertation. Sid wouldn't have released blurbs if Naomi hadn't sent him the diss. Naomi wouldn't have sent him the diss if Blair had protected it better. So, in the end, it was all Blair's fault, and in the true spirit of "like mother, like son", he too had done a year of penance.

He'd joined the Cascade Police Department. He'd gone through the academy, had been issued a badge and a gun. Except for those two items, his job was the same as before: protect Jim. But still, it had been penance, because before he'd had a choice whether to become a participant or remain an observer. Now, there was no choice. He participated because he had to, because that was why the city was paying him. He was a cop, a pig, an oppressor of free speech. When Captain Banks handed him an assignment, he did it-- and learned to leave whatever lingering feelings and doubts he had afterward at his desk, or at the local cop bar he and Jim had taken to frequenting.

Jim hated the bar; Blair knew that without Jim having to say a word. But Jim was doing his penance, too. The older man had reacted badly when their world had exploded into a sea of flashbulbs and microphones, and had taken it out on his partner. When he'd watched Blair deny his whole academic life on television, he'd realized he'd been acting like an ass (his word, not Blair's). A doer, not a sayer, Jim had skipped over the "I'm sorry" bit, and gone to work repairing the damage that had been done. What couldn't be repaired, he'd replaced. Rainier University didn't want Blair anymore, so he made sure the Cascade Police Department did. Jim had never been forthcoming about how he'd arranged Blair's quick induction into the department and his rapid rise in rank, but Major Crime's newest detective figured it had something to do with the fact that the brass now knew Jim was a Sentinel, and assigned him the high profile (read "politically sensitive") cases.

Just as Jim quietly suffered the peccadilloes of the higher-ups-- covering what needed to be covered, and judiciously wording his reports-- he suffered the bar, with its clouds of cigarette smoke, loud jukebox, and unimaginable smells, so that Blair wouldn't feel isolated, cut off from the social world he'd inhabited at Rainier. Surprisingly, the bar did remind Blair of his old hangouts. It seemed that under the influence of alcohol, everyone was the same. There were the ones who spouted philosophical rhetoric, the ones who talked too loud and bragged too much, and the ones who predictably passed out by the third round. Blair smiled at the thought.

"I'm doing fine, Mom," he finally replied. "I'm good at my job, and I'm surrounded by friends, good friends. What more could I want?"

"The life that you had."

Blair shook his head. "None of us can have that, Naomi. We all have to move forward."

"But you don't have to change spheres to do that," Naomi said hesitantly. "You could move forward, yet remain in the same world."

"I got kicked out of that world, remember?" he asked dryly.

"I remember," she said, her eyes haunted and sad. "I also remember it was my interference which started...."

"Fiasco '99," Blair supplied. "I'm sure the networks would have come up with something better, but I didn't want to bother them. They had their hands full with Y2K and the millennium, you know."

Naomi's hands fluttered in her lap. "You've become so cynical. They have ruined you."

"They? What 'they', Ma? And you better be careful how you answer that. Don't want you to accuse yourself of being mother to swine."

Naomi fell silent, her arms wrapping protectively around her middle.

Blair saw the hurt in his mother's eyes, and silently cursed himself. He was doing the same exact thing Jim had done-- lashing out at the person closest to him. Actually, that person would be Jim, but the Sentinel wasn't here and the anger was, which shocked him. He hadn't realized he possessed this core of bitterness until he'd seen Naomi standing in the doorway. Apparently, seeing her had triggered repressed emotions. Damn, Jim. Why couldn't I have picked up some of your more redeeming habits instead of these?

"That was uncalled for," he apologized softly.

"I'm sorry you're having so much trouble coping, baby."

"I'm not. I mean, I didn't know I was until now. I'm afraid your presence has unsettled me a bit."

Naomi paled. "I'm sorry, Blair. I'll leave immed--"

"No!" He ran his fingers through his short, curly hair. "No, I don't want that. It's been a year. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, honey. But I thought you needed the distance, and I-- I wanted to find some way to make it all up to you."

"That isn't neces--"

"I have a letter," she said, getting up and bending over her satchel. "It can probably explain better than I can."

He took the envelope, startled to see the words "Duke University" imprinted in dark blue in the upper lefthand corner. "What is this, Ma?"

"Read it, Blair. Please."

He broke the seal, and quickly scanned the enclosed letter. His eyes widened at the closing words: The Anthropology Department would be pleased to add you to its roster of doctoral candidates. He looked up from the letter. "What have you done now?" he asked warily.

"Nothing, Blair. Not really. They didn't even know about the scandal. I guess it wasn't the worldwide sensation it felt like here," she said with a careful smile.

"Hey, don't bruise my ego like that," Blair teased uneasily. He hated seeing his mother holding back in his presence. He'd always cherished the openness they shared.

"I went to Martin because I had latent anger toward Sid and that disagreeable woman, Chancellor Edwards. I thought talking to a lawyer--"

"Martin's a lawyer?"

She nodded. "And on Duke's Board of Directors. I thought he would have some insight into what had happened. According to him, Rainier had no legal right to let you go."

"I admitted to fraud, Naomi."

"What fraud, Blair? You never submitted your dissertation. All anyone had was an illegally obtained file from your computer. You aren't criminally liable for that."

"What about morally liable?"

"You know how I feel about the policing of morals, honey. It can't be done. Besides, who did you defraud? For all the university knows, you never intended to submit that dissertation. You could have been planning to dump the entire thing and change topics, or leave the university altogether."

Blair flinched at how close she was to the truth. One of the reasons he hadn't wanted anyone to read the paper was because he hadn't been sure he could go through with formally submitting it. Even deleting Jim's name, labeling him as Subject A or something similar, hadn't seemed like enough of a protective net for his Sentinel. "What does this have to do with the letter, Naomi?"

"You have the right to complete your education, Blair. You could force Rainier to reinstate you, but the negative energies there would be difficult to get past. I thought maybe you'd like a new start in a fresh environment. When Duke's Anthropology Department got a look at your record, and the work you did for your Master's, they were impressed," she said proudly.

"And they got this information how?"

Naomi shrugged. "I just thought it would be best if you got away from the memories, away from the guns."

"Away from Jim?" Blair asked softly.

"Don't get me wrong, honey. Jim's a good man, but...I'm not sure how good you are for each other."

"I thought you didn't want to tear apart our friendship?" Blair remarked wryly, remembering the penitent Naomi talking to Jim in the middle of the mess.

"You can be friends from separate coasts. Email, chat rooms, what's that AOL thing that lets you know when someone else is logged on at the same time?"

"Instant Messenger," he answered distractedly.

"See? It would be easy for you to stay friends. He doesn't need you for a-- guide anymore, does he?" she asked belatedly.

Ah. The $64,000 question. Did Jim still need him? He said he did. But how much of that was part of the penance thing? When was the last time Jim had zoned, or had problems with his senses? Hell, Jim had spent a couple of nights talking to a ghost and had handled it with ease. If that hadn't shaken him, nothing would. Okay. Then if Jim didn't need him, did he need Jim? It was painfully obvious that if he did get his doctorate, it certainly wouldn't be for anything involving sentinels. Been there, done that, had the headlines to prove it. No, he'd focus on something practical. Like that bogus story they'd told people about him researching the thin blue line. He had notes on that already. Three years as an observer. One year on the force. Yeah. He was an expert on police subculture. So, no. He didn't need Jim. Not professionally anyway.

But what about the intangibles, the things he needed Jim for that defied simple understanding-- like the warmth of knowing someone worried when he was late, or the casual way Jim checked his vitals, warning him if his temperature spiked or his chest was congested? What about having a friend who could sense his emotional state, leaving him to sit on the balcony in peace, or laying his hand on a burdened shoulder when he needed to be reminded he wasn't alone? Those weren't things that could occur over the internet.

Yet, maybe the time for penance was over. All this sacrifice really wasn't healthy, and Naomi's arrival had shown him just what kind of anger was still burning. Would the resentment just keep growing until it exploded into a scene uglier than the previous one?

"Baby?"

Blair shivered. "You've given me a lot to think about, Mom. These people aren't standing by the phone waiting for my call, are they?"

"No. But if you want to enroll for the fall semester, they'll need an answer soon."

He nodded. "Well, this isn't a decision I can make on my own. Whether Jim needs me or not, we're still partners. I just can't up and leave him with a wave and an email address."

"Okay." She got up and headed toward his room, where she always stayed when she visited, then she took a few steps back to give him a hug. "Just remember that, no matter how close the two of you are, it's your life, Blair."

Blair threw his head back, and closed his eyes.

Chapter Two

Jim hated the rigamarole he had to go through to get his gun through the security gates at the airport, so he usually left it in his glove compartment unless he was there on business. But remembering the fear he'd heard in Carolyn's voice, he thought it best to keep his weapon close at hand. His ex was not prone to unwarranted panic. Actually, he couldn't think of a lover he'd had who was. No, no nervous fillies for him, he thought, laughing as he imagined Carolyn's response if he ever said anything like that out loud. She would deck him so fast....

Jim made note of the flight number on the overhead monitors. He surveyed the others waiting around him, and found no threat. Good. He had time. Soon after Blair had moved in, and all the Sentinel 'training' had started, the kid had attended some conference his grant had paid for. Although he'd never admitted it, he was nervous about being separated from Blair, so he'd offered to shuttle him to and from the airport. While waiting for Blair's return flight, he'd anticipated what tests were in his future. The kid focused a lot on his hearing, thought it was maybe his strongest sense. As a lark, Jim had tried to concentrate on the voices in the air traffic control tower he could see from the window.

The sounds of people talking around him, the planes landing and taking off, even the maintenance worker buffing the floors had faded as he narrowed his search. His hearing finally latched onto a faint beeping, then expanded to include conversations and words like, "Two-niner, you are go for takeoff." Damn. He'd actually done it…and it'd scared the shit out of him. The resulting panic had all his senses spiking way off the scales for a few wild moments, but the exercise had given him an inkling of-- no, an appreciation for-- what he was, maybe for the first time. He had used his senses on the job and in Blair's tests, but that one quick foray into the tower had laid it out for him in clear, easy-to-read letters: he was a Sentinel. Later, he'd come back and repeated the exercise many times, at first to perfect it, then to re-establish who he was after he'd royally screwed up this or that. Blair thought that when Jim needed down time, he went to the park or maybe paced off the shoreline around the bay, and Jim deliberately left his partner with those misconceptions. This display of power, this confirmation of what he truly was, was meant only for him, for Jim Ellison, who rarely thought of himself as special.

Choosing a corner chair, brick wall to his back and left side, he drifted away from the waiting area and found his way to the control tower. He matched the flight numbers to the ones he'd memorized on the Arrivals/Departures board, smiled at a raucous joke one of the controllers told, and listened to the gentle blipping of the radar panels. When Carolyn's flight was given the okay to land, he withdrew his hearing from the high tower and focused on the assigned runway. He heard the wheels hit the tarmac, bounce twice, then settle into a smooth glide, which finally led the plane to its gate.

The first time he'd come back to his "normal" senses, Sandburg had been fussing over him, trying to decipher what he'd zoned on. Subsequent visits to the airport had him palming a straight pin in such a way that if he drifted too far, the prick of the pin dragged him back to his physical body. Eventually, he didn't need the pin, mastering the exercise so well that he could switch back and forth between the control tower and wherever he was physically with only the slightest thought. Mastered. The word sounded good, felt good. He could take the slack-jawed stares off into space, the blinding lights and blaring sounds, even the humiliation of succumbing to badly bottled water, because he knew he had the airport and the control tower. God, the very thought of planes had kept him from bowing his head in shame more than once.

But it was this same mastering which was the second reason why he hadn't shared any of this with his partner. Blair would take this to mean that he had mastered being a Sentinel, and that was as far from the truth as night was from day. Just because he'd learned one strategy, didn't mean he was ready to command the whole army. Especially when the rules of engagement kept changing. Like communicating with ghosts. Where the hell-- pardon the pun-- had that come from?

He stood when he heard the crew open the door to the plane. As the stewards and stewardesses said cheerful, but oh-so-memorized, goodbyes to the departing passengers, Jim wondered if he could glom onto Carolyn, but realized that would be impossible unless she spoke. Unlike with Blair, or even Simon, he had no markers for Carolyn. She'd left like six months after his senses had come online; he'd had no chance to imprint her onto his sensory memory. But amazingly, he was able to key in on her-- her pounding, almost frantic heartbeat caught his attention long before the familiar form stepped through the door.

Then she was in his arms, and he realized he'd imprinted her after all, his heart lurching painfully at just how familiar-- how good and right-- it felt to be near her again. Damn. He knew he had missed her when she'd moved out of the loft, remembered how he had scrubbed, and deodorized, and boxed things until her scent was gone-- only to fall asleep with a forgotten sweater clutched tightly in his hand. But this was the first time he realized he'd missed running into her at the station, or even just in Cascade. Whoa, Ellison. Remember she's your *ex* wife.

Carolyn didn't want to leave the comfort of Jim's strong embrace. For the first time since she'd looked at her computer screen and realized just what it was she was looking at, she felt safe. But Jim wasn't big on public displays of affection, and it was bad enough that she'd disturbed him at home, considering how little down time she knew a Major Crime detective had. Besides, she wasn't some prissy miss who longed for a brawny man to come and take care of her problems, even if his arms were like the oaks that stood outside her family home in Bellingham-- trees which had cradled her weight when she needed to retreat from the world, or when she needed to make contact with the world once more. It was odd how the trees had been able to convey home and distance at the same time. But she'd left the trees behind her long ago, just as she'd left this man. She took a deep breath, and reluctantly released him.

He allowed her to pull away only enough to see her face before his arms stopped her. She looked at him questioningly. "Do you want me to let go?" Jim asked softly.

Carolyn blinked, her head turning to indicate the people moving around them.

"I asked you, not them, Carrie," he chided gently.

Warmth flooded through her when he used the name only he was allowed to use. The first time he'd called her Carrie, she had complained, saying she felt like she should be wearing pink and batting her eyelashes when someone called her that. He'd laughed, and told her that apparently she hadn't seen the same movie he'd seen as a teen. He'd thus gained the privilege of using Carrie in private.

In answer to his question, she took a step, and slumped forward, almost in a collapse. He caught her without complaint, and she pictured herself being held in the embrace of solid, oaken limbs. She luxuriated in the sensation for several long minutes, depending on him for total support, and he shifted not one inch. Her heart rate slowed to normal, and the unbridled fear which had precipitated the nearly animalistic flight from Oregon settled into something tolerable, and maybe even manageable.

When she pulled away the second time, Jim's arms dropped away without hesitation. "Any luggage?" he asked, as they headed out of the concourse area.

Carolyn shook her head, her shoulder-length red hair bouncing with the movement. "I'm sort of new at this 'fleeing for your life' bit. Next time I'll try to remember to pack a bag."

Jim's hand settled comfortingly against the small of her back. "Are you fleeing for your life?"

She gave a disgusted snort. "I honestly don't know, Jimmy. Something told me to run, so I did. But now, now I'm starting to feel stupid--"

"Don't," he said, pulling his badge as he approached the security station again. "You carrying?"

"I'm not a cop anymore."

"You carrying?" he asked again.

"No." It'd never dawned on her to arm herself. She really needed to work on a list of what to do when she became a Kimball, as the kids called being a fugitive these days. And they said education was dead.

They cleared security and headed toward the main doors. "Don't what?" she asked, picking up their previous conversation. "Don't feel stupid? Too late, I'm afraid."

"Don't second-guess your instincts. Sometimes they're the only thing between you and death. If you sensed you were in danger, then you probably were, or are. I didn't see anyone suspicious getting off the plane, and we haven't been followed so far. If you had a tail, I'm thinking you lost it. Do they have any idea where you were headed?"

"I don't think so. I didn't use my real name at the airport, and I paid cash for the ticket. Actually," she added, looking away guiltily, "it was your cash. I used my old ATM card."

"The Carolyn Ellison one? Good. That's certainly not a name anyone would recognize."

She checked his words for any sarcasm or acrimony, but there wasn't any. When she'd told him that she had no intention of changing her name after they were married, he'd simply said okay, but she'd thought he'd just been humoring a nervous bride. However, she now saw that it really hadn't bothered him at all. "I'll pay you back," she said, earning herself the infamous Ellison stare. Out of all the wild things she had, or hadn't told him, this was what pissed him off? Alice, you're definitely in Wonderland now.

"Did you obscure your face at the ATM?"

Shit. The security cams. "I wasn't thinking," she admitted, angry at herself for being so stupid. How long did you work with the cops, Caro?

"It'll take a while for them to go through all the tapes, if that's the way they're going to find you. So, no serious damage was done," he assured her, as he urged her toward the truck.

She eyed the two-toned "classic" with fond humor. "You didn't."

"I did," he said proudly.

"I can't believe you finally got it up and running."

"You know me, Plummer. I like to finish what I start."

It was one of the few personal glimpses he'd let her see during their brief union. He'd told her how he'd started working on the truck his senior year in high school, paying for it and whatever parts it needed with his own money. Then the separation from his family had forced him to stow the truck away in a seldom-used garage behind a friend's house. When he'd returned to Cascade over a decade later, the truck had been waiting.

"But don't tell anyone the significance of it, okay? They just think it's the only thing I could afford the insurance on."

She waited for him to unlock the door. "Still hiding your sentimental side, huh?"

"Not really." Before moving aside to let her pass, he pulled out a dusty gym bag from the narrow space behind the seat. He motioned for her to open it, revealing a set of clothes and other essentials. "Just in case I need to listen to my instincts one day," he said softly.

She understood that he was showing her that he wasn't just humoring her, that he really did know what she was going through. "Mind if I borrow your list?" she asked, as he carefully tucked the bag away, then helped her in.

"I'll make you a copy."

*****

"A truck stop?" Carolyn asked, as she and Jim crossed the large parking lot. When he'd said they were going somewhere to talk, she had assumed-- hell, she didn't know what she'd assumed, but it hadn't been a truck stop off the Interstate.

"It's about the only place in America where if a woman screams, somebody might actually come to her aid," Jim explained.

She watched his eyes sweep the restaurant area of the place as they stepped inside. He chose a back booth, obviously not liking the distance from the entrance, but deferring to the need to have his back covered. Besides, there was a fire door less than ten yards away.

"Were you taught these things, or are they life lessons?" Carolyn asked in amazement.

"A little of both." He picked up a menu and grinned. "They have cheese fries," he said reverently.

She rolled her eyes. "What's the big deal, Ellison? You order them at least twice a week at Wonder Burger, don't you?"

Jim shook his head. "The last time I had cheese fries was probably close to a year ago. But I get to go to Wonder Burger once a month, if I eat sensibly the rest of the time."

Carolyn frowned worriedly. Why was Jim watching his diet so closely? It was obvious the man didn't have an ounce of excess fat anywhere on his still fine body. A medical reason? She had been gone for nearly four years. "You been okay, Jimmy? Healthy, I mean?"

"A few bullet holes here and there. A couple of bad knocks upside the head. Nothing out of the ordinary," he said offhandedly. When the waitress came, he ordered coffee for both of them, and the cheese fries. Carolyn shook her head when he looked at her inquiringly.

"If you haven't been sick, why the change in diet?" she persisted, after the waitress walked away.

Jim shrugged. "Just one of the many changes I've had to make the past several years. I'm older; it takes a lot more effort to keep fit."

She didn't buy that answer for the minute it took him to say it, but she decided to let it dangle for a while. There were far more important differences in her ex that she wanted to discuss. "Is one of those changes increased patience? Ever since I spotted you in the airport, I've been waiting for you to explode with, 'Tell me what's going on, Plummer!' Don't tell me you've gotten the reins on your infamous temper, too? If that's the case, I've really stepped into the Twilight Zone."

He started humming the familiar theme song, then grinned. "Don't worry. I'm continuing to finance my dentist's annual pilgrimage to Europe, and Simon still won't let me interrogate a prisoner without a ten-minute lecture on conduct."

She wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. "Whew. For a moment there, I thought the world had stopped rotating."

"Keep it up, Plummer, and I won't share my cheese fries," he threatened.

She stuck out her tongue at him, grinning wryly as the waitress brought their coffee. She took a sip, then focused on the rising steam. "Guess I might as well get it over with, huh?"

"Your story, Carolyn. Take whatever time you need. There's no immediate danger."

Another sip of the hot brew. "Simon send you to sensitivity class?"

Jim chuckled. "Having Sandburg as a partner has taught me a few tricks."

"So, you're still together?"

"He's a detective now, my full partner."

"Detective Sandburg, not Doctor Sandburg?"

Jim looked at her in mild surprise. "I thought you would have heard about what happened last year. I know you still have a lot of friends in the department."

"I know there was something going on, but that was around the time I was making the move to Oregon, so I was a hard person to catch up with. By the time I was settled enough to sit down and have real conversations with my friends, the topic never came up. Which, come to think of it, is strange, considering that 'dishing the ex' is SOP."

"Ah, female bonding rituals," Jim said in a stage whisper, with an amused glint in his eye. "Either they thought you knew and were respecting your silence on the matter, or they were so damned confused, they didn't know how to broach the subject," he guessed. He smiled at the waitress as she set the fries in front of him. "It's a long, ugly story, Caro, and I'd rather not get into it until after we figure out just how much danger you're in. The short of it is that Sandburg was kicked out of Rainier, and now he's a Major Crime detective. He's still my partner, and we're still living together, which means he's going to end up as involved in this as I am. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Of course not. What's one more person to look foolish in front of?" she asked wryly.

"I reserve the right to make my own call on the subject."

"Fine." She took a deep breath, and the coffee cup shook in her hand. She set it down, and reached for a fry instead. "GenoTech is mainly a pharmaceutical company. Product tampering remains a major concern in that industry, and basically my job is to make sure that doesn't happen. I oversee the quality control procedures, personally handling the security of the networks that do most of the final processing. You know, I didn't know how much I enjoyed police work until I left it. But the pay is astronomical, my police background being a compensatory plus with the Board of Directors.

"But GenoTech is also a bioresearch facility. I don't know much about that part of the operation. There have been rumors that it's deep into bioengineering, and there were a couple of long-running jokes about what to do if we found a six-headed goat running down the hall one day." She grinned. "You know the kind of workplace humor I'm talking about, Jim."

He nodded. "Dan Wolf has some real zingers." Wolf was the Cascade medical examiner.

"Morgue humor. I've missed that," Carolyn murmured, as she tried to order her thoughts. "Anyway, I think I would have preferred seeing the goat."

"What did you see instead?"

She looked up, her eyes unfocused as she gazed into her recent past. "It was a stupid accident. I spilled my coffee. Thankfully, my keyboard is the kind that has the plastic 'skin' covering it, so there wasn't any permanent damage. I grabbed a handful of tissues to daub at the mess. It was all so random." She paused, reached for a fry, then started to withdraw her hand. Jim extended his own hand, and wrapped it around her smaller one, giving her the strength she needed to continue.

"Somehow I managed to 'daub' in a password, or maybe even a command. The screen suddenly filled with information, and I was reading even before I realized what I was doing."

A shudder snaked through their connected hands. "What did you read, Caro?"

"I knew I was in deep shit when the words started disappearing off the screen. A complete wipe. The only thing I could think of doing was grabbing my purse and getting the hell out of there. I tried to think of somewhere to go, someone who I could tell, who wouldn't think I was crazy, who had the background to understand what I'd seen." Her eyes locked onto his. "Someone I could trust."

"Always, Carrie. Tell me."

She took a deep breath. "How up are you on bioterrorism, Jim?"

*****

Gerald Freer walked into the office of his CO, and waited patiently to be acknowledged. He knew it was a game the old man was playing. All the old dogs had to piss on the furniture every now and again.

"Situation?" John Lambert asked, the anger clearly evident in his voice.

"We lost her, sir."

"Excuse me?"

Freer dug his nails into his palm to keep from telling his boss to fuck off. That would definitely violate company policy. "We lost her. We didn't expect her to react so fast. She was out of the building before we could reach her station, and out of the parking lot before we could tail her. We've staked out her apartment as well as Walker's. She hasn't shown at either."

"I assume you did possess the intelligence to put out an APB on her license plate?"

"We've come up empty so far, sir. I--" Freer's pocket began buzzing, and he withdrew a cell phone. He listened without comment, then replaced the compact device. "Her car has just been located at the airport. My people are running a check of the scheduled flights."

"Check the rental companies as well. She might have merely changed cars."

Wanna tell me to make sure I wipe the next time I take a shit, too? "Yes, sir. Anything else?"

Lambert glared at his younger associate. "Just find her. If she's running, she knows exactly what she read. That information can't get out. You know that."

"Yes, sir. But--" Freer knew this was a risk, but he couldn't let the opportunity pass.

"But?"

"Well, we've been looking for an opportunity to conduct a field test, sir."

"And you think--"

"We will need to eliminate her and whatever contacts she's made, sir."

A hesitant nod. "However, this all depends on you finding her."

"Consider it done, sir."

Chapter Three

"Where was Jim running off to so quickly?" Naomi asked, fresh from the shower. "Late for a date?"

"Something like that. His ex-wife called and wanted to meet with him," Blair replied, still holding the letter from Duke in his hand.

"A good ex-wife, or a bad one?"

Blair smiled. "Carolyn's okay, Mom."

"You know her?"

"She worked for the department, then left for a better gig in San Francisco. Jim says she's in Oregon now."

"You're completely indoctrinated, aren't you?" Naomi questioned sadly.

"Meaning?"

"'The Department'. You say it with almost holy reverence."

Thanks to you, The Department has been my life for the past year, he wanted to shout. Instead, he ignored the comment. "Carolyn and I got along okay. I had to interview her about Jim a couple of times. Man, that pissed him off royally."

"Why? Unlike the rest of us, he knew your dissertation was about him."

"That's what I thought, too. Simon tried to explain it to me later, although I never really did get a grasp on the idea. Interviewing Jim's friends, co-workers, even his family, is acceptable. But interviewing an 'ex' is a betrayal."

"Why? That doesn't make sense, honey."

Blair shrugged. "Since neither of us has ever been married, Naomi, maybe it's not supposed to make sense to us. God knows, Jim probably couldn't make sense of most of the relationships you've been in." He gave a soft gasp as he realized how that sounded. "I didn't mean anything by that, Mom."

"My presence is upsetting you, Blair. Perhaps I should--"

"We've been over this. I want you here, but you can't expect me to deal with all of this in an hour or two. You've given me some major stuff to think about."

"Then, let's think about it together." She plopped down in the center of the room, and held out her hand. "Come, meditate with me."

He shook his head. "I'm not quite there yet, Naomi. I couldn't sit still if I tried. You go ahead, though. I'm going to go out on the balcony for a while."

She watched him go, watched him stand out there and...meditate. Not in the typical fashion he'd learned at her side, but the "Ellison" way. She'd seen Jim out on that balcony before, standing so utterly still that even the pigeons weren't disturbed by his presence. Standing the way Blair was standing now. So now, everything was done Jim's way, was it? Maybe she shouldn't have left Blair alone for a year. But she had badly disrupted his life, and he had needed the space. The whole "give Blair a badge" farce had not concerned her much. She knew her child, knew he wouldn't be able to fit into the regimented discipline police work demanded. Sure, he'd managed before, but he'd been able to go "around" the rules because he'd merely been an observer. She'd figured that by the time she'd managed to straighten out the mess she'd caused, he'd be more than ready for her assistance.

However, it appeared he was fitting in better than she'd thought. He seemed to be comfortable with the shorter hair, and his eyes were the clearest blue she'd seen in a long time. Not a storm cloud of gray in them. His aura was also unshadowed, still flaring brightest when he was next to Jim. Naomi bit her lip. She hadn't unwittingly opened up another can of worms, had she? At this rate, he was going to start shutting the door in her face. No. He needed to do this. He needed to get away from the cops and back to where he belonged. He was too intelligent, too caring to be a cop. Maybe they hadn't killed his spirit in a year, but they would. Of that, she had no doubt. Sighing, she settled into a meditative state.

*****

With a shiver, Blair realized he'd been out on the balcony for quite a while. He looked around the narrow, almost barren ledge and wondered for at least the millionth time why the space was so damned conducive to thinking. When he'd first moved in, he would get comfortable on the living room floor and drift away to clarity. He'd tried to get Jim to follow, and as long as it was something connected to his Sentinel abilities, Jim suffered the exercise with a grim jaw and even grimmer determination. But when it came to deep thought-- as a cop, or just as a man-- Jim resorted to standing out on the balcony. Blair figured it was a sensory thing, but after a particularly frustrating day at the university, he'd found himself too wired to find his center. So, he'd stepped out onto the balcony, and found a place of harmony. Maybe it was the alignment of the building, or it was located atop some sacred spot, but Blair was of the opinion that the Sentinel had somehow manipulated the elements to form a haven for himself and his Guide. Fanciful thoughts, sure, but the idea of a Sentinel was just as fanciful to some.

In the distance, he heard a phone ringing. He opened the door, grinned at his mother meditating between the two sofas, and grabbed the cordless. "Sandburg."

"Yo, Hair Boy!"

Blair rolled his eyes. The haircut hadn't discouraged Brown at all. "Whatever it is, the answer is 'no', H. Jim and I are not coming in for anything short of a nuclear disaster. We've been doing double shifts for two weeks thanks to this early summer flu bug going around. Tonight is ours!"

"Chill, man. Just wanted to know if you guys were going to hit Hanlon's tonight. We're gonna watch the Jags' playoffs game. Wouldn't seem the same without you and Jim."

Blair grinned. "You mean without our money. Sorry, H., but my mom's here, and Jim's off running an errand." He figured if Jim wanted them to know Carolyn was in town, he'd let them know. "You'll just have to find someone else's paycheck to steal."

"You're breaking my heart, Hair Boy. All my bets are on the up and up."

"That may be, but H., you even bet on the free throws. You should know that we're seriously considering tossing your ass into a recovery program."

"You and what army?"

"I wouldn't say that too loudly around Jim. He'd probably call in a few commando friends of his, and--"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture," Brown said, with a nervous laugh. "Scary thing is, he'd probably do it."

"Our Jim wants only the best for his friends," Blair agreed. "So, go easy with the betting, man, or you will find yourself doing how ever many steps it takes to break you of gambling."

A moment of silence. "I think I'll skip Hanlon's tonight. Heard there's a pretty good special on the Discovery Channel happening anyway."

"Riiight," Blair said, unconvinced.

"Scout's honor, Blair. Something about jungle cats."

"No shit?" Blair scanned the room for the TV Guide. Sometimes he wondered why they even bought it anymore. When they had time to sit down in front of the tube, he and Jim usually just surfed until something interesting came on screen. He spotted the small magazine on top of the television-- where it belonged. Thank God for anal roommates. "You're right. It does sound interesting. I didn't know you were into cats, man."

"Only the big, badass ones. Something about their eyes, and the way they move. One minute, they barely acknowledge your existence, and the next, they have you by the throat. Scary as hell, but fascinating, you know?"

You want scary and fascinating, H.? Try living with one. "I hear you, man. I need to check and see how many packs of popcorn are left," he mumbled mostly to himself.

"What do you think of that new low salt brand they have? I--"

"H.?"

"Yeah?"

"What is it that you're avoiding doing by talking to me?"

"The captain's on the phone, and when he hangs up, he's going to come to the door and make an assignment."

"So, you're looking busy?"

"Exactly."

Blair could picture the black man hunched over the phone, pen in his hand as if he was taking notes. "What about your partner?"

"Rafe's pecking his way through a report. I don't know why he doesn't use those looks of his to get one of the women to do his typing."

"It's a good thing Megan's back in Australia. She'd hand you your head, then tell you where to cram it for making a comment like that," Blair warned with a laugh. He'd be upset if he thought Brown meant what he said, but he'd seen the man work with women. Total respect. He was just trying to goad his partner.

"I wouldn't even think something like that around her," Brown assured him. "Oh, good. The assignment's going to Richardson and Dills. Guess I'll let you get back to your mom."

"Glad I could be of help. Take care, man." Blair clicked the phone off, and reread the blurb in the TV Guide before heading toward the kitchen. Definitely a popcorn kind of show. Hmm. And maybe some baby vegetables?

Before he could check the refrigerator, the phone rang again. "Yeah," he answered, then grinned. Boy, he'd been around Jim too long.

"Is this the Ellison residence?"

Definitely don't like your attitude, man. "Who would you like to speak to?" he asked politely, but firmly.

"I'm looking for a Detective James Ellison."

"He's not in. May I take a message?"

"Actually, we're looking for Carolyn Plummer. We're concerned about her whereabouts, and she's indicated that Detective Ellison be contacted in case of an emergency."

"'We' who, man?" Blair didn't like the sound of this. And he really didn't like the silence his question provoked. "Listen, I'll tell the dude that you're looking for his ex-old lady, 'kay? You wanna leave a number or somethin'?" When in doubt, act stupid.

"Uh, we'll just call later when Detective Ellison is in."

"Whatever, dude. 'Bye."

Blair stared at the phone for a long moment. Damn. Apparently Jim's instincts were right on the nose again.

Yep. They were definitely going to need vegetables.

*****

Jim laughed.

Carolyn stared at him, wondering if she should be angry, or concerned. "You find bioterrorism humorous? Or is it your crazy ex-wife that has you amused?" she asked, her lips thinning bitterly.

"Neither. I'm just trying to figure out what you call a trouble-magnet magnet." She arched an eyebrow. "Inside joke, but Carrie, you have to admit this isn't normal. Most people seek their ex-husbands because they're being stalked by some psycho, or blackmailed by the pool boy, or they owe their bookie several grand--"

"You've been watching too many movies," she chided, as she started to see the humor, too.

He shook his head. "You'd probably only find this situation in the movies."

"I wish this was a movie-- then I could walk out of it in two hours."

He squeezed her hand. "We might not make that time limit, but we'll walk out of it. Tell me what you saw."

"It was a summary report on the expected costs, casualties, etc."

"Was a specific biological agent named?"

"No, but there was something about incubation periods, so I'm assuming it's biological and not chemical."

"What stage do they appear to be in? Research, development, production, or deployment?"

She frowned, trying to remember. "Definitely past the R & D stage. Since everything was qualified by the word 'expected', I would say they hadn't done a deployment yet-- at least not one in the field. So, I guess we're left with 'in production.'"

"Any mention of who was requesting this report? If it's a known hate group, or paramilitary anti-government organization, we can determine who the target population will be. That will go a long way in narrowing the list of possible agents," Jim explained.

"I don't think that's who we're looking for," Carolyn said slowly, almost apologetically. "There was a government funding code at the bottom." She'd filed enough reports to recognize the peculiar arrangement of numbers and letters.

"Shit. That opens a whole 'nother can of worms, because now we're talking biological warfare, not terrorism."

"There's a difference?" she asked skeptically.

"Of course," he scolded gently, with a wry turn of his lip. "Terrorists use the weapons to destroy; governments use them to protect. Gee, Caro, don't you know anything?"

"I know your familiarity with this is scaring me to death."

"The modern soldier has to be familiar with modern warfare. There are only so many ways to make things go boom. Besides, there's nothing left to play with when things go boom. But if you kill off just the biological entities--"

"Stop!" She took a deep breath, and convinced the cheese fries to stay where they were. "Biological entities? People, Jimmy. Living, breathing people."

"Not if we can help it. See, only the bad people will die."

Her eyes flashed at him furiously. "Bullshit!"

Jim shrugged. "Yeah, now you know why I had to get out."

"Do people really think that way?"

"Yes. I did for a while. I truly believed that anything that ended war was good, that ten dead was better than ten million. Just think of it, Carolyn. Kill a roomful of people with a biological weapon, and suddenly governments are willing to negotiate."

"Or blow you off the map."

"Not if you're a 'good' government, a superpower. Dropping the atom bomb might have dulled our armor a bit, but we were still considered the good guys."

She stared at her former husband. "If you believed all that, what made you change your mind?"

"For eighteen months I lived with a people who were basically expendable. Few in number, non-existent technical skills, no marketable abilities whatsoever. They couldn't even be considered cheap labor because the language and cultural differences were too great. Did you know I had orders to stop the insurgency by any means necessary, including destroying the entire forest, and the expendable Chopec, if I had to?"

"And?"

"And I discovered they weren't expendable at all."

His eyes grew distant, as if maybe he was back in the jungle. That was a part of his life he hadn't shared with her at all. He'd claimed it was classified, but his reluctance to talk about the experience at all had Carolyn wondering who had classified it- the government or Jim.

"Is there anyone back in Oregon who might be contacted about your whereabouts?"

"I haven't really made a lot of friends there. Managing the ones I have here in Cascade and San Francisco is almost too much," she said, only partially joking. "They might contact Robert, though."

"Robert?"

"Robert Walker. He and I dated a time or two. But...." Carolyn hesitated, then figured the new and improved Jim Ellison wouldn't go ballistic on her. "Remember the comment you made about ex-wives and stalkers?"

"Seriously?"

"No, not really. I mean, not to the point that I had to get a restraining order or anything. It's just that he got a little intense and it freaked me out a bit."

"How long ago?"

"It's been a couple of months since I've received anything from him, or seen him near my apartment. But my co-workers know I dated him, and if someone from the company office asked...."

"Would Walker suspect you'd come here if you were in trouble?"

"I don't know. It's not like we sat down one evening and discussed where we'd run to if we were being chased, but Robert is quite intelligent. He knows my ex-husband is a cop. He knows that I missed Cascade. He could make the connections. Also--"

He frowned at the pause. "Cards on the table, Carolyn," he prompted.

"You're listed as my emergency contact in my file at work." She grimaced. "God, that's going to lead them right here, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily. Just because I'm your contact person doesn't mean I'm the one you'd come to for help. By the way, why am I your contact person?"

Carolyn shrugged sheepishly. "I went down to the office at the Cascade P.D. to change the information after our divorce. That's when it hit me that if something did happen to me, I would want you to be the one to tell my parents, not some stranger."

"What about your folks? Are they likely to be contacted?"

"Robert knows that they are alive and well in Bellingham, but all Mom and Dad could tell anyone is that I called them last Christmas."

"Carolyn!"

"What?" He glared at her. "So, when was the last time you talked to them?"

"A couple of months ago. It was your dad's birthday, remember?"

"Shit," she muttered. "Well, they always liked you better than me anyway."

"Paul and Louise are good to me, but you're their daughter."

"Which means they have to love me, but they adore you, Jimmy," Carolyn said, smiling to let him know she wasn't angry about it. "Remember what happened when I called Mom and told her that I'd moved out, and we were getting a divorce? I got a lecture. You got a visit and a casserole."

"Well, the adoration goes both ways," he admitted.

"When's the last time you saw them?" she asked curiously. "Are they really doing okay?"

"They're fine. Sandburg and I had to drop off a prisoner in Bellingham three or four months ago. We stopped by to invite them to lunch. Instead, Louise whipped up a five-course meal in about fifteen minutes. Sandburg was in awe, and when he asked Louise for a recipe, her eyes just lit up the whole house."

"Great. Now there's two of you. I'll have to tell Wendy," she griped, wondering if she even had her sister's phone number.

"Wen already knows. She refers to Blair as 'beloved Baby Brother Blair', and happily abdicated her right to being the youngest child. She's older by two months, but you'd never be able to tell if you get them in the same room. Both act about sixteen."

Carolyn shook her head. She knew that Jim truly liked her family, but she had no idea he'd gotten custody of them in the divorce. "I think I'm jealous."

"Because of their youth? Don't be. Sometimes being mature can be a blessing."

She shook her fist at him. "Mature this, Ellison." He snorted. "And I'm not jealous of their youth; I'm jealous of you."

"Me?"

"Envious is probably a better word. You get along so well with my family."

"And barely speak to my own," he reminded her.

"Barely speak? You've gotten that far?" When William Ellison hadn't shown up at their wedding, she'd written him off. At least Steven had sent a gift.

"Two different murder cases brought Steven and Dad into my world, and we've been reluctant to let the connection go. Guess it's part of that maturity thing," he said with an embarrassed shrug.

"May I mature with such grace," she said admiringly. "You don't think Mom and Dad are going to be dragged into this, do you? Or Wendy?"

"I'm going to do my best to make sure that doesn't happen. When we get home, maybe we'll give them a call to let them know you're okay, but not to reveal your location." She looked at him strangely. "What?"

"When we get home? You know something I don't, Ellison?"

Jim started to apologize, explain that he should have said his home, then he realized that he meant exactly what he'd said. Carolyn would always have a home with him, as would her family. Maybe it was a Sentinel thing, a tribal instinct. He stood and held out his hand. "I know home is more than just the place where you currently reside. I know it means more than just a structure, that it also means the people who are there with you."

"You do know something I don't," she murmured, as they walked out together. "Think you can teach me?"

"I'll do even better than that, Carrie. I'll take you home to my teacher."

Chapter Four

Blair was chopping vegetables into dipping-sized pieces when he heard the key in the lock. He looked up, smiling at the duo. "Hey, Carolyn! It's good to see you." He hadn't gotten to know her very well before her departure from Cascade, but what he did know, he liked. She'd also been nicely cooperative when he'd interviewed her about Jim for the aborted dissertation. Aborted. Yeah, guess that was the word for it. No. Actually it was more of a miscarriage or even a still-birth, because the thing had been fully formed-- it just hadn't survived the rocky trip down the birth canal. Nope, wrong again. The abortion analogy was much closer to the truth. He had, in fact, deliberately chosen its demise. Ah, the joys of pro-choice. And what universe are we visiting today, Sandburg?

"Hi, Blair. I'm sorry to interrupt your evening off like this--"

He shook his head, his eyes following Jim around the room as the Sentinel put the chain on the door, then proceeded to check the locks on the other doors and windows. "Family is never an interruption-- as evidenced by the woman meditating in the living room. That's my mom, by the way."

"Jimmy didn't tell me you already had a guest. I can--"

"Squeeze in here like everyone else." Blair smiled at her. "Jim likes to keep endangered members of his tribe close."

"His tribe?"

"Yeah, you know...." He looked at the confusion in her eyes. "You don't know, do you? I just assumed--"

"That I know what went on here last year? Jim said it was a long story, but that it ended with you becoming a cop."

"Yeah, well, Fate has her own agenda. You have any preference in dips? Thanks to last week's poker game, we have quite an assortment. By the way, I like your longer hair."

She smiled. "And I like your shorter 'do. They make you cut it at the academy?"

"Nah. It was my choice." He gave Jim a questioning glance when the larger man joined them in the kitchen. Jim nodded slightly, and Blair reached out a hand to lay on his arm. The Sentinel was in full protect mode, needing his Guide to ground him while he scanned the immediate vicinity for danger.

"Anything low fat is fine with me," she answered, rolling a shoulder to ease a twinge.

Jim noticed the movement, and put his hands on her shoulders, grimacing at the knots he found there. "You're so tense. Go take a hot shower. I'll bring you something to change into. The towels are in the usual place, and there are new toothbrushes in the cabinet."

"But shouldn't we be doing something?" she asked, still anxious.

"Not tonight, sweetheart. We'll get a good night's sleep, and tackle the problem fresh in the morning." He gave her a quick hug. "It's really the best way."

"Toothbrushes, huh? You house a lot of endangered tribe members here?"

"You'd be surprised," Blair said. "We even had a bona fide TV star here for a few days."

"Don't remind me," Jim groaned. "Better yet, don't remind my stomach."

"I don't even think I want to go there," Carolyn said with a grin. "You never cared much for my cooking either."

"I knew Vince's cooking tasted familiar," Jim said, ducking as Carolyn lightly swung in his direction.

"I'm going to take a shower. I know when I'm being insulted," she said, smiling to let them know she was teasing.

"Somebody called looking for her," Blair said, when he heard the bathroom door shut. He motioned for Jim to get the dip out of the fridge. "I played the airhead and bluffed my way through the conversation."

"Good catch, Chief. We figured they'd call here. Just didn't think it would be so soon." Jim sighed and ran his fingers across his head.

"How deep is the shit, man?" Blair's eyes flickered over to his mother as he made sure she was still in her own little world.

"Deep enough to suffocate in if we're not careful," Jim answered honestly. "How long is Naomi planning on hanging around?"

"Why? Could this spill over onto her?"

"It's possible. A lot depends on the players."

Blair set down the knife. "Why don't you tell me about the game?"

Jim told him what little details he had. "I'll start making some calls tomorrow, try to find out just how covert this operation is. You know, when I thought it was just some run-of-the-mill, wanna-be terrorists group like the Sunrise Patriots who was developing this thing--"

"Or a purely mercenary bitch like Alex," Blair supplied.

"Or a purely mercenary bitch like Alex, I thought we had a chance to nip this in the bud. We just had to be smarter, quicker--

"Less insane."

Jim rolled his eyes at his 'helpful' partner. "Less insane than the other guy. Now, it's a lot more complicated. These people aren't blind followers or looking to make a quick deal. They're fully funded and legitimized by the 'the government.'"

"I'll give Jack Kelso a call," Blair offered. "If he doesn't know anything, maybe he can point us in a few directions. Actually, Mom might be able to help us, too. She has some friends who would have a field day with this kind of information."

"No field days, Chief. What we're looking for is a quiet agreement between parties."

"You're not be serious, are you? You can't let them get away with this, Jim. Biological weapons are a danger to the entire planet, no matter whose hands they're in."

"Trust me, Sandburg. You don't want to get on the wrong side of the kind of people who are involved in this kind of stuff. They don't play well with others."

"Neither do you."

"That's why I know when I'm out of my league. The best we can hope for, Chief, is to get Carolyn out of this alive."

Blair looked at the white-knuckled grip Jim had on the counter. "You are serious, aren't you, man? What do you know about this that you aren't telling?"

Jim shook his head. "Nothing tangible, that's for damn sure. It's just a feeling."

Blair sighed. "We're not going to have to have that belabored discussion on how important it is to rely on your intuition, are we?"

"No."

"Good. So, what are we feeling, Detective Ellison?" Blair said in his best psychiatrist imitation.

"That this is not going to end well." Jim's eyes focused on something Blair couldn't see. "The last time I had this feeling, I was sitting in a chopper. Then the world exploded."

Blair shivered at the blank stare. He reached out to grip Jim's arm, bringing him back from that desolate place. "It won't this time, Jim. We know how to use the advanced warning system now. We know to heed the warnings. We know to duck."

Jim wiped a hand across his face. "Sure. Let me go get Carolyn something to change into. What's with the finger food? For the playoff game?"

"Actually, there's a special on the Discovery Channel."

"Good. We need the distraction." He walked toward the stairs to his room. "Not to mention the extra sleep."

"Up yours, Ellison. When's the last time you slept through a DC special?"

"I dunno. When was the last time we watched one?"

"Sleeping people don't get to eat their favorite non-salted, non-artificially buttered popcorn. They might choke," Blair subtly threatened.

"Straight for the jugular, Chief?"

"I learned from the master." He bowed to his teacher.

Jim laughed and took the stairs two at a time. "Just remember, Sandburg: it's never good to bite the hand that feeds you."

"Thought that's what I just reminded you of, man."

"How about this one? Payback is a bitch."

"Anytime, any place, Ellison."

"One fight at a time, Chief."

Blair sobered with the reminder of what they were facing. "Jim?" he called. Jim leaned over the railing, something soft in his hands. "I promise you, man. You won't be left alone in the jungle this time."

"God's ear, Chief," Jim replied, abbreviating the oft-used phrase. "I just hope He's listening."

*****

Carolyn stood in the familiar shower letting the hot water rain over her. If she could only let her fear flow away as easily as she sloughed off the perspiration and the scent of travel. Actually, the fear wasn't as bad as it'd been before. What was that saying about sorrow shared being sorrow halved? Well, it seemed to work with fear, too.

Jimmy. She just couldn't get over the changes in him. He'd mellowed, not like some slacker, but like a man more at ease with his place in the world. That was it. The automatic defensiveness was gone. His humor was more genuine, and his teasing was gentle, not laced with the subtle bitterness it'd held before. And what was this "tribe" stuff? At times during their brief marriage, she'd felt like an interloper in the loft-- Jim's home before the wedding. He was an intensely private man, something that had attracted her while they were dating, but annoyed her while they were married. Now, she was hearing that not only did he have a permanent roommate, but he took in strays, strays who came with baggage of the danger kind. What happened to "Mr. Lone Wolf," and what the hell did it have to do with the "long story" from last year?

Then there had been that scene in the kitchen. Blair had touched Jim, and something had happened. The touch had been less than intimate, but more than casual, and Jim had seemed to… fade right before her eyes. In less than a nanosecond, however, everything had righted itself, and she'd been left wondering if she'd imagined the whole incident. But she hadn't. She'd be willing to bet money on it.

So, was it Blair who was causing this? From the very beginning, Blair had been the friendly type, maybe a bit too eager, but affable, and she'd heard him spin a good yarn or two at times. Companionable. That was a good word to describe him. But was he something more? True, he looked less like a New Age groupie than he had in the past, but that didn't mean he wasn't practicing some spiritual voodoo on Jim. If Jim didn't seem so much better adjusted now, she'd be suspicious of Blair and his motives. But she could discern no menace in the man, and God, Jim was obviously doing well. Better than well. And Blair was protective of him. She could see that in the way Blair tracked Jim's movements around the loft. Why? If anyone was capable of taking care of himself, Jimmy was.

Just what was Blair to Jim and vice versa? And what the hell had happened last year? Whatever it was, was the key to everything, she decided as she grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the shower caddy. Herbal. Obviously Blair's, but it also smelled like Jim. Were they both using the same toiletries? That spoke of a relationship that if not intimate, then was closer than just mere roommates. One shared soap with lovers-or relatives.

"I'm leaving you some sweats on the counter," Jim called, startling her. "I remember you used to like to steal them all the time."

"That wasn't stealing," she said, flushing from his nearness although she knew he couldn't see through the opaque shower curtain. "I was just invoking marital privilege."

"Ah. I think we're hitting upon one of the fundamental misunderstandings between men and women. When men think of marital privilege, it has nothing to do with clothes. At least not with putting on clothes."

"It's a wonder the species has lasted this long," Carolyn muttered.

"Have you considered that it's the 'clothes off' mentality which has propelled the species forward?" Jim asked smugly. No reply. "I set out Sandburg's hair dryer for you. Don't drown yourself. We have TV to watch tonight."

"The playoffs, right?"

"Well, actually it's a Discovery Channel special."

She heard the door click behind him. A Discovery Channel special?

Shaking her head in disbelief, she hurried to finish her shower.

*****

Darkness. Pain. Blood. Rivers of blood....

Naomi came back to the terrestrial plane with a gasp, her eyes widened in fright.

"Easy there. Take a deep breath, Naomi."

"You're okay, Mom."

She fell back against a solid surface, arms wrapping around her. She opened her eyes, and found familiar blue ones staring at her in concern. Blair sat back on his haunches, holding her hands. That meant it was Jim she was resting against. Hmm. Better than the trees she used to chain herself to. But she had no time for stray thoughts. "There is danger here, honey," she told her son quickly.

"We know," Blair assured her. "We'll handle it."

"Something happen?" Carolyn asked as she walked out of the bathroom.

"You!" Naomi accused. "You're the source of the danger."

"We know that, too," Jim said soothingly. "Naomi, this is Carolyn Plummer. Carolyn, Naomi Sandburg."

"Carolyn's here for our help, Mom. In fact, Jim and I were thinking maybe you'd like to head to your next destination a little sooner than you were expecting--"

"You're kicking me out, Blair?"

"No one's kicking anyone out, Naomi," Jim said firmly. "We're trying to protect you."

"I'm not leaving my son while he's in danger," Naomi replied adamantly. Just how shallow did he think she was?

"Then maybe I should leave," Carolyn said hastily. "I don't want--"

"Listen to what she has to say, honey," Naomi interrupted.

"Mom, Jim and I are cops. Helping people in trouble is what we do."

"But this isn't your jurisdiction, Blair. I should have stayed in Oregon, and--"

"Enough!" Jim boomed, startling all of them. "Naomi, you're a grown woman. It's your choice to stay or go. Just know that if you stay, I will not tolerate your interference."

"I would never--"

"Don't even try it," Jim said, knowing Naomi's tendency to interpret things her way. "You will not 'help', 'assist', or do anything that you deem 'is for our own good', without first discussing it with me or Blair, then waiting for our approval before you act. Understood?"

"I don't work well within boundaries," Naomi replied defiantly.

"Then leave now. Our door will always be open to you later."

Naomi looked to her son for support. "Honey, you can't let him--"

Blair threw up his hands. "Don't, Mom. This is not only Jim's home, but he's the expert in this situation. What he says, goes."

Naomi pouted, but didn't say anything else.

"And you, Carolyn, are not going anywhere," Jim continued. "You came to me for help. Let me give it." She nodded. "Fine. I'm glad we have everything settled. Turn on the TV, Chief, and let's watch that damned special."

"Nice imitation of Simon," Blair acknowledged two hours later, as he joined Jim at the sink. The older man was cleaning up the remains of their snacks.

"Yeah? I've been monitoring the way he talks, actually the way everyone talks. If I listen closely, I can hear the vibrations of their individual vocal cords, then repeat those vibrations."

"Cool," Blair said excitedly. "Have you ever tried ventriloquism?"

"No, but I can always put you on my knee." He grinned wickedly when his butt was whapped by a dish towel. "Listen, Sandburg. I'm sorry about taking such a hard line with your mom, but--"

"You don't have to apologize, Jim. Maybe if I had been more firm with her last year...."

"Her being back isn't stirring all that up for you, is it?" Jim asked.

Blair sighed, remembering the letter from Duke. "Not the way you think, man. Listen, Jim, we need to talk when all this gets cleared, okay?"

"Is it something we should discuss now?" Jim asked pointedly. Ever since the mess with Alex Barnes, he'd been leery of putting off discussions. If he'd just allowed Blair to tell him about Alex before everything went to hell and back....

"It can wait, man."

"I don't mean to interrupt, guys," Carolyn said, bringing in a glass from the living room, "but I've had a rather full day. If you just tell me where to bunk--"

Jim smiled. "Take your old side of the bed. I'll be up just as soon as I finish down here."

Carolyn arched an eyebrow. "Up to your bed? Are you making assumptions, Detective Ellison?"

Jim turned bright red. "No! I wasn't suggesting-- Hell, Carrie, we aren't teenagers, you know. What happens or doesn't happen-- mphff."

She shushed him with a kiss, which turned into a chuckle. "Well, at least that hasn't changed. You are just too adorable when you're flustered. Good night, Blair, and Naomi," Carolyn added, when she saw Naomi watching them from the sofa.

Jim shook his head as he watched Carolyn ascend the stairs. Still as sharp as ever. Muffled laughter drew him back to the kitchen. "Don't you dare, Chief," he growled.

Blair grinned. "I wasn't going to say a word."

"Suuure you weren't."

"I was just going to tell you that since I'm sleeping on the sofa, I'll be sure to wear my headphones-- just in case you become too adorable to resist."

Jim sighed. "Naomi, I really think a judicial amount of corporal punishment wouldn't have been out of line," he said, as he felt the woman approach.

"Jim! You don't really advocate hitting a child?" Naomi asked, shocked. Then she wondered why she was. After all, Jim was a pi-- cop.

"He's just kidding, Mom," Blair said with certainty. "You should see him around kids. Pure goo."

"You do realize that your mother won't be here forever, and that you're well past your childhood years, don't you, Sandburg?" Jim threatened.

"Jim, if you haven't hit me by now--"

"Who's talking about hitting, partner? Exactly when was the last time we cleaned out the storeroom in the basement?"

"Quick! Go to bed, Ma, before you get me into any more trouble."

Naomi looked at the two grinning men. "You have the most unique relationship," she said with a frown, as she disappeared into her son's room.

"My mom just called us weird, Jim. That's saying a lot coming from her."

"The sad thing is that she doesn't know the half of it, Chief."

Blair shrugged. "As long as we do. Right, man?"

"Right."

*****

"Wake up, Carrie."

Jim didn't know whether it was her slight thrashing movements, or the soft moan escaping her clenched lips that awakened him, but he knew she was in the middle of something that she needed to get out of.

Carolyn stiffened, and opened her eyes. "Nightmare," she murmured.

"Not a surprise."

She nodded, turning toward him. "But it is a surprise waking to your voice. I never expected to be in this bed with you again."

"Oh, you planned on being in it with someone else?"

Her elbow barely made a dent against his washboard abs. "You know what I mean."

"Gee, what would your mom say?" Jim teased, hoping to chase the nightmare away.

"She'd say, 'Carolyn, it's about time you done something right.'"

"It's not your fault, or my fault that we make better friends than we do spouses. I told Mom that about a thousand times," he said, feeling guilty that Louise blamed Carolyn for their divorce.

Carolyn wondered if Jim realized he still called her parents "Mom" and "Dad" on occasion. "Poor Jimmy. Just how many of my battles have you been fighting?" she asked, raising a hand to stroke his slightly furred cheek.

"Not all that many. I'm a 'turn-of-the-century' kind of guy. I let my women fight their own battles."

"My women, Jimmy?"

"Just an expression, Carolyn."

"Does it have to be?" she asked, putting both her hands on his face to pull him closer. "Just for tonight, can I be 'your' woman, again?"

He turned his head away. "I don't expect payment for helping you, you know."

"I know," she said, tracing his lips with her finger. "You help because your heart tells you to. I'm asking you to make love to me, because that is what my heart is telling me. Yes, I'm scared. Yes, I'm thankful that you are here for me. But this has nothing to do with that. I want you, Jimmy."

He suckled her finger, while using his Sentinel sight to find the truth in her eyes. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he smiled. "You have me, Carrie," he said, as he lowered himself to her mouth. "You always have."

Chapter Five

"Up and at 'em, Chief!"

Blair grunted, and tried to burrow further beneath the covers-- only to have them snatched away. Bleary eyes opened to find his partner grinning wickedly over him, blankets in his arms. "Sadist," he muttered.

"And a good morning to you, too. We have two women staying with us. I advise you to hit the shower while we still have hot water." Jim separated the blankets, and folded each one with perfectly squared corners.

Blair blinked, and took a good look at Jim. Instead of the showered and dressed form he'd expected, the man was still in his robe. "You go ahead, man. Just give a shout when you're finished." He thumped his pillow and turned over.

"I'm taking a personal leave day, Chief, so I'll get cleaned up later. You can tell Simon the truth, but make up something for the others."

Blair nodded. "If you're not going in, why are you up? You could have easily tossed something at me from the loft if you wanted to make sure I was awake."

"I have some calls to make to the East Coast."

And federal offices open at nine, right, Jim? "How confident are you about getting answers?"

"I'm just hoping I don't get the phone slammed in my ear too many times."

Blair looked at him sympathetically. "Make sure you dial down, man."

"You know it, Chief."

Before either could say another word, the phone rang.

"Psychic Friends Network?" Blair questioned.

A quick glare. "Ellison."

"Jimmy, it's Mom. I'm not calling too early, am I? I figured you and Blair would be up getting ready for work and--"

"We were up, Louise," Jim said for Blair's benefit.

Blair mouthed, "Tell her I said, 'Hi'," and stumbled toward the bathroom.

"This thoroughly disagreeable man called last night and--"

"Asked about Carolyn, right? Don't worry. She's safe." Damn. He'd hoped Paul and Louise wouldn't get caught up in this.

"Thank God! Is she with you?"

"Louise--"

"Right. I shouldn't ask. I'm a big Clancy fan, you know, not to mention Oliver Stone. I understand."

Jim shook his head in amazement. The people he called his family had to be some of the strangest beings on the planet. And he loved them all. "What did you tell the guy, Mom?"

"That I hadn't heard from Carolyn since Christmas, and if he could wait another six months, I'd be glad to give her his regards. That was okay, wasn't it?"

"That was fine. Blair says to tell you and Dad hi."

"You tell our baby boy we want to see both of you real soon. We probably need to talk."

"I'm sure we do. I'll check my schedule and call you back soon, okay?"

"Okay, sugar. Dad and I love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

"They okay?"

Jim looked up to the loft where Carolyn kneeled on the bed and peered over the railing. "They're fine. Just worried about you because of a phone call last night."

"But now that they know you're on the case, they're satisfied, right? Both of them read way too much Clancy, you know."

Jim grinned. "I know." He scowled up at her. "What are you doing awake? Did the phone wake you? Go back to bed. You didn't get much sleep last night."

"And whose fault was that?" she purred. "You were always a considerate lover, attentive to where your partner was in terms of 'satisfaction', but, damn, Jimmy, last night it was as if you were inside my skin, knowing everything I was feeling, aware of every button that needed pushing. I'm still tingling from the experience."

"I enjoyed myself, too," Jim said quietly.

Loving this man is way too easy, Carolyn. Better put up your guard. "I remembered something, something from the report. They called it 'Sirocco.'"

"Sirocco? The name of the pathogen itself, or the project?"

She shook her head. "It wasn't clear. Could be both. I just thought it might be helpful."

"Anything you remember will help, Carrie. But you'll have more trouble remembering if you're exhausted. Go back to bed. I have to make some calls and get Sandburg off to work, then I'll join you, okay?"

"With an incentive like that, how could a girl say no?" she cooed, laughing at his beet-colored face. Blowing him a kiss, she lowered herself back beneath the covers.

Dazed and bemused, Jim walked into the kitchen, pulled out the "junk" drawer, and carefully removed the sheet of paper taped to the bottom of it. He replaced the drawer, and picked up the phone.

"U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. How may we direct your call?"

Jim rolled his eyes. Guess it would be too simple just to answer, "USAMRIID"-- which is what everyone called the place. At least he'd gotten a real person and not some disembodied voice telling him to press 1, 2, or 3. "Connect me to Colonel Lynne Reese."

A shocked hesitation. "Commander Reese is unavailable at this time, sir."

Don't get many calls for the boss, huh? "If you want to keep whatever stripes or chevrons you have, you will tell her Diablo is calling." He could hear the clicks as the phone system put him on hold, connected to Reese's office, then finally got back to him.

"Ellison?"

"Been calling someone else an eerie blue-eyed devil, Lynne?"

Lynne Reese laughed. "Not lately. What's going on?"

"Can't a friend just call to say hello?"

"Not when the friend has my home number, but decides to call me at work. What are you going to tell me that I'm going to hate?"

"You heard of anything called Sirocco?"

"A hot bug?"

"Or a project." He could hear her tapping commands into a computer.

"Nothing's coming up. Got any specifics?"

"Getting there. My contact is working from memory. Rest will bring some details."

"Do I really want to know?"

"No."

"You can take the man out of the uniform...."

"This is not a national concern for me, Lynne. It's personal."

"So, the civilian population as a whole is not in danger?"

"I wouldn't say that."

She sighed. "What are we talking?"

"Biowarfare."

"I was right; I do hate it. I hate you, too."

"Not what you were saying all those hot, steamy nights we had in Brazil," Jim teased.

"As you, me, and my research team ran for our fucking lives? Don't believe everything I told you then, Jim. I was just caught up in the moment."

"Ouch, Reese. The male ego is a delicate thing."

She laughed, just as he knew she would. "There's nothing delicate about you, Jim. I'll keep digging around for you, and I'll call if I come up with anything."

"Thanks, Lynne. I'll owe you."

"No. I'll still owe you, Jim. Whatever you've gotten yourself involved in, be careful."

"I will. Talk to you later."

Jim hung up, heard the shower stop, and figured he didn't have enough time to make another call before Blair would need breakfast. He returned the list to its safe spot and started making the morning meal for the two of them. Hopefully, Carolyn would sleep for another couple of hours, and Naomi had her own breakfast rituals.

"Hey, man, how are our pseudo-parents doing?" Blair asked, toweling the remaining dampness out of his hair. He'd gotten quite comfortable with the shorter hair. He'd forgotten how much easier it was to deal with. Saved himself several precious minutes in the mornings.

"Fine. A little worried about Carolyn until they found out she'd been in contact with me."

Blair went to the sofa to slip on his socks and shoes. "Did you manage to connect with anyone back East?"

"Just one, so far. A friend of mine at USAMRIID. Said she hadn't heard of anything called Sirocco, but she'd check for me."

"Sirocco?"

"Yeah. Carolyn woke up to tell me she remembered seeing that name on the screen. Doesn't know if it's the name of the project, the pathogen, or the disease, but it's a start." Jim scraped scrambled eggs onto a couple of plates.

"I'll mention it to Jack. Just the two of us for breakfast?" Blair asked, coming to the table and seeing only the two settings.

"I talked Carolyn into going back to sleep, and Naomi isn't stirring yet-- which I'm grateful for because she'd probably pitch a fit about the eggs."

Blair chuckled. "Sometimes I think you know my mom better than I do." He took a sip of the coffee Jim had just poured. "So, you want me to talk to Jack. Anything else?"

"You can search the internet. Maybe this Sirocco is big among the research crowd or the terrorist groupies. If you don't mind, I'm going to borrow your laptop and do some surfing of my own."

Blair nodded. Jim liked to play dumb when it came to computers, but he had long suspected that Jim had been taught how to hack through even the most sophisticated security systems. Even back in the late eighties that had to be a necessary skill for a black op. So, while he'd been surfing the internet, Jim would be diving through the dark, cloudy waters of certain intranets. "Beware of sharks," he warned.

"You, too."

They finished breakfast in companionable silence. Jim cleaned up after Blair, made a few more calls, then climbed back up the stairs to settle in beside Carolyn. Her exhaustion finally catching up to her, she didn't wake, but merely turned to snuggle into his embrace and sank even deeper into sleep. He drifted for a while, coming more alert when he heard Naomi start moving about. When she came out of the shower, he figured it was time to get the day off to a proper start, so he padded downstairs to shower and take care of his usual morning ablutions.

"Good morning, Naomi," he called as he headed back upstairs for his clothes.

"Jim? I thought it was Carolyn in the shower. Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I'm taking the day off."

"And Blair?"

"He went in at the usual time."

"By himself? Is that safe? Doesn't he still work with you?"

Jim sighed. "Yes, he's still my partner, Naomi, but he's also a cop with less than a year on the force. That means I have considerably more vacation time than he does-- days which they demand I take. So this is not the first time he's gone in without me, and it won't be the last. He'll be fine. He's better trained than a lot of veteran officers, and Simon will keep him chained to his desk unless there's some kind of emergency."

"You think I'm being overprotective." It was a statement, not a question.

"I think you love him, and that you're frightened because he's in a situation that you can't understand. But what you have to realize is that he understands it, Naomi. I said last night that you were an adult and you could make your own choices. The same applies to Blair."

"But did he make his own choice, Jim? Or did he merely take the only option he saw open to him at that time?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know, Naomi, and neither do you. We can both make guesses, but only Blair knows why he became a cop. We can only go by what he tells us."

"Ah, but you can do better than that, can't you, Jim? You have heightened senses. You know when someone is lying. You can smell their fear, hear the changes in their heart rhythms."

"But I can't read their minds. I'm a sentinel, not a psychic."

"You're a what?"

Jim had heard Carolyn waking, so he wasn't surprised to hear her question. "It can wait until we're both dressed," he said, clutching the front of his robe defensively.

"That might be good advice if I actually had clothes," Carolyn replied, indicating his T-shirt that had substituted for a nightgown.

"You can borrow something of mine," Naomi offered.

Carolyn looked at the clinging caftan the other woman wore, then looked at Jim.

"There's a dress shop next door. I'll go get you something," he offered quickly, starting up the stairs.

Naomi reached out for his arm. "I'm sorry, Jim. I thought everyone knew."

He shrugged. "It's okay. I was going to tell her anyway. Do you have plans for today, or are you going to stick around the loft?"

"I'm meeting some friends downtown in a few minutes-- unless you need me here."

"No. That's fine. Just keep in touch with me or Blair, okay? It's imperative we know where you are."

"Just in case trouble comes knocking?"

He patted the hand on his arm. "Yeah. Just in case."

Naomi smiled, and tugged Jim down in order to peck his cheek. "I hear you, Jim. I really do."

He heard her leave as he joined Carolyn upstairs. "It won't take me but a few minutes to go down to Colette's," he said, stripping out of the robe and opening a drawer.

"You are every in-law's dream, aren't you?"

"What?" He took a pair of jeans off a hanger.

"Naomi adores you."

"When she doesn't hate me. And she's not an in-law."

"Why would she hate you?"

"Oh, maybe because since her son has known me he's been shot, kidnapped, beaten, and worse, has become a pig," Jim said grimly. He grabbed a pair of socks and sat down on the bed.

"But it was his choice to be with you, right?"

"Not entirely." He flinched when she looked at him curiously. "You'll see what I mean when we talk."

"Something tells me this all has to do with what I missed last year."

"Yep."

Carolyn didn't know what had happened, but she could see the pain still lingering in the depths of his gorgeous blue eyes. She rested her chin on his shoulder and gave him a big squeeze. "Sounds like Y2K hit early here in Cascade."

"We didn't buy a single canned good item, or even a flashlight battery, Caro. The end of the world just didn't sound like that big a deal after all we'd been through." He kissed her and stood. "Go and take your shower. I should be back by the time you get out. There's a pack of disposable razors beneath the sink. Just toss it when you're done."

"You remember everything about me, don't you?" she asked in surprise.

"I remember everything I missed," he replied, sliding his wallet into his pocket.

"Then why haven't you noticed my hair?" she asked with a deliberate pout, not entirely comfortable with what he'd said.

"That it's longer?" he questioned as he headed down the stairs. "Or that you've changed Clairol numbers?"

A pillow thumped him on the head in reply.

*****

Jim heard the blow dryer going as he let himself back into the loft. Dropping the box he'd picked up from the basement, he strolled toward the bathroom with a shopping bag. Stopping at the partially open door, he looked at the woman standing in his robe, and got lost for a moment in "What could have been."

Carolyn turned off the dryer, and gave a small start when she saw Jim in the doorway. "You weren't kidding when you said you'd be right back. What did you get me?"

"Nothing that's going to look half as good on you as that robe does."

"God, Jimmy, don't tell me you've added flattery to your already dangerous repertoire of seduction. Those eyes, that body, and now a glib tongue? What's a girl supposed to do?" she asked, as she slowly approached him.

"What you're doing right now is a good beginning," he said, reaching out to tug at the robe's belt. He let his hands roam as their hands met in a kiss. "Let's go upstairs."

"Let's not," she countered, already undoing his pants.

"I'm flexible," Jim said agreeably.

"Why don't you prove that to me, Jimmy?" she rasped.

He did.

Chapter Six

"Man, she could have made me sit up and roar any day," Captain Simon Banks heard one of his detectives say as he walked into the bullpen from a meeting with the mayor.

"Too dangerous for me," another replied. "Did you see her claws? Some things aren't worth the risk."

"What's a few scratches?"

"I dunno. Death by loss of blood, maybe?"

"But what a way to go."

Simon shook his head. Ah, to be young-- and foolish. "Talking about last night's date, Brown?" he asked, stopping by the twin desks of partners Henri Brown and Brian Rafe.

"Actually, it was a special on the Discovery Channel," Brown replied.

"Damn. Was that last night? I watched the playoffs and completely forgot about it," Simon fussed at himself. "Maybe Sandburg taped it. Where are my resident nature experts by the way?"

"Sandburg's down in Records. Ellison's taking a personal leave day," Brown reported, eager to see his superior's reaction. Jim Ellison was not the type to take random days off.

Simon frowned, wondering what the hell was going on with the Sentinel. It had to be something that had happened quickly. Jim had taken days off without his partner before, but not without first giving Simon instructions about what Sandburg could and could not do without him. He alternated between being irritated and amused at Ellison's mother hen routine, but he was starting to understand this Sentinel/Guide bond the two had, and realized that Jim had very little control over his instinct to protect Blair. He also realized that Blair needed protection. It was as if the Guide attracted trouble because, hell, someone had to, and at least he knew he had a Sentinel to watch over him.

When he realized his men were staring at him, Banks put a smirk on his face. "Is it that time of the year?" he asked.

"What time would that be, Captain?" Rafe inquired curiously.

"The Dollar Days Sale at The Home Depot."

The two detectives grinned. Everyone knew that if Ellison believed in heaven, it would have aisles upon aisles of power tools and smell of freshly-sanded wood. "You have a point, Captain. Probably had his nose pressed up against the door when the manager arrived to open up," Brown said, mimicking the speculated action.

"That's really a good look for you, Henri," Blair said as he breezed into the bullpen. "When all else fails, the begging puppy look can usually get you a pity date."

"Pity? I'll give you pity, Hairboy!" Blair scooted nimbly out of the way as Brown growled and attacked.

"Sandburg, my office," Simon ordered, before his detectives got out of hand. Sometimes running the Major Crime Unit was like managing a day care.

Blair must have been thinking the same thing, because he pouted and whined, "But he's the one who started it." Sandburg grinned as Simon muttered and stalked off toward his sanctuary.

"What's the real story behind this day off, Sandburg?" Simon asked, as the door closed behind his newest detective.

"Carolyn came to town last night."

"It'd be too much to ask that the reason Jim took the day off was because he was simply basking in afterglow, right?"

Blair gave a small smile. "There may be some afterglow, but that isn't the reason why he's staying home. Carolyn's run into some trouble."

"Why wasn't I informed?" Simon asked gruffly. Carolyn was an old friend, separate from being Jim's ex-wife.

"Because the trouble falls more into Jim's venue than yours."

"Sentinel-related?"

"Government."

"Shit." Simon removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think I'd prefer a sentinel one. Is it something you can talk about?"

"Jim figured you'd be curious, so he said it'd be okay as long as we kept it from the others."

"You have my word. Just give me the straight story, Sandburg, and save the commentary for later." Simon listened to the facts with the cool, calm demeanor of one who was confronted with the worst of mankind on a daily basis. Still, he couldn't help but flinch when he thought about the amount of devastation a biological attack could create.

"This Sirocco thing. Got anything on it yet?" Simon asked, his mind going through some of the contacts he'd made over the years.

"Nada. If you don't mind me taking a long lunch, I'm going over to Rainier to see Jack Kelso."

"Think the CIA is involved?" Simon remembered how helpful the wheelchair-bound man had been when Jim had disappeared. Also, the tell-all book he'd written about the Agency had been an advantage when a rogue CIA agent had tried to force Jim into stealing an experimental plane.

"I'm starting to believe anything is possible in the Ellison Zone," Blair said wryly.

The captain knew Blair was making a subtle dig about the way Simon and Jim used to make comments about the Sandburg Zone back in the days when it seemed Blair lived and breathed trouble. But at least his trouble was of the "Book'em, Danno," variety, whereas Jim's was of the "Let's just get out of this alive" genre. "I hear you, Sandburg," Simon agreed, acknowledging his participation in the wordplay.

Blair grinned. "That reminds me. My mom's in town, too."

"At the loft?" A nod. "Poor Jim. When it rains, it pours."

"Hey, man, that's my mom you're talking about," Blair automatically protested, before grudgingly admitting, "She is an additional concern that we don't need right now, but Jim's handling her."

Simon gave him a disbelieving stare.

"No, really. He's in his Rangers captain mode. Sorta like you-- but colder."

"Excuse me?"

"He basically told us we were all adults and that we better act like it, or else. Believe me, Captain, even Naomi knows better than to cross him."

"Wonder why I can't get people to listen to me like that?"

"We listen, Simon."

"Only if I yell, and Jim wasn't yelling, was he?"

"No. Which is why we listened."

Simon nodded. The calmer Jim grew, the scarier he became. Not that he, Captain Simon Banks, would ever admit that aloud. "Go on to lunch, then do whatever you need. Tell Jim I'll stop by the loft after work to see if he needs me for anything."

"He'll appreciate the support. So will Carolyn."

"What about you? Do you need support? I know it's going to be somewhat disconcerting going back to campus," Simon said, recognizing the tension in his detective.

"It's been a year, Simon. I'm not the same man who left with a box of office junk and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach."

"You're stronger," the captain agreed. Not just physically either, although conditioning at the academy had the younger man's body in peak condition. But Sandburg was more stable mentally, able to focus for longer periods of time, and less prone to outbursts. Tempered, is a good word, Simon thought.

"Yeah, well, weakness doesn't cut it out on the streets."

Simon frowned. "You were never weak, Sandburg, just fresh-- untried. We're all like that at some time. Even that partner of yours."

"You mean the Rock of Gibraltar?"

"Yeah, the one who almost shattered when his sentinel abilities came online. But you were there to hold him together. If you need someone to hold you together, we're counting on you to let us know. None of us are psychics, but we are friends," Simon said meaningfully.

"I think you just proved that, sir," Blair said, standing to head toward the door. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

*****

Blair kept his head up as he made his way to Jack Kelso's office. Some people smiled at him, either because they knew him, thought he looked nice, or were attracted. A few gave him a bemused look as if he were slightly familiar, and still others ignored him completely-- not because he'd stood before his colleagues and called himself a fraud, but simply because they ignored everybody but themselves on a regular basis. Rainier was still Rainier.

"Blair Sandburg!" Kelso called out happily when Blair revealed himself. "Come on in! What brings you back to the 'hell'owed halls of academia?"

They shook hands firmly, and Blair took a seat. "Before we get into that, Jack, my visit won't get you into trouble, will it? If I know Chancellor Edwards, she probably has spies lurking about."

"Edwards and her goons know better than to mess with me," Kelso said confidently. "The headline, 'Handicapped Professor Denied Visitors By University' would put nails in those coffins they sleep in at night."

Blair laughed. "Thought vampires slept during the day, Jack."

"Edwards always does things ass-backward," Kelso replied with a grin. "Now, tell me, my friend, what can I do for you, and is it likely to get me shot again?"

Blair tensed. "I don't think so, but there is a possibility."

Kelso reached into a drawer and turned on sound dampeners in case someone was trying to listen in. "You know, Blair, of all the contacts I have, I would have thought you the least likely to get me killed. It's refreshing to know a jaded man like myself can still be wrong."

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Blair mumbled.

"Blair, if you leave right now, I'll never forgive you. I need the excitement. Ever since I got put in this chair...." Jack had been a CIA operative until incompetence within the Agency caused a benign situation to literally explode, leaving him a paraplegic. As a way of not only dealing with his anger, but protecting future agents, he'd written a revealing book. The bestseller had gotten him publicity and a position as a professor of Foreign Affairs at Rainier, much as Blair's book would have gotten him if he hadn't declared it bogus. Jack knew Rainier was just using him, but he and his chair would take what they could get...no matter how boring it got. Still, it would be nice to ride the grown-up attractions for a short while. "Put me on your roller-coaster, Blair. You don't know how tired I am of this damn kiddie ride."

Blair nodded sympathetically. "Does the word 'Sirocco' mean anything to you?"

"Other than its literal meaning? What are we talking? A faction? Cult?"

"More likely a germ. Biowarfare, Jack."

Jack laughed, and swung around to his computer. "God, I love ya, Blair!"

*****

"What's all of this?" Carolyn asked, as she came out of the bathroom after fixing her hair for the third time. She'd forgotten that longer hair and sex could become integral parts of each other. Jim had thoroughly reminded her.

Jim barely glanced at the box he'd set on the coffee table. "A multimedia presentation of 'What I did last summer'. Start wherever you want-- print, video, audio. A lot of it is repetitive--" He paused as the phone rang. "Ellison. Hold for a second." He put his hand over the mouthpiece. "I need to take this call, Carolyn. Switzerland."

She nodded and delved into the box. He returned to his phone call. "You have anything for me, Gunther?" Gunther worked for an outfit known as Phoenix, a team of medical and rescue personnel trained to respond to a biological or chemical assault by identifying the agent, assessing the extent of the contamination, and supplying the civilians with whatever support necessary. Part of their preparedness depended on having some idea of existing threats.

"Nothing on Sirocco, I'm afraid, but GenoTech raised some red flags. There's been some recombinant DNA research going on there that's put a lot of people on alert. In fact, your State Department has been looking at the company quite closely."

"Really? I talked to Galbraith just a few hours ago, and he told me he had nothing. Guess he must have forgotten who he was talking to," Jim said softly.

"I'll fax you what I have, and I'll pass along any other information I get."

"Thanks. I owe you. Call when it's time for payback." Jim hung up, noticed Carolyn was caught up in the tape of the press conference, and dialed Washington. "This is Ellison. Let me speak to Galbraith," he said tersely.

"The Secretary can't take your call at the moment, sir. If you--"

Jim heard another person breathing on the line, and knew Galbraith was monitoring the call. "Tell him that he'll either speak to me by phone, or in person. It makes no difference to me, but it might to him." Jim heard a muttered curse, and a click as one of the lines was disconnected.

"What do you want, Ellison? I told you this morning--"

"Do NOT compound the lie by retelling it, Galbraith," Jim said firmly. "Tell me everything you know about GenoTech, and maybe you'll be able to sleep soundly tonight."

"Is that a threat?"

"Don't you remember any of the training, Jerry? Threats are useless wastes of time, and I excel in time management." Silence. "However, if I make a promise, I'm always a man of my word."

Galbraith talked.

By the time Jim gathered the faxes spewing from the machine in Blair's room, Carolyn was sitting on the sofa staring at him, the materials she'd been reviewing carefully packed back in the box. Setting the papers aside, he perched on the sofa beside her.

"How much of it is true?" she inquired much too casually.

"Ask an easier question."

"How much of it is a lie?"

"That Sandburg committed fraud."

"You really are a--"

"Sentinel. Yes, I am."

"All five?"

"Yes."

"But surely some of the ranges are exaggerated?"

He understood her need to downplay his abilities, especially after being intimate with him only an hour or so ago. "No. If anything, the ranges are dated. Some of them have improved."

"Damn." She edged away from him just a fraction, frowning as she remembered something. "The duck waste. You smelled the duck waste when Lash kidnapped Blair." Jim nodded. "And Simon backed you. He knew?"

"I had to tell him. It was vital that Sandburg be allowed to ride with me. In his dissertation he underplays his role in this sentinel thing, but he's important. He's my Guide."

"He teaches you to control your senses, right?"

"Yes, but it's more than that, Carolyn. At times, he is my control. Without him, I'd either be in an asylum, or dead."

"Asylum?" Carolyn paled. "That last date we had. That's why you asked Simon for a leave of absence--"

"And per his request you asked me out to dinner to convince me to change my mind. But that wasn't about to happen. I might have been going down, but there was no way in hell I was going to risk taking somebody else with me."

"So, that whole wild scene with you accusing the waiter of sabotaging the food--?"

"My sense of taste was spiking. Hell, most of my senses were way off the scale. I was like a manic-depressive, swinging from one extreme to the other."

"And your sympathetic ex-wife-slash-friend basically gives you the impression that she doesn't give a damn." She raised her eyes to his. "I'm sorry."

"Don't blame yourself. There was no way you could have known. I just thank God that Blair knew, and was able to get through to me."

"I thank God for him, too," she murmured. "But I don't understand how he could be so careless with his dissertation. Surely he knew what would happen if this got out."

"He wasn't careless, Carolyn, really. It was just a case of everything that could go wrong, you know? Naomi appeared just when he was finishing his work. It still had my name all over it, so when she asked to read it, he put her off by saying it needed polishing. Trying to help, she emailed a copy of it to a publisher friend, and everything snowballed from there. To top it off, we were involved in a high profile case at the time. I don't like reporters on a good day, and when that son of a bitch Sid Graham decided to drum up publicity for a book he had no rights to-- I was pretty pissed, especially at Blair." Jim shrugged. "Anyway, somehow Blair and I got through it without any permanent damage to our relationship. Simon and I worked it out so that he could become a detective, and that's where we are right now."

"What about at headquarters? This sentinel stuff?"

"Those who know Sandburg know he didn't lie. Hell, most of them knew something was up with me anyway. There were days when I didn't even try to hide it. But so far, it's an unspoken truth. We haven't sat down and held a Sentinel 101 seminar or anything. They leave Blair and me alone to do our thing, and if they need help, they ask for it."

Carolyn leaned back against the sofa, and closed her eyes. She felt Jim start to get up, and she reached out to lay a hand against his arm, stopping his movement. When she didn't remove her hand, he sat back and waited. After a few minutes of reconciling the man she'd married, the man she'd just made love to, with the man Blair called the Sentinel, she opened her eyes and smiled at him. "Wow," she said, with an air of approval.

"Wow," he agreed.

"That'll teach me to ignore Cascade gossip, huh?"

"Guess so."

"Then, what's this about you dating a Game and Wildlife Officer? And a hitwoman died in your arms? Oh, yeah, and a blonde who tried to kill Sandburg and you chased her to Mexico, and just how many vehicles have you gone through, not to mention...."

With a sigh, Jim wished all his life was on tape and he could just pull the relevant ones. Instead, he reached out and brushed a finger across her lips, effectively quieting her. "I thought I asked for the easy questions?"

"Well, you were being so uncharacteristically open, I thought I owed it to myself to give it a shot," Carolyn explained with an impish grin.

"I may have changed, but not that much."

"How has being a sentinel changed you? Is that the reason you don't eat cheese fries as a food group anymore?"

"I pretty much stay away from extremely spicy food, which doesn't include cheese fries, but I've seriously cut back on grease and red meat. As Sentinel of Cascade, I need to be as fit as possible."

"In order to protect the tribe."

"Exactly." He laughed at the disbelief in her eyes. "I know. This is a lot to take in. Me, the ultimate loner, now tribal protector. But when you can smell the fear, hear the panicked heartbeats-- you lose the distance between 'me and them'. It becomes 'us' in ways so intimate...."

"How do you stand it all?"

"I have Blair. He's like a furnace filter, sorta catching and blocking the crap that would clog my pipes." He grinned at how that sounded. "If I'm the city's protector, then Blair is mine. There's Simon, too. He gives me and Blair the freedom to do what we have to do, no matter how unorthodox. When people wanted to start crap about Blair being promoted to detective, he took the brunt of it and stood fast. I think that's the greatest change being a sentinel has made in my life."

"What?"

"That it's made me realize I'm not alone. I have backup that has nothing to do with Army regulations and police codes. True friendship, Carrie."

"You're happy, aren't you?" she asked wonderingly. "Before, there were always shadows in your eyes, shadows that I thought I could wipe away. But you never let me close enough."

"A few of them are still there, but the majority of them have been consigned to the darkness where they belong." He smiled ruefully. "In a way, I'm an entirely new man, remade from the inside out. To become the sentinel I was supposed to be, I had to make a decision, a choice, to be him. It hasn't been easy, and I've backslid a time or three. Change is hard, Carolyn, and I've screwed up plenty."

"You know, I don't think you've changed that much at all. I think this is the James Ellison I kept getting glimpses of in the past, but you stubbornly kept him hidden. Guess you were waiting for Blair."

"Does it bother you? That it wasn't you?"

"Maybe. When we got married, I just knew that I was what you needed. When I didn't succeed, I declared it an impossible task. Imagine my surprise, and my dismay, when I watched this kid just waltz in and completely turn you around. Instantly, I knew he knew things about you in a week, that I hadn't learned in a year of marriage and two years of friendship. It was disturbing, and it made me wonder if it was me-- if it wasn't that Blair was so capable, but that I was so incapable."

"Is that why you left?"

"Yes and no. The opportunity in San Francisco sounded too good to miss, and I was feeling unnecessary here. You were running rings around my technical staff, Jimmy, and I was getting flack about the operating budget. I guess I wanted to go where I could feel appreciated, capable." She shifted, resting her chin on his shoulder. "But I don't resent Blair, and I don't begrudge you your 'blossoming' into a sentinel. In fact, I kinda like it. I knew my Jimmy would protect me, but now I also have the Sentinel on my side."

"The Sentinel, Guide, and all available tribal warriors," he added with a smile.

"Guess I really am protected, hmm?"

"And loved."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good," she whispered against his ear. "That is very good."

*****

"We've located her, sir," Freer told his boss, as the older man continued to feed paper into the shredder.

"Where?"

"In Cascade with her ex-husband."

"She ran to him, and he took her in with open arms?" Lambert asked quietly.

"Apparently it was something like that. She spent the night at his place," Freer replied uncomfortably, wondering where the old man was headed.

"And this would be the ex-husband who is an ex-Ranger, and an ex-operative?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I suppose we better hope he's better at being an 'ex' those than he is an ex-husband."

Freer shifted a fraction. "He's already made some calls."

"I guess the man is a failure at quitting. Those are dangerous men, Freer."

"But not for long. The test is a go. We're only waiting on opportunity."

"He will be a wildcard."

"Yes. He adds a new dimension to the test. The results should be interesting."

Lambert shook his head at his assistant's enthusiasm. "I'll settle for satisfactory."

"It'll work."

Lambert shrugged. "Is the rest of the equipment packed and ready to go?"

"Yes, sir. If you don't mind me saying, sir, you seem to have more doubts than you had last night. Has something happened that I should know about?"

"Just an old man tired of moving, Freer. Nothing more than that."

"If you say so, sir." Freer went to see to the trucks, reminding himself to keep a close eye on his superior.

Lambert shook his head as he watched his assistant leave. How to explain that after forty years in the business, a spark of conscience had flared up inexplicably in the middle of the night, making him confront regrets and other little moral nasties? He'd tossed and turned for hours, chased by his personal demons. The road to hell was apparently designed by the conscience….

Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.

Chapter Seven

"Carolyn, unchain the door for Sandburg," Jim called from the depths of Blair's room as the fax machine printed out pages.

She removed the chain, and opened the door. Blair seemed startled when he saw who had done the honors. "Does this mean you know?"

Carolyn nodded. "Jim told me just a little while ago."

"And?"

She took a step back, surprised by the anger she heard backing the question, not to mention the defensive stance Blair had taken. No, not defensive. Offensive. What the hell? Then she remembered what Jim had said. Something about he protected the city and Blair protected him. Considering all she had read and the general reaction to the Sentinel, maybe Blair was worried she couldn't handle who Jim had become. "I think it's wonderful, Blair. I knew Jim was special."

Blair grinned. "Yes, he is. Where is the big slug?" he whispered evilly.

"Since she knows I can hear you," Jim said, coming out of Blair's room with several sheets of paper, "Carolyn won't be surprised when I beat you to a pulp for that remark."

"Pulp can't tell you what I've found out."

Jim motioned for everyone to meet in the living room. "You talked to Kelso?"

"Yeah. Simon told me to go see him, then call it a day. Unless I'm in the way here?" Blair winked suggestively.

"You know, you've been hanging around Brown too long. So, what does the CIA know about Sirocco?"

"Nothing, man. But it's had a long-running relationship with GenoTech. The company was founded by funds funneled through the Agency."

"Shit. What did they do for them?"

"Mostly recombinant DNA studies. No major breakthroughs, though. The relationship was severed two years ago due to a State Department investigation."

Jim flipped through the pages from the fax machine. "You sure the State Department knew of the CIA connection?"

"Jack was pretty certain. Named somebody high up in the Department. A Gabriel, Galway, something like that."

"Galbraith. Jerrold Galbraith. The same Jerrold Galbraith whose faxed report doesn't mention the CIA at all. Ah, Jerry. You are so forgetful." He set the papers aside. "Anything else?"

"Not from Jack, but I did have an idea."

"Yeah?"

"It involves you, Carolyn."

She looked up from her seat beside Jim. One thing she'd learned from working with police was that you didn't interrupt partners during a debrief. There was usually a set way they disseminated information to each other, and interruptions interfered with that and could cause the omission of vital information. In other words, a technician could learn more by listening than by asking questions. "What's on your mind, Blair?"

"I think you saw more than you remember. You were scared, and fear has a way of overshadowing everything else."

Carolyn grimaced. "I know I really should have looked more closely."

Blair threw up his hands to stop her. "Hey, no need to apologize. Me and fear are real close friends. Not like Mr. Hero there."

"I get scared too," Jim protested.

"Were you scared hanging from Kincaid's helicopter?"

"Well, no."

"Were you scared jumping out of the plane in Peru?"

"I was trained--"

"Were. You. Scared?"

"No."

"So, Carolyn, as I was saying," Blair continued, markedly ignoring Jim, "I think you did see more information. I'd like to talk you through an exercise that might make remembering more comfortable for you."

"Like the conversation I had with Jack?" Jim asked.

"Jim, your senses help you remember things from years ago. I just want Carolyn to go back a day, back without the fear."

Carolyn frowned. "We're not talking hypnotism, are we?"

"No. Nothing like that. I just want to get you relaxed and feeling safe."

Carolyn's eyes flicked to Jim.

"You'll be in good hands," Jim assured her. "He's talked me through some pretty dense labyrinths, and gotten me safely to the other side."

She nodded. "Sure. What do you need me to do? Get on the floor like your mother?"

"Nah. You're great where you are." Blair moved until he was sitting on the coffee table in front of her. "I want you to take Jim's hand. Close your eyes and feel his hand in yours. He's going to keep you safe. No matter what happens, you have his hand, and he's like a safety rope. You can't fall. You can't be hurt. If you get scared, just feel the heat of his hand, squeeze it, know it's there. Okay?"

"Okay."

"You're at work yesterday." Carolyn nodded. "You're at your computer, and...."

"Coffee. Everywhere. Have to wipe it up."

"You wipe up your mess, and...."

"My finance report disappears from the screen. Instead, there's something there I don't recognize."

"What does it say? Can you read the screen for me?"

"'...therefore we can assume Sirocco will have the same potential. After initial incubation, the lethality rises to ninety percent or better. Taking that into consideration, each expected mortality will cost on the average of $5.00, which, while acceptable to our backers, will be lowered upon each successive use of the product since most of the cost is ascribed to the development stage of the project. Deployment costs are negligible. Please see chart below for a more detailed explanation of expenditures. We must also remember that civilian populations are quite susceptible to the "terror" factor, and that, too, will increase morbidity, as well as mortality rates....'"

Carolyn shuddered, and opened her eyes. "My God," she murmured, finally understanding that her fear was a logical, rational reaction to what she'd seen. The understanding brought relief, and ironically, increased fear.

"I'll second that," Blair said. "No wonder you ran. Ninety percent lethal. That's some weapon."

"Deployment costs are negligible. That's what concerns me," Jim mused. "That's usually a deterrent in this business."

Carolyn turned to him, and remembered she was still holding his hand. No, not holding, but crushing it. "Damn, Jimmy. I didn't break it, did I?" She released the extremity, only to grab it again to examine it.

"No permanent damage done, Plummer, but remind me to tell your dad that he did a good job teaching you how to grip a baseball bat." Jim smiled as she massaged the reddened spots. "I can still grip a gun with it, sweetheart."

A snort. "Carolyn performs miracle?"

"Sandburg!"

Carolyn glanced at Blair. "Please don't tell me he's still dropping the thing! You know, I could always tell when I was covering one of his crime scenes-- the gun over in the corner was a dead giveaway!"

"Sometimes I'm wondering if he's hearing directions from someone else, like we're on the set of some bad action movie. 'Drop the gun now, Jim, and...cut!' Must be a sentinel thang."

Jim rolled his eyes and picked up the box of last year's memorabilia. "Before I sentinel your 'thang', Sandburg, I'm going to take this stuff back to the basement. When you two jokers get over yourselves, you can look through the material I've received."

As the door closed behind him, Jim heard Blair say to Carolyn in his best Deforest Kelly imitation, "Damn it, Jim, I'm an anthropologist, not a gun valet!"

Despite being the butt of the joke, Jim felt something warm move through him as he heard two of the most important people in his life laughing together.

*****

Carolyn and Blair were both silent when Jim returned, sharing the sofa and the stack of pages between them. He checked the answering machine for messages, then looked at his watch, debating whether to make more calls or be satisfied that everyone was doing what they were supposed to be doing. Except for Jerrold Galbraith, of course. But he already had plans for Jerry.

"Sandburg, do we have any of those overnight envelopes around here?"

Blair looked up, laying the papers aside before standing. "I think there's one in my room. Give me a minute, man."

Jim nodded. He placed a folded tissue on the counter and was just getting ready to unwrap it, when he suddenly cocked his head to one side. He went to the door, and opened it for Simon. "Wasn't expecting you for a couple of hours," he said, moving back to his previous position.

"You know what they said about curiosity and the cat." Simon shut the door, and grinned when he saw the woman on the sofa. "Plummer, what's this I hear about you bringing trouble to my town?"

"Banks, your town ain't nothing but trouble," Carolyn replied, meeting Simon halfway for a big bear hug. "It's good seeing you, old friend."

"You too. Even though it's not like these two can't get into enough trouble on their own."

"What do you expect from the Sentinel and his Guide?"

"You know?"

She heard the tension in Simon's abrupt question, and wondered just what the hell other people had said about Jimmy when they found out. "I think you're a lucky captain to have such a formidable team under your control."

Simon laughed. "What control? I didn't control Jim before he became the Sentinel, and now with Sandburg along for the ride, I've learned just to grit my teeth and hang on."

"I'm being insulted. That must mean my captain's here," Blair said, handing Jim a blue and white envelope. "Here, Jim. What are you mailing?"

"This."

Blair moved forward to see Jim unveil a tiny carcass. "That's a dead cricket."

"Good eye."

"It's bad luck to kill crickets, man."

"I didn't kill him. He was already deceased when I picked him up in the storeroom."

"You're going to mail a dead cricket to someone?" Simon asked, listening in unabashedly.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"We learned in the Rangers that when a cricket sings, all is well. But when a cricket's silent...well, that means something's lurking in the darkness."

Blair paled. "You want someone to be afraid of the dark."

Jim smiled, but there was no delight in the gesture. "Very afraid." He filled out the address and carefully put the wrapped up cricket inside. It might get smooshed in transit, but he was sure Galbraith would recognize what it was.

"Jim, you're mailing that to the State Department."

"At this rate, Chief, you can get rid of the glasses." He pulled the protective strip off the glue and sealed the envelope.

Simon's hand brushed his arm. "Are you sure you want to do this, Jim?" He didn't know, and didn't want to know, the connections Jim had in Washington, but threatening D.C. bigwigs seemed to be asking for more trouble than they already had.

"In certain parts of the world, Captain, idle threats just make you a bigger target, so as a rule, follow-through is a necessity."

"And a dead cricket is the follow-through?"

"No, sir. The dead cricket is just a reminder that the nights are not as lonely as they appear."

"But you're here," Simon argued. "Not in some backyard on the other side of the country."

"Your point being, sir?"

"That--" Simon stopped. He didn't have a point, did he? Jim never said he would be the one lurking in the shadows. For all he knew, there was a network of lurkers-for-hire. "Never mind, Jim. What do you need me to do?"

" Blair and Carolyn are going through the material I've received so far. You can take a look, too. See if anything triggers a memory of something you've seen or read in passing."

"In other words, so far you have zilch."

Jim sighed. "That seems to be the gist of it. I have a few more feelers out. Hopefully, we'll get something soon. I'm going to drop this in the box on the corner. Back in a sec."

After three hours of going through reports, the group concluded they barely knew more today than yesterday. "Where do we go from here, Jim?" Blair asked, tossing his glasses on the coffee table.

Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "We wait for them to make the next move."

"When will that be?"

"Sooner than we want. Anyone hungry other than me?"

Blair smiled. "I wondered how long it was going to take you, man. I was starting to worry."

Jim caught Carolyn's curious look. "Sandburg has an unhealthy fascination with my eating habits."

Blair snorted. "It's not unhealthy. I just think it's interesting how much a sentinel eats, and it makes me wonder if it relates to how much he's used his senses prior, or how much he's probably going to use them later. Either way, I think food, energy, is very important to a sentinel, and he can unconsciously gauge how much he needs to get through a particular crisis."

Jim shook his head, and stood. "All I calculate is when I'm hungry, and that's now. I'm ordering Chinese. Anybody got a problem with that?" He headed toward the kitchen and the list of numbers kept by the phone.

"You're still studying him?" Carolyn asked.

"Yes. I always will. That's part of my job as his companion and teacher. I'm his Guide, Carolyn. What he does, how he does it, why he does it, that's all part of what I need to know about him, so that I can serve him properly."

"Serve him? That sounds a little feudal, doesn't it?" Carolyn questioned with a distasteful grimace.

"Why?" Blair asked.

"Why what?"

"Why does it sound feudal?"

"People don't serve other people, Blair, not willingly anyway."

"So, I could say I 'help', Jim, and you wouldn't have a problem with it?"

"Help is different."

"I can 'help', Jim, but I can't 'serve' him. According to the dictionary, it means the same thing," Blair argued.

"The connotations aren't the same."

"And connotations are products of the times. So, two hundred years ago, I could serve Jim, and it would be okay, right?"

"Right."

"But I can't serve him now, right?"

Carolyn glared at him. "You're deliberating baiting me."

Blair smiled. "Of course I am. I had this same debate with one of my Anthropology professors. We were studying an ancient civilization, and he kept changing the word servant into worker. I wanted to know why. He said because these people weren't slaves, and I told him I didn't consider slave and servant to be interchangeable terms. He told me I was wrong. But I wasn't. I think because of all the cries about equality and subjugation, we've lost perspective when it comes to the word 'serve'. People have always served others, and it has nothing to do with equal rights or ownership. I served you popcorn last night. The pilot served you by flying you here."

"But he was paid for that."

"And I'm paid, Carolyn. Every time Jim saves someone, I'm paid. Yes, I serve Jim. He's the guy with the hypersenses, the muscled body, the overwhelming obsession to keep the tribe safe. I'm just a geek-- an armed geek now, but still just a geek. I chart the remarkable things he does. I talk while he acts. But you know what? My talking allows him to act. My charting keeps him in top condition. I serve Jim so that he can serve Cascade, and there is nothing wrong, or meek, or pathetic about that at all. It's about balance.

"Farmers are servants. They work the fields providing food for our tables. But because they serve, they get no respect. So, their kids run to the big city, and while they're off asking if you want fries with that, a handful of farmers, who see the big picture and know that the world depends on people being servants, are trying to feed an ever-growing population. Teachers are considered servants. What's that thing they're always saying? Those who can't, teach. That shows lots of respect, doesn't it? So what happens with a lot of teachers? They leave the education field, and go into big business because the money is good and maybe people won't sneer when they hear what they do. So what if future generations can't count to twenty without taking off their shoes? So what if we have no one left to serve as the underpins of civilization as we have defined it? They're at the top, or at least off the bottom; nothing else matters. But, damn it, it's the bottom of the pole that keeps the pole standing. Cut off the top, and what? You have a shorter pole. Remove the base-- bye-bye pole. Therefore, we need servers who are willing to support the pole, to anchor the pole. Does than mean the servers are less than the pole? Or are the servers as equal to the equation as the pole is?"

"I'm sorry, Blair," Carolyn started. "I didn't mean--"

"Yes, you did. But just as I think that professor was putting down the important role the servants had in the building and operation of that ancient civilization, I think your reaction showed disrespect toward me, as well as Jim. Do you actually think he'd condone being my 'master'? I tease him about being a control freak, but when it's necessary, he hands control over to me. When something happens that he doesn't understand, he comes to me. When he confides in someone, he confides in me. Those are gifts of power, not the burdens of a slave. I honor Jim with my service; he honors me with his trust. And we both protect and serve the community. Balance, Carolyn." Blair took a deep breath. "Service has nothing to do with slavery, ownership, or inequality. It has to do with seeing a need someone else has, and filling it."

"If you're through with the lecture, Professor, I could use your help in the kitchen," Jim called.

Carolyn waited until Blair joined Jim in the kitchen before turning to Simon. "Is he always like this?"

"No one keeps me and my men on their toes more than Sandburg," Simon said. "And the poor crooks don't know what hit them." He angled his head toward the pair in the kitchen. "They're a good team, Carolyn. I think they've both adjusted quite well to one of the weirdest relationships I've ever heard of. If Blair's a little edgy right now, I have a feeling it has to do with Naomi's presence. Sandburg's never really sure what might happen when she's around. At first, I think he was worried about her and Jim clashing. I mean, you have never seen two such totally opposite personalities."

"You don't have to explain it to me. I spent last night here, remember?"

"But they've learned to tolerate each other for Blair's sake. Now, if Naomi can just figure out what 'privacy' means...."

Carolyn shook her head. "Lost cause. Want to guess from whom I learned of Jim's heightened senses?"

Simon sighed. "She means well, I suppose."

Carolyn cast her eyes to the kitchen where Jim and Blair were apparently making a salad. "Your opinion."

"Come on, Plummer. You barely know the woman. You don't actually think she revealed Jim's secret on purpose, do you? I mean she didn't even know he was a sentinel until after everything hit the fan."

"And I bet she was just wracked with remorse, right? I know women like her, Simon. It's a control game."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And she's a little clingy around Jim?"

Carolyn laughed. Leave it to Simon to detect her ulterior motives. "She's a LOT clingy when it comes to Jim. But of course that has nothing to do with my opinion of her."

"Of course not," Simon replied dutifully.

"Banks?"

"Yeah, Plummer?"

"Bite me."

*****

The ringing of the phone sounded oddly loud in the back of the limo. Freer grabbed the offending instrument, ignoring the look Lambert shot him. "Yeah, go ahead.... Keep me posted." He smiled and tossed the phone onto the seat beside him. "They ordered Chinese."

"So it's done?"

"As close to being done as possible."

"Results?"

"Probably by the morning, if not later. Depends on how much Plummer saw."

"And how swift Ellison is."

"You seem to have a lot of respect for the talents of a man you claim not to know."

Lambert shrugged. "More than I have for some people I do know," he said pointedly. "Have you looked at the man's record? And there are those rumors...."

"Which were proven untrue."

"Not proven untrue. Disclaimed. There's a difference."

Freer sighed. Lambert being a pain in the ass was one thing, but this enigmatic side was quickly becoming tedious. "True or untrue, he can't be saved now. It's a fait accompli."

Lambert made an indistinct sound and stared out the window.

Chapter Eight

"Well, that was definitely an overreaction," Blair muttered as he got the lettuce out of the refrigerator.

"Not if that's the way you feel," Jim said reasonably. "I don't consider you subservient to me, and if you ever need me to stand up and tell the truth-- that my life is completely in your hands instead of vice-versa-- just name the time and the place. You have enough shit to deal with as a cop; you don't need to catch grief because you're my Guide. Do we have any cherry tomatoes?"

"I've sorta grown used to it down at the station. Everyone has their opinion of me, and we've learned to live with each other, you know. It's just hard taking it from people who should know better, and although Carolyn and I are barely past the acquaintance stage, she should have more faith in you. You don't like cherry tomatoes."

"Give her time, Chief. She got hit with this cold. And the tomatoes are for her, not me. I know you usually keep a stash in the fridge bin."

Blair moved back to the refrigerator. "So, are they talking about me?"

"Actually, Simon is calling Carolyn on her jealousy of Naomi."

Blair looked at him incredulously. "Because of you?"

"What? I have you know I'm a good-looking man, Sandburg."

"And modest, too."

Jim grinned. "Always. I'll just have to explain to Naomi that she needs to keep her hands to herself on this visit."

"This visit? Look at me, Ellison." Light blue eyes obeyed, looking innocent. "You're yanking my chain, aren't you? Geez, man. Don't you know you don't mess with a man's mama?"

Jim laughed, and took the tomatoes from Blair's hand. "You're just so easy, Chief."

"So says he with the redhead in his bed."

Jim smirked. "Told ya I was a good-looking man."

Blair rolled his eyes and reached for the salad bowls. "About the earlier impromptu lecture, Jim. I think I might know what precipitated it. I think I'm feeling guilty."

"About?"

"Naomi's visit isn't just a visit. You were right last night; this is a matter we need to discuss sooner rather than later, especially since we're dealing with something that has a ninety percent kill rate. I don't want anything to happen to one of us with this hanging over our heads."

"This sounds pretty serious, Chief."

"There's some serious potential for misunderstanding in this. That's why I think we need to get it out into the open." Dusky blue eyes looked solemnly at Jim. "We don't handle mis-communication well."

"We don't handle it at all," Jim said dryly. "Let's take this to the balcony, okay? Simon," he called in a louder voice. "Take over kitchen duties for a minute, will you? Blair and I need to talk." With a light hand to Blair's back, he guided his partner outside.

"Simon?" Carolyn asked worriedly, her eyes following the exiting men.

"It'll be okay," Simon reassured her. "Remember that weird relationship we were discussing earlier? This is just part of it. Happens all the time. We can be talking about a case in my office, and before I know it, they're dismissing themselves and going off in a corner. Jim will stalk, Blair's hands will fly, and then they'll come back into the office and solve the case."

"But this sounded personal."

"Plummer," Simon said, draping his arm around her as they headed to the kitchen. "Everything between the two of them is personal."

*****

"This is probably a good place to start," Blair said, digging the Duke letter out of his pocket. He'd stuck it there to make sure Jim didn't stumble upon it while he was at work.

Jim read the letter without comment. When he finished, he handed it back to Blair. "No one deserves this more than you, Chief. When do you leave?"

"That eager to get rid of me, are you?" Blair asked flippantly.

Jim grabbed his arm. "Don't you ever joke about that, Chief. I don't want to get rid of you, ever. But I don't want to hold you back either. You worked hard to get those three letters behind your name. I stood in your way once; I won't do that again."

"You didn't stand in my way, Jim. We just didn't-- I-- just didn't weigh the consequences thoroughly when I took you on as a research subject."

"Is it because you turned out to be a Guide?"

"Oh, we won't even discuss the bias in my report due to that," Blair said with a snort. "But even without the added complication of being your Guide, I never took into consideration the possible consequences of your exposure. I suppose if you were a fireman, or maybe a forest ranger, exposing you wouldn't have been such a big deal. But you're a cop; you have enemies who would love to have the details of your vulnerabilities. It was stupid of me to overlook that."

"Not stupid. You just didn't know how it was in the beginning."

"But I learned, Jim. I knew what kind of target you were. Hell, Lee Brackett painted me a color picture. I still don't sleep some nights thinking about that particular threat. I really don't trust that they believe I lied, Jim. Sometimes I think they're just biding their time, waiting until you reach the peak of your talents, before they swoop in and claim you."

"Stop borrowing my nightmares and get your own," Jim joked, but without laughing. "I think the major problem was Sid Graham and his publicity stunts. I mean, you do this now, and only a handful of old farts see the diss, right?"

Blair stared at him. "There's no way in hell that my diss is going to be on sentinels, man! How could you even think such a thing!"

Jim shrugged sheepishly. "I just figured this offer was on condition that you could prove you didn't commit fraud. I'm willing to do whatever you want me to."

Blair took a deep breath and walked to the far corner of the balcony. "Are you telling me you're prepared to perform in order to show that my paper wasn't a lie?"

"I told you, Chief; I won't stand in your way this time. Just tell me when you need me in North Carolina. I'll have to work out the time off with Simon, but--"

"Stop." Blair held up his hand, begging for a few moments of quiet thought. He paced in a tight circle, trying to get his thoughts in order. "Jim, I appreciate the offer, but I would not-- could not-- put you in danger like that. In the wrong hands, you could be a weapon of unlimited value. You know that. They know that. And in the wrong hands, any dissertation I wrote would be the ultimate weapon against you. Your enemies would know that as well. The willingness to sacrifice is noted, but the sacrifice itself is firmly rejected, man."

"How will you--"

"According to a lawyer Ma talked to, I haven't done anything illegal. The diss was read, and the media contacted, without my authorization. In fact, I explicitly told Sid Graham no, which means I was the violated party, not the university. Rainier had no right to kick me out, and quite frankly, if I wanted to return there, they would have no say so in the matter."

"But why would you want to return? Duke University has more going for it than great basketball, Chief. Compared to Duke, Rainier is just a community college."

Blair laughed. "Chancellor Edwards would blow a vein if she heard you say that."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer person," Jim said dryly. "Another reason why you shouldn't even be considering going back to Rainier."

"You sound like my mom. Something about negative energies--"

"Hey, I never said that. But she's right; you shouldn't go to a place where you're not wanted if you have other options."

"But that option will take me the breadth of the country away from you," Blair admitted reluctantly. He hadn't wanted to reveal his vulnerability so soon.

"I'll cope, Sandburg." Jim turned and looked out at his city. "That's why I was sorta hoping you'd continue with the Sentinel diss. That way it wouldn't take you as long as it would if you started a subject from scratch."

Blair shook his head. "I can't take the risk, Jim. I won't put you in danger like that again. But I already have a good start on my new topic: On The Other Side Of The Badge-- View From A Major Crime Unit. What d'ya think? I mean, I kept notes and everything as part of the bluff, you know? And I have my private journals which, with a little editing, can almost be a dissertation. A year- maybe less if I can skirt around the 'in residence' requirements."

Jim smiled. "That's definitely doable, Chief. The guys will look after me until--"

The abrupt stop had Blair looking at Jim curiously. "Until?" he finally prompted.

"I just realized I was assuming you wanted to come back, Chief." Jim crossed his arms as if suddenly chilled. "Do you? Do you want to still be my partner? I mean, we can go back to the way it was, if you want to. You working me into your schedule if you can, or whatever. Believe me, I'll take what I can get. But you might be offered a position in another region, or--"

Blair closed his eyes and sighed. "You shouldn't have to take what you can get, Jim. That's just as wrong as me giving up my doctorate for you. No, 'wrong' isn't the word I'm looking for. Because it wasn't wrong for me to get you out of the spotlight. It would be just as 'sacrificial', and being the Sentinel shouldn't be a sacrifice. It stopped being a sacrifice when you made your choice to take that post."

"Being the Guide shouldn't be a sacrifice either. I know you never wanted to be a cop. I know you hate it when you strap on that gun each morning."

"'Hate' is too strong a word," Blair said softly. "And I'm not even sure 'dislike' applies anymore. Humans are adaptable, Jim, and I've adapted to your world. If the truth be told, I had adapted long before going to the academy. It's not just the adrenalin rush. It's also the intrigue, the mystery. Solving a case is like an intricate puzzle, and while working with you I've been challenged by some of the finest criminal minds in the world. That's heady stuff, Jim. The weight of a gun, especially one I've never fired, is no comparison.

"So yes, I want to come back. I want to be your partner, as a detective, maybe even a consultant. I know you don't need me--"

"I need you."

Blair shook his head. "You have this sentinel stuff down pat, man. When was the last time you zoned?"

"When was the last time I was without my partner?" Jim countered. "I haven't had any problems for the past year, because you've been with me, Blair."

Blair was stunned. He'd never looked at it quite that way before. Still.... "I'm not sure there's any more I can teach you. You've learned to compensate for the senses. If you have future problems, you will naturally adjust."

Bright blue eyes caught smoky ones. "That may or may not be true, but you didn't hear what I said, did you, Chief?"

"What?"

"I said I need you. Maybe the Sentinel can look after himself, but Jim Ellison needs his friend and partner."

"Oh." Blair flushed, not from embarrassment but from the tendril of heat that originated in his heart and flooded his entire body. Jim needed him. "Guess it's settled then?"

Jim shrugged. "Guess it is. And since Simon's paid for the food, we should go in and eat."

Blair nodded. "We're going to pay him back, right?"

"Sure. Next payday."

"Uh, Jim? We just got paid two days ago."

Jim grinned. "Yeah, I know."

Blair laughed. "Yeah, man. I have to hang around. You're just too wicked without me."

"Geez, Sandburg. You bucking to be my moral compass now? Watch out, Cascade!"

"Funny, Jim. Real funny."

The two men entered the loft.

"Everything okay?" Carolyn asked. Maybe Simon was comfortable with the situation, but she wasn't quite as flexible. It looked as if the two men had had a serious discussion outside, even if they were both grinning now.

Jim nodded. "Better get out another salad bowl, Chief. Naomi's coming up the stairs."

Carolyn blushed when Jim caught her looking at him. "It may be old hat to you guys, but it's still a surprise to me," she explained defensively.

Blair smiled. "Don't let Simon fool you, Carolyn. He still gets freaked out when Jim opens the door just as he's getting ready to knock."

"I do not," Simon argued.

"Do too."

"Not."

"Do."

"Not."

"Do."

"So, Carolyn, you still have regrets about us not having children?" Jim asked rather loudly.

"Well, if they were ours, we could send them to their room," Carolyn offered.

Jim's eyes widened dramatically. "Have you seen Sandburg's room? That would be cruel and unusual punishment."

"Jim."

"Yes, Chief?"

"Don't make me hurt you."

Jim snickered. "Yeah, right."

"Jim?"

"Yes, Simon?"

"He won't be hurting you by himself."

Jim laughed outright. "Carolyn will protect me. She likes me. At least that's what she said last night."

"Jimmy!" Carolyn said in feigned shock. She looked at her ex-husband's two friends. "Do with him what you will."

Jim rushed to the door and opened it. "Hi, Naomi. They want to abuse me, but you won't let them, right?"

No one ever called Naomi Sandburg slow. "Of course not, baby. You just hide behind Mother Naomi's coattail, and I'll protect you from the bullies."

Jim stepped behind her and stuck out his tongue at his tormentors. Everyone burst out laughing.

"So, Mom, what are you doing back so early?" Blair asked, getting out a stack of plates.

"Jim said I should stay close by. Besides, I just had to tell you the news about Serendipity's triplets. They...."

Everyone fell into private conversations as they sat around the dinner table. Blair listened attentively as Naomi told him about the lives of three of the most interesting companions he'd had during his childhood, while Jim and Simon filled Carolyn in on the official and not-so-official doings of her former colleagues. The atmosphere was light, although a current of anxiety never really faded. By the time they got around to opening their fortune cookies, everyone had been caught up on recent history, and they returned to general group conversation.

"'The past is gone. The future may never come. Revel in the present; it's a gift,'" Jim read after popping open the cellophane bag around his cookie. "I like that."

"How about this one?" Blair questioned, removing the wrap from his. "'If opportunity knocks, answer.'" He looked at Jim meaningfully. Jim just winked.

"Mine says, 'Don't get caught up in looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; just enjoy the colors.' Oh, this is definitely a keeper," Naomi gushed.

Carolyn looked at Jim and read, "'Hurry not to throw away the old; new silver cannot compete with old gold.' I think my mother wrote this one," she added with a self-conscious laugh. "What did you get, Simon?"

"'Temper anxiety with patience.'" He looked at them all solemnly. "I guess that has to be our motto for a while."

"You didn't find a solution to your problem today, baby?" Naomi asked her son.

"No, Mom, and I really think you should consider moving on soon."

"I'm not leaving you in danger, honey. And it's not a very flattering trait to make your mother repeat herself," she chastised gently.

"I'm just worried about you, okay? This could get ugly quick."

"The only way I'm leaving is with you by my side, Blair. Are you prepared to come with me?"

Blair's eyes sought Jim's. "No."

"Then I'm here for the duration. Jim, Blair and I will do the dishes."

"You have to admire her iron will," Simon said as he followed Jim and Carolyn into the living room after they had helped clear the table.

"Like mother, like son. It's always interesting having two Sandburgs in residence," Jim replied.

"Interesting isn't quite the word I'd use," Simon muttered. "See what a big softie he's turned into since you've been gone, Plummer?"

"I'm still trying to catch up on the other changes, Simon. I know Wolfe wrote 'You Can't Go Home Again', but I don't think even he knew it could be this difficult."

"Hey, it hasn't all been difficult, has it?" Jim asked, reaching for Carolyn's hand.

She smiled warmly, giving his hand a squeeze. "No, some things have been better."

"If you two are going to get all gooey on me, I'm out of here," Simon said with an exaggerated grimace. "Listen, Jim. I'm writing you and Sandburg up as being on special assignment, so don't worry about coming in tomorrow. But I'm ordering you to keep me posted on a regular basis."

"Thanks, Captain. We'll definitely keep you informed."

"Plummer." Simon gave her a quick hug. "It's good seeing you again, no matter the reason."

"The same here, Simon. You'll stop by tomorrow, won't you?"

"Count on it. Someone has to keep the dynamic duo on the straight and narrow. And the fates have decreed me to be that someone. Ain't I lucky?"

"Yes," she whispered, knowing Jim could hear her. "But I won't tell them if you won't."

"On that note, I'm out of here. Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen."

Two hours later, Jim made the final rounds through the loft, checking doors and windows. When the Sentinel was satisfied that his immediate tribe was safely tucked away, he climbed the stairs and lay down beside his former mate.

But as he pulled up the covers, he realized a very strange thing: the crickets, both far and near, had stopped singing.

Chapter Nine

Jaguar surveyed his territory from high atop a tree, his coloring making him one with the surrounding darkness. The jungle was its usual noisy nocturnal self. Little things scurried, while bigger things watched and waited. When the smaller zigged rather than zagged, they were plucked up for a private feast, or perhaps were carried home to the young and incapacitated. Jaguar was content to let this happen; it was his kingdom, but Nature was the law.

But Eagle's scream rending the night wind had nothing to do with Nature's cycle. Quick as lightning, Jaguar leapt gracefully to the ground. With swift-footed assurance, he sped through the low, thick foliage, never faltering as he followed the cries of Eagle. They soon mixed with the enraged screech of Cougar, and the anguished howl of Wolf. When Jaguar grew near the place of conflict, he stopped his headlong rush, and approached the area with cautious stealth. Cougar and Wolf were strong and brave. What dared risk their wrath? What evil had defiled his world and threatened his friends?

Focusing his extraordinary eyes, he beheld a terrible sight: Eagle was completely covered in ants, her fragile body writhing in agony as the tiny beasts ravaged her, gnawing through feather and flesh. Wolf and Cougar were trying to reach her, but they too were being attacked, the ants defying paw and fur to swarm over the hapless animals as they tried to free their friend. Meerkat was there as well, using her claws to scrape the tenacious insects off of Eagle, unmindful of the ones that were crawling up her own slim body .

Jaguar hesitated to join the fight. He did not lack courage, but wondered if direct attack was wise. Eagle was dying, and her rescuers were not far behind. Surely there had to be an alternative. In the end, however, he could think of none, save leaving them to their destruction. Jaguar knew he could not live with that decision, so with a full-throated battle cry, he engaged the enemy.

The ants were not impressed.

Jim jerked awake, his heart pounding in his chest. Just a dream. A stupid, silly dream. He looked at the woman sleeping soundly beside him. At least he hadn't screamed, or done something equally embarrassing. It was bad enough when his nightmares woke Blair.

Carefully, he moved to the edge of the bed and sat up. Why the hell was he dreaming about army ants? The little bugs were insidious, devouring everything in their path, decimating by sheer numbers if not by stings and bites. He'd seen their "handiwork" when he was with the Chopec, but had never dreamed of them. Of course, he'd never dreamed of jaguars and wolves either until....

He paled. Not a dream, but a vision. Like shooting the wolf with his arrow. And the wolf was one of the animals being devoured by the ants. Oh, God. He reached out toward Carolyn, felt

her elevated temperature before he even made contact. No! He raced down the stairs and into Blair's room. His touch was so light that Naomi never stirred, his gasp of dismay so soft when he felt the warmth of her skin that she slept straight through it. With his heart in his throat, he approached the sofa. The heat drove him to his knees.

"Jim?"

He looked across the scant inches separating him from his Guide. "We've been exposed, Chief. I don't know when. I don't know how."

Blair took a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it go. "What do we do?" he asked calmly.

"You get dressed, then get the others up. I'll call 911." He headed for the phone in the kitchen while Blair popped on a lamp and reached for his clothes.

"911. How may we assist you?"

"I'd like to report possible exposure to a biological hazard."

"Sir?"

"I think my friends and I have been exposed to a biological agent."

"And why do you think this?"

"My companions have elevated temperatures--"

"Sir, are you aware that Cascade is experiencing an influenza outbreak?"

Jim hung up the phone.

"What?" Blair asked.

"They asked me if I knew the city was experiencing an influenza outbreak."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, my sentiments exactly. Go wake your mom and Carolyn. Things are probably going to move pretty fast after I make this next call." Jim recalled a number he'd only memorized in hopes of never having to remember it. Reluctant, but determined, he keyed the number in.

"You have reached the Northwest Regional Medical Command. How may we help you?"

Polite s.o.b.s, aren't you? Just in case someone dialed the wrong number, right? "Authorization code: EllisonPC001EX."

A series of clicks assaulted his ear as lines were switched and security protocols were put into place.

"Go ahead, Captain Ellison." Another polite voice.

"I've been compromised by a biological agent."

"Type?"

"Unknown. Request for immediate containment and therapy."

"Location?"

He gave the loft address, and belatedly added Simon's; he and Blair had discussed animals spirits one night over several bottles of beer, and had concluded Simon's was a cougar.

"How many potential exposees?"

"Five primaries: three males and two females."

"Teams are on their way. Sit tight, Captain."

"Thank you." Jim hung up the phone and lay his head against the wall.

"Jimmy?"

He opened his eyes. "I'm sorry, Carolyn. I don't know how they managed...."

"It's not your fault."

He shrugged. "I have to call Simon."

Carolyn gasped. "He was exposed, too?"

Jim nodded.

"How do you know that, Jim?" Blair asked as he entered the room with Naomi behind him.

Jim started to give him his patented answer of "I just do," but this was not the time to be holding back from his friends. "I had a dream, a vision. The wolf was there, Chief, as well as the cougar, the meerkat, and the golden eagle."

"Mom's the meerkat, right? So, that means Carolyn's the golden eagle?"

"That's what I figure." And the eagle was dying.

"What happened in the vision that makes you think we've been contaminated?"

"We were covered in army ants."

"Your psyche took microbes and translated them into actual bugs? Cool."

Jim shuddered. "You wouldn't think so if you'd seen the vision, Sandburg."

"Sorry, Jim. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay, Chief. None of us are at this moment. I better call Simon before he tries to shoot the Department of Defense."

"That's who you called?"

"Old habits." Jim picked up the phone, and dialed.

Blair ushered Naomi and Carolyn into the living room, sensing Jim didn't want an audience when he told Simon the news.

"What happens now, Blair?" Naomi asked.

"I guess we wait for the guys in army fatigues and gas masks." Naomi frowned. "Listen, Mom, we can't afford to be picky, okay? This is a kick-ass bug we've been exposed to."

"I'm so sorry," Carolyn said. "I never should have--"

"But you did," Blair interrupted. "You did, and no one here thinks you were wrong. Do you think Jim would have been happier hearing that you were found dead in your apartment of some unknown disease? You and I both know he would have tracked down your killer, and more than likely, we would have been exposed anyway. At least now, we have the Sentinel on our side. I don't know about you, but I don't feel like I'm sick. It could have been hours or maybe even days before we realized we'd been infected. But now, we'll get started on a cure right away. That has to make a difference."

"He said he had five heightened senses," Carolyn began, "but he didn't mention anything to me about visions."

Blair smiled. "He's changed, but there's still a lot of the Jim you married. It's taken some pretty intense situations to make him admit to himself that he can 'see' the future, or at least a possible version of the future anyway. It'll probably take a lot more to make him admit it to others."

"I don't understand his reluctance, honey," Naomi said. "I've never known Jim to be selfish. He should want to share his gifts with others."

"Mom, if it were money or food, Jim wouldn't hesitate to help his fellow man. But, it's like this. Jim was raised to believe that being different is wrong. Having five heightened senses and prophetic dreams make him very different. So, while he understands his gifts are not wrong, he still feels he's wrong because he has them."

"The two of you were talking about eagles and wolves?" Carolyn questioned.

"Spirit animals, Carolyn." Blair folded his legs under him on the sofa. "On the spirit plane we are represented by the animals that match the characteristics of our souls. Jim is a black jaguar, and I'm a wolf. We suspected Simon was a cougar; it's known for its leadership ability. Tonight Jim discovered that you were a golden eagle, highly prized for its courage and strength. He saw Mom was the meerkat, known for its maternal nurturing and its ability to live communally."

"Are all his visions like this?" Carolyn asked, fascinated by the idea.

"They vary depending on the strength of the portent. The stronger the warning, the more detailed the dream."

Naomi laid her head against her son's shoulder. "I don't remember any of this being in your dissertation, Blair."

"Because it wasn't there. My paper was about a man with five heightened senses, not six. To write about something so personal would have been a betrayal." He wrapped his arms around his mom. "But this extra sense may be our salvation. Let's just concentrate on that, okay?"

"He's a very special man, isn't he?"

"Yes, Mom. That's what I've been telling you all along."

"And you're a special man, too. You are his balance. I was wrong, wasn't I? It's not just your life anymore."

"No, it's not. And it's not just Jim's either. We work as a team; we are a team. That's why we've worked out what you brought to my attention yesterday."

"And?"

"And I'm going, but I'm also coming back. This is where I belong, Naomi."

"I'm starting to see that, Blair."

Jim came over and sat on the loveseat next to Carolyn. "They're here. They're setting up a contamination field around the building and specifically up to the loft."

"They think everyone in the building has been exposed?" Blair asked anxiously.

"It's just a precaution, Chief. I'm pretty certain it's limited to the five of us."

"What can we expect, Jimmy? The standard postexposure prophylaxis until the agent can be determined?"

Jim nodded. "Heavy dosages of broad spectrum antibiotics, close monitoring of vitals, probable isolation."

"Isolation?"

"Yeah, Chief. We'll probably be taken to a military hospital, and be assigned isolation chambers until it can be determined whether what we have is communicable."

"Isolated from the outside world, or each other?"

"Both. But I'm pretty certain we'll be on the same floor, which means I'll know what's happening to each of you."

Blair gave a sigh of relief. "That's good to hear. So, is this now a totally military operation, and is that a good thing or a bad one?"

Jim gave a small smile. "A little of both. The military has done the most research into bioweapons, so we'll have the latest facts and figures at our disposal. The bad part is that we're dealing with the military and they have a tendency to cast the truth aside if they deem it necessary."

"Ah, but we have our own private lie detector. I mean, even without your sentinel skills, you are quick to recognize bullshit in its various forms, right, Jim?"

"I've found it a useful talent when dealing with stubborn, quick-witted roommates," Jim replied with a grin.

"Must be talking about you, Carolyn," Blair quipped.

Carolyn narrowed her eyes. "No wonder Jimmy doesn't need special skills to detect your bullshit, Sandburg. Even I can smell it. What about you, Naomi?"

Naomi smiled serenely. "I'm his mother; I'm biologically designed to instantly detect and dismiss his bullshit."

"Mom!"

"Come on, baby. You know how you were as a child. Don't you remember--" She stopped when Jim stood, but he motioned for her to continue as he made his way to the door.

"Captain Ellison?" Jim nodded at the lead blue-suited figure standing in his doorway. "I'm Dr. Branson. I have three other doctors with me, and a team of investigators."

Jim motioned for them to come in. Each doctor went to a patient, asking questions and taking vitals.

"Why do you suspect this is a biological incident, Captain?" Branson asked, getting out his stethoscope.

"There was the possibility of a threat."

Branson nodded, used to military double-speak. "Dispatch indicated the pathogen was unknown. Do you have any suspicions?"

"Anthrax."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not exhibiting any symptoms, which would be expected since I've been vaccinated against it. Also, the symptoms the others are exhibiting match the disease. However, the incubation period is off. If exposure occurred when I think it did, the incubation will be measured in hours, not days."

"A new strain?" He cleaned a patch on Jim's arm, inserted a hypo, and drew a vial of blood. "We'll get this down to the facility in San Francisco. They have the means to identify Bacillus anthracis rather rapidly." He handed the vial to a technician, explaining that the others needed to be collected and immediately put on transport. He also told him to inform the other doctors of the possibility of anthrax exposure.

"Okay, Captain, we're going to start the appropriate therapy. Because you have been vaccinated, your course of treatment will be less comprehensive than that of your companions. Just an antibiotic as a precaution. Do you have any allergies?" Jim handed him a notebook. He flipped through the pages, then looked up at his patient. "Have you had a booster shot this year?"

"Less than six months ago."

"Then maybe we'll skip the precautionary dose. I'm not sure it's worth the risk." He looked again at the notebook he was holding. "It must be a bitch to treat you, Captain."

"You should talk to the staff at Cascade General. I think they draw straws every time I'm wheeled into the emergency room. Short straw gets me," Jim said distractedly, listening to the other conversations in the room. "What's going to happen now?"

"We have a van downstairs. You'll be taken to a helicopter, and transported to the Naval Hospital at Oak Harbor. Management is getting your rooms ready even as we speak."

"Will there be a chocolate on my pillow?"

"I'll make sure they put some in your IV bag," Branson joked. "I'm going to do a quick consult with the other doctors. You want to inform your people of our plans?"

Jim nodded, his lip quirking upward at the thought of "his" people. He hadn't realized just how "tribal" the military was, always assigning people to groups. "Everyone doing okay?" he asked as the doctors congregated in the kitchen area to go over their initial findings.

"I can't quite recall the last time I was pumped so thoroughly full of poisons," Naomi said, then realized she was close to whining. "But I'm sure it's for the best."

"It is, Mom," Blair said quickly. "I know you prefer the natural methods, but I don't think there's anything natural about Sirocco. How are you, Jim? Did you show the doctor your list of allergies?"

"You can stand down, Chief. I wasn't given anything. If it's what I suspect, I've already been inoculated against it."

"What do you suspect, Jimmy?"

"That it's a form of anthrax."

Carolyn frowned. "That sounds too simple. I mean, anthrax would be the first agent tested for, right?"

Jim nodded. "It's cheap, easy to get, easy to grow, and is hearty enough to survive delivery. Hey, I thought you didn't know anything about bio-weapons."

"I didn't say I didn't know anything; I just asked if you did," she pointed out with a satisfied look.

"Between you and Sandburg, I'm going to have trouble keeping up," Jim muttered.

"Face facts, Ellison," Blair said, with a smug smile. "You were having trouble keeping up anyway."

"I'd be angry if it wasn't so true, Chief. Listen, I was right about us being moved to a military facility. We're going to be taken to Oak Harbor, and kept in isolation until they get the results of our blood tests."

"Jimmy, I know you're a sentinel, but quite frankly, the results of my exam didn't show much of anything. My temperature was barely elevated, and although I'm a little fatigued, I've only had about an hour of sleep. Are you sure--"

Jim took her hand, stroking the smooth skin. "Yes, Carrie. I'm sure."

"Captain?" Branson approached them. "We need to get you suited up for transport."

Four yellow-suited people were marched down through a polyvinyl tube and into a van, along with an equal number of blue-suited figures. Conversation didn't exist as the vehicle rumbled along. As it pulled to a stop, Jim heard a similar vehicle stop beside it, so he wasn't surprised to see Simon when he stepped outside.

"Uniform of the day, huh?" Simon asked, indicating the yellow suit. "I feel like an extra on a sci-fi flick."

"You know what's happening?"

"About our trip to Oak Harbor? Yeah. Where's the helicopter?"

"It's on its way."

"You guessing, or you know?"

"I can hear it."

Simon nodded, rubbing his arm. "These people are hypo-happy. I don't know how you stand it with your sensitive skin, Jim."

"All they did was take my blood."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm ninety-nine percent sure what we were exposed to was anthrax, and I've been vaccinated."

Simon stared at his friend through two layers of protective plastic. "I thought only military personnel were vaccinated."

Jim's eyes went to the sky. "Chopper's here, sir. And don't worry about work tomorrow. I'm sure the DOD will come up with a believable lie. It's sort of their forte."

Simon let the helicopter settle before reaching out to squeeze Jim's arm. "And what's your forte, Jim?"

"Load 'em up, Captain Ellison!" Branson yelled.

Jim turned to take Carolyn's arm. "Protecting the tribe, Simon. At any cost."

Simon nodded, wondering why he'd asked.

*****

The steward handed Freer the phone and walked out of the plane's main cabin.

"Yeah?" Freer said, noting Lambert's discerning gaze. "What? That's impossible! How? Damn it, someone had to leak- No! Don't do anything, except keep me informed!" He tossed the phone onto the seat beside him.

"Trouble?" Lambert asked, lifting a wry eyebrow.

"They are already aware of their exposure, and are currently en route to Oak Harbor."

"The naval hospital?"

Freer grimaced. "Somehow Ellison got the DOD involved."

"I warned you that the man was dangerous."

"Fuck, Ellison! What I want to know is who mouthed off about the deployment. No way in hell should they have suspected anything until morning! We have a leak somewhere in your organization," Freer snarled, punching the leather sofa he was sprawled on. He picked up the phone and furiously started jabbing numbers into it.

Lambert sat in his chair and peered out into the near darkness that surrounded the plane. Traveling west to east meant they were rushing to meet the dawn instead of vice versa. Curious. Just what else were they rushing into, and did it have the same capability to burn them to cinders as the rising sun did?

Lambert truly worried that the answer was yes.

Chapter Ten

Hospitals. Military, private, public, he hated them all. Jim prowled the tiny cubicle he'd been assigned when they arrived at the naval hospital in the wee hours of the morning. His clothing taken away for testing, he'd been told to shower thoroughly, and had emerged from the equally tiny bathroom to find a hospital gown and robe waiting for him. He'd tried to sleep like Dr. Branson had suggested, but the sheets were scratchy, and the antiseptic smell of the room was close to making him nauseated. Instead, he had sat on top of the covers, and sent his hearing out. He'd found Blair immediately, his room to his right. Knowing Jim would be searching for him, Blair had been quietly talking to his Sentinel, explaining that he was okay, that the antibiotics were making him sleepy, and since the government was kind enough to provide him with a bed, he was going to take advantage of it because, hey, he thought the only thing the government gave out for free was cheese.

Grinning, Jim had extended his hearing further, finding Simon by combining smell with his hearing. No matter how much Simon washed, the Sentinel would always be able to smell the tobacco, which was an intricate part of his captain. He'd almost zoned trying to locate the two women, and had had to give up. He just didn't know them as well as the men. But that was the story of his life, wasn't it? He'd never had one sustained relationship with a female, except for Sally. However, she was not only hired help, but she'd had a sustained relationship-- and still had one-- with his father, which meant she wasn't exactly a typical female. As if you'd know what the hell a typical female was, Ellison. You can't go by the ones who divorced you, betrayed you, tried to murder you, etc. Oh, and let's not forget Alex who wanted to merge with you....

Anyway, he'd eventually drifted off for a few hours, but now he was awake and eager to talk to his friends and the doctors. He didn't try to connect with Blair and Simon again for fear that the medical staff would walk in and become too curious. He couldn't afford to slip while in government care. As it was, by making that call he'd already given them temporary control of his life. It would be so easy for them to make it permanent.

"You know, with you wearing that hospital gown, I could call you the devil in the blue dress," a voice said as the door opened.

"You could, but you love me too much to humiliate me. After all, I haven't even had a chance to shave my legs," Jim replied with a saucy grin. "Lynne, it's good to see you." He gave her a quick hug. "Still short, I see?"

"Still full of it, I see," the woman said, a wide smile adorning her light brown face. "And still getting into trouble."

"You know me, Reese; trouble just can't seem to stay away." He perched on the corner of the bed while she took the only chair in the room. "What is it that I've stepped into that has the commander of USAMRIID taking over the case personally?"

"It's just as you figured-- anthrax, but it's not following any known pattern of infection."

Jim nodded. "The spores germinated too fast."

"Exactly. That's why we've decided to keep you all in isolation. Normally, anthrax isn't transmitted from person to person, but until we're sure of what we're dealing with, I think it best to err on the side of caution. The only reason I'm not in protective gear is that your blood work has come back nearly clean. Just the dregs of a few dead spores remain. So we are assuming the vaccine works on this strain as well."

"How are the others doing?"

"Your companions are in stage one of the disease."

Jim knew that anthrax was a biphasic disease, meaning it had two distinct stages. The first mimicked a case of the flu. It generally did not result in death." I guess I shouldn't be too upset that 911 wouldn't listen to me."

"What?"

"The standard protocol in this situation is to call 911, right? Well, I did, but I didn't have time to argue with them that my friends weren't suffering from the flu outbreak."

Lynne shook her head. "We have tried to make operators understand the seriousness of such a threat, but there have been so many hoaxes."

"But it only takes one instance that isn't a hoax to destroy a city."

"I know. I'll look into that immediately."

"How sick are they?" Jim asked worriedly.

"The usual. Chills, muscular weakness, fever. We're doing our best to keep them comfortable, and the necessary equipment is on hand in case the symptoms escalate."

Escalate. Stage two: sudden fever, heavy sweating, difficulty in breathing, hemorrhagia, delirium, cyanosis, shock. When that point was reached, death occurred in mere hours. "Can I see them?"

Lynne sighed. "I knew you were going to ask that question. How close are you to them?"

"Why?"

"Because, although the commander in me is saying it's out of the question, the doctor in me knows the value of human interaction."

"Carolyn Plummer is my ex-wife, but the term is misleading. Blair Sandburg is not only my partner on the force, but my roommate and my best friend. Simon Banks is my captain and a very good friend. Naomi Sandburg is Blair's mother. That makes her very special to me," he said sincerely.

"Well, I'll have to consult with the other physicians."

Branson chose that moment to stick his head inside the cubicle. "You're awake, Captain. I just wanted to--" The doctor stopped when he saw his colleague. "Colonel Reese. Are you taking over Captain Ellison's case personally?"

Lynne laughed. "Hardly. I just stopped by to gawk at his legs."

"Hussy," Jim rebuked, tongue firmly planted in his cheek. "A shameless hussy who can make a sailor blush with her language."

"Only when I'm scared to death. Ordinarily, I make my grandmother very proud of me."

"Isn't that sweet?" Jim droned.

Branson looked back and forth between the two of them. "I take it the two of you knew each other previously?"

"Nope. Just met about five minutes ago." The two people in question laughed aloud at Lynne's answer.

"We're old acquaintances," Lynne finally told the doctor. "That's why I came to fill him in on what's going on. I didn't mean to trespass on your territory."

"Poach all you want to, Colonel. I'd just as soon spend my time in the lab trying to understand the pathogenesis of this particular strain of anthrax."

"Did you find out how we were exposed?" Jim asked.

"The Chinese food. Spores were found in the wrappings the fortune cookies came in."

"That doesn't make sense," Lynne argued. "We're definitely dealing with inhalational anthrax, not gastrointestinal."

"The wrappings were filled with air, and the spores were released as an aerosol when the packs were torn open."

"But we couldn't possibly have been exposed to the number of spores needed to cause the disease. The effective dosage is about 10,000 spores, right? I can't see us being exposed to that many from breathing the air in one of those tiny packets," Jim said.

"Another anomaly we have to research, Captain," Branson said. "So far, this strain has been more inconsistent than consistent. In the end, I think we're going to be rewriting some manuals. Well, I'll let you two get back to your visit."

"Oh, Dr. Branson, would it be all right for the captain to visit his friends?"

"I have no problem with it. I'll consult with the others and let you know. Colonel, Captain." He bobbed his head and left.

"What's with the captain bit, Jim? I thought you were a civilian these days," Lynne asked with a speculative look on her face.

"Sort of. I'm what the handbook would call, if there was a handbook, a 'provisory civilian.' Only those who are offered the status have any knowledge of it. I think it's still in the pilot stage."

"What exactly does it mean?"

"That my civilian status is conditional; either side may recall it."

"Who did in this case?"

"I did. As I said before, I didn't have time to waste with 911."

"Who is it offered to?"

"Military personnel who have unique skills or training. If something catastrophic were to happen, the military would like to be able to call on us without having to go through the paperwork. Similarly, if one of us stumbles upon a situation that could compromise national security, we'd want to be able to handle it without fear of later reprisals, or delay as we sought permission."

"So, in other words, you're still in the Army-- just a plainclothesman."

"'Captain' is just a convenient designation. Actually, I'm not in a particular branch. I answer to the Department of Defense itself."

"Sounds like an option I might be interested in," she mused.

Jim shook his head. "Lynne, they're going to have to carry you out of USAMRIID on a stretcher," he predicted. "You love what you're doing, and you know it's making a difference. It's only when I lost that feeling that I got out."

A knock at the door, and an ensign entered. "Colonel Reese, I have the latest reports and Dr. Branson said to tell you that Captain Ellison has permission to visit the others."

"Thank you, Ensign." She stood and took the stack of folders, flipping through them. "Your friends are looking good. The antibiotics have already stopped the bacteria from replicating. The effects of this strain seem muted. I wonder if it's a by-product of the other differences."

"Either they had some bad researchers or we're missing something, Lynne. For every 'improvement' this version of anthrax has, there's a counterpoint which weakens the disease."

She shrugged. "Good help is hard to find these days, and no ethical scientist would stoop to bioterrorism."

"Unless he or she works for you?" Jim couldn't help but add, earning himself a very pointed look.

"Even an unethical scientist," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "would have to think twice about getting involved in something so potentially devastating. By the way, Captain, I was under the impression that you wanted to go visit your friends. However, certain comments point in another direction."

Jim tried to look sufficiently sheepish. "Sorry, Colonel. Putting my foot in my mouth is a nasty habit of mine."

"Well, maybe you better get going before you repeat your mistake. And, Jim? No more than five minutes with each. They really do need their rest."

He nodded his understanding. "Thanks, Lynne. And thanks for putting up with me."

She smiled. "You were right earlier; I do love what I do. And I love it much more when it becomes personal, when I can make a difference in a friend's life. In other words, it's time for me to get my butt back to the lab. I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"I'll walk out with you."

*****

Jim looked at the restless figure in the bed, and held back the despair that threatened to escape. He'd seen Blair look worse; hell, he'd nursed him through worse at the loft. The beads of sweat above his top lip, the sheen it gave his entire face, and the ruddiness beneath the sheen were all quite familiar. If only the 911 operator had been right; if only it was the flu that was causing these symptoms.

"Jim?" Blair asked even before he opened his eyes.

"Right here, Chief."

"My mom?"

"You're all holding your own," Jim said quickly, sitting in the chair at the side of the bed. "Lynne seems to think the disease has been weakened by whatever these guys did to it."

"Lynne? You chatting up the nurses, Jim? That's supposed to be my job," he said in a weak protest.

"And it's one you can have. Besides, Lynne's a doctor, and I haven't been chatting her up. She's an old friend, and head of USAMRIID."

"Whoa, man. You said you had a contact at USAMRIID. You didn't say she was USAMRIID!" He fumbled at the bed controls. "Why is she here?"

"Chief, the name is the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. Part of its mission is to develop strategies, products, information, procedures, and training programs for medical defense against biological warfare. Why do you think she's here?" Jim helped him raise the head of the bed slightly.

"So, are we that bad off that the head of the Institute has to be here personally? I've seen our government at work, Jim. The only time the big guns come out is when major crap is about to hit the fan."

"That's not why she's here, Chief. It's just that my earlier call intrigued her, so when she heard we were being brought in--"

"Oh, she's here because she's your friend," Blair said with a relieved sigh. "That I can understand. Have they determined how we were exposed?"

"The Chinese take-out."

"We have to do something about your taste in food, Jim. Golden-laced pizza, Chinese with extra germ on the side. You're definitely a nutritionist's nightmare." He paused in the middle of an inhalation. "Sometimes it feels like there's a ten-ton anvil sitting on my chest."

"I know, Chief. It'll get better soon. All this talking is probably not helping, so I'm--"

"You don't have to go. I'll be quiet."

Jim shook his head. "Lynne made me promise not to stay longer than five minutes. She's a very mean woman, but don't tell her I told you that," he whispered conspiratorially.

"You'll come back soon?"

"You know it, buddy. Maybe they'll let me visit again in the afternoon."

"Only if you behave yourself," Blair warned, wanting to laugh but wheezing instead.

"I'll be on my best behavior, Chief. You have my word."

Jim stepped out into the hallway, and listened for a minute as Blair drifted back to sleep. He continued toward Simon's room, and found the captain on the telephone. He was just going to wave and leave, but Simon motioned for him to enter, then hung up the phone.

"I was just talking to Joel. It seems that everyone believes we were stricken by some mutant fungus that was growing on your ventilation fan. Your building has been completely evacuated and Hazmat has sealed it off until such time as the fungus is completely extracted. Neat lie, huh?"

"Only the best from the U.S. government, sir." Jim looked at Simon, noting his fever wasn't as high as Blair's, but he could tell the captain's breathing was deliberately shallow. "How are you feeling?"

"Hurts like hell when I take a deep breath. Think this is a sign I should give up my cigars?"

"It would probably be a good idea in the long run, Simon," Jim said honestly.

"How are the others?"

"Doing about the same as you. You're all doing extremely well, by the way. It seems this is a very mild strain of the disease."

Simon coughed, holding onto his chest to minimize the pain. "Glad I don't have to deal with the more severe strains then. Does this visit mean you get to get out of here?"

Jim shook his head. "Too many unknowns to let me walk just yet. I just wanted to see how everyone was. I just saw Sandburg, and now I'm on my way to see Carolyn and Naomi. I only get five minutes with each of you, so let me go before they kick me out. After all, I promised Sandburg I'd be on my best behavior."

"You take care, Jim. I know you've been vaccinated and all, but if you're still in the Army--"

"Just think of it as an Army Reserve weekend, sir. As soon as this is over, I'll report to work as usual."

"Good. I just got you and your partner housebroken."

"Uh, that's something we have to talk about. But it's not something you have to deal with at this very moment."

"I'll take your word for it, detective. Just give me enough time to either cover your asses or mine."

"Will do, sir. Now, leave the telephone alone and rest."

"Just because you happen to be upright...." Jim heard Simon continue to mutter as he left.

He reached Naomi's room next. She appeared to be sleeping, but some part of Jim sensed that she was in a deep meditative trance. Probably some healing ritual. He shrugged, and left her to it. As long as she was attached to an IV and being fed the necessary antibiotics, he didn't care how she supplemented her treatment.

Finally, he came to Carolyn's room. As he had with Blair, he stood next to the bed and looked at her. She was sleeping, sweat beading on her face and neck. A few steps took him to the bathroom, where he wet a washcloth, and proceeded to wipe her face.

"Feels good," she murmured, opening her eyes. "Guess your super senses really do work."

"Guess so."

"What about the others? How are they doing?"

"You're all feeling the same general crappiness. But the doctors seem to think this is a lot less serious than we imagined. I think ninety percent lethality was an imaginary number. Or someone was trying to get paid for a faulty product."

"Maybe the bad part comes later."

"The bacteria have stopped replicating, Carrie. That means they are no longer creating the toxins that are the actual killers with anthrax. You just have to deal with the toxin that's already in your system." He left to cool the towel again.

"You certainly know this disease well," Carolyn said, when Jim went back to his ministrations. "Don't tell me: you learned it in The Modern Soldier 101."

"401-- it was an advanced class," he teased. He moved the towel across her neck, then bent over to place his lips ever so gently against hers. "Listen, Plummer, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I love you."

She looked at him curiously. "Why would I take it the wrong way?"

"Because in movies when someone says that to a person in the hospital--"

"They're pretty much a goner," Carolyn agreed.

"Yeah, but I'm telling you this now, simply because I'm slow. I should have told you when I held you in the airport, and when we made love at the loft."

"Bed or bathroom?" she asked impishly.

"Both."

"I love you too, Jim, but what does that mean?"

He used the towel to stroke her face. "It means that we have something to work for, that we talk, and we move extremely slow. I don't want to have to watch you leave me again."

"And I don't want to have to leave," she agreed.

"About leaving.... My five minutes are up, sweetheart. You need to rest." He kissed her again. "I'll see you later."

She nodded. When he reached the door, she called out, "Hey, Ellison?"

"Yeah, Plummer?"

"Say it again."

"I love you, Carrie."

He heard her smile all the way back to his room.

Chapter Eleven

Jaguar jumped into the fray without any intention of fighting the enemy. One pounce, and he was next to Eagle. Another pounce, and he was free of the ants, with Eagle dangling from his mouth. He raced toward the river, pleased to hear paws falling behind him. At the river's edge, he plunged in, shivering at the coolness as the ants washed away.

He looked around as he heard two more splashes: Cougar and Wolf, with Meerkat in Wolf's powerful jaws. Meerkat struggled to free herself, and made a plopping sound as she dunked beneath the cleansing waters, then popped back up, chittering her complaints. She made it to the riverbank and crawled out. Wolf joined her, licking her fur dry. Cougar bounded out after them, moving down shore just a little so he could shake himself to a less-than-dripping state.

Jaguar brought Eagle to the bank and stared at her. She tried to dry herself by flapping her wings, but she was too weak, so she lay there, her eyes never leaving Jaguar's. He took his broad tongue and removed the excess water, always careful to brush in the direction of her ruffled feathers. Eagle chirped to show her appreciation, and Jaguar purred at the praise.

But he was too wet and uncomfortable to listen to her sing his many attributes, and Eagle also needed to rest, so he padded off a few meters, shook himself, then removed the remaining water with his tongue. While he performed his grooming, Jaguar thought of what he needed to do come morning. The ants always rested at night, so the jungle would be safe until Sun awakened to heat the sky. Poor Eagle. She had seen movement in the nest, and assumed there was a tasty morsel to be had. By the time she'd realized her error, she'd gotten too close and was set upon by the vile beasts. A terrible accident. But one that wouldn't happen again. He was going to move ahead of the creatures in the morning, and clear the jungle denizens out of their path. He would also warn those of the night to steer clear of the dark mass.

However, for now, he had his own personal tribe to take care of. They were too exposed here at the river's edge. Together, they would move into the brush and protect each other while bites healed. He started back toward Eagle, stopping in mid-step when a shudder ran along his spine, causing his fur to stand on end. Soul-Snatcher! His own soul cringed as he recognized his old foe. Soul-Snatcher was an entity of stealth, of darkness, who had robbed Jaguar of many companions without warning. Who had he come for now? With a snarl, he turned and focused on his friends gathered at the river. Meerkat was grooming Wolf, and Cougar was watching the process with an amused grin. That left-- He darted to Eagle's side, although he knew she didn't reside in the shell of golden feathers anymore.

Jaguar threw his head back and cried.

Jim jerked awake with a gasp, thinking for a moment that he'd actually heard the jaguar's anguished scream. What the--? He jumped to his feet, grabbed his robe, and stepped out into the hall. The floor was empty of people, which he had expected. They were all in Carolyn's room, fighting to revive her. He knew that as clearly as he knew his name, even before he listened in on the terse orders and desperate measures being taken. Grim-faced, he took a step toward her room, but veered toward Blair's. The doctors didn't need him to witness their failure.

He didn't wake Blair; he merely sat in the chair he'd occupied twice already. He sat and waited for someone to find him, for someone to offer their apologies and condolences, and spout crap about how it was sudden, and that she hadn't suffered. That stuff he already knew. Soul-Snatcher wasn't that sort of killer. He didn't toy with his victims as Flesh-Eater and Mind-Taker did. He came. He took. He left. It was just that simple.

And you, my friend, are dancing dangerously close to the razor's edge, aren't you? That's why you came here, to your anchor. You expect him to ground you, to tether you to the real world even while he sleeps. But what are you going to do when he's thousands of miles away? Where will you seek help then? Can you make it until he returns? Or will you allow yourself to be carried off into the madness that beckoned before he came into your life? And if he doesn't return, what then?

"Jim?"

He looked up at Lynne, who stood just inside the door. Not wanting to disturb Blair, he motioned that he would join her in the hall. He looked at his sleeping partner one last time, fixing an image in his head that he'd be able to recall in the next few painful moments. Taking a deep breath, he left the room.

"The staff has been looking all over for you," Lynne scolded worriedly. "You should be in bed at this time of night."

"Thank you, Lynne, for arranging for me to visit them twice today. Carolyn and I were able to say some things we should have said before...."

Lynne's brown eyes stared at him wonderingly. "You know."

He nodded.

She stuck her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. "We don't know what happened, Jim. The toxin levels were decreasing. The dyspnea was abating, and her temperature was approaching normal. Why she--"

He gave a sad smile. "Sometimes there aren't any answers. Sometimes shit happens, and you just have to deal with it as best you can."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Is that what you're doing, Jim? Are you dealing with it?"

He snorted, leaning back against the wall. "I haven't a clue in hell what I'm doing right now, Lynne. Going to see Sandburg seemed to be the most sensible thing to do, so that's what I did."

"Seeing him helps?"

"He helps. I've given up trying to figure out the hows and whys of it. I just know when I'm falling...he saves me." He wiped his hand wearily across his face. "Of course, in the light of day I will deny I said any of this."

"How did you know what happened, Jim? Were you sneaking out of bed to visit her and saw us working on her?"

Jim shrugged. "That sounds reasonable, doesn't it?"

"But it's not the truth?"

"Truth is such an abstract term. Can I go back to Sandburg now?"

Lynne sighed. He had her quite curious now, but apparently he was in no condition to answer her questions, which was a shame because an off-balance Jim would be more likely to tell her the truth. Maybe when all this was over, she could get him drunk. "Just one more thing. You may accept 'shit happens' as a valid answer, but the other doctors and I are scientists, which means we want a more definitive answer. As Ms. Plummer's listed next-of-kin, we would appreciate it if you would allow us to--"

"Just tell me where to sign," he said, interrupting her.

She nodded. "I understand that her parents are living? Afterwards, we'll have the chaplain--"

"No! That's the one thing she specifically wanted me to do for her-- tell her parents."

Well, that was the most emotion she'd heard from him in the past five minutes. Maybe he wasn't going to shut down completely on her, which was a surprise. She'd always thought it a failing that military personnel were taught to effectively deny their emotions in basic training. Maybe it made the "perfect" soldier, but it played havoc with the human being beneath the uniform. "No decisions are going to be made tonight about notification, Jim. We want to have at least a few answers before we go public."

"Spin control," he said bitterly.

"Truth," she countered gravely. "Some of us just want to know the truth. What we do with it afterwards can be debated later."

Tired eyes widened at her honesty. A nurse handed Lynne a clipboard, which she passed on to Jim. He dutifully scribbled his name on the X-marked lines, and turned to go back into Sandburg's room. Lynne started to protest, but couldn't. She could see the grief balancing on the broad shoulders, and if he fell now, the weight would hold him down for a long time. If his partner could save him from plummeting, so be it.

"I'll tell the staff not to disturb you," she called softly.

He smiled his thanks, and closed the door.

*****

When he opened his eyes to see Jim in the same chair he'd been in when he'd closed them, Blair's first thought was-- Geez, man, you're taking this guardian gig way too seriously. His second thought, upon seeing the sadness in the eyes staring at him was-- Geez, who died? Suddenly remembering where he was and why, Blair realized the question wasn't merely a rhetorical one.

"Who?" he asked, bracing himself for the answer.

"The eagle."

The ea-- Blair paled. "Oh, God, Jim. Not Carolyn? Oh, man. What happened? I thought we were all getting better. I mean, I feel a lot better. Is that why you're here, watching me, because you--"

"No," Jim said quietly, shushing his partner with the single word. "You're not dying. Neither is Naomi or Simon. The ants didn't kill Eagle; Soul-Snatcher took her away."

Soul-Snatch.... Blair looked at his friend closely. Dark circles stood out in stark relief against the pale visage. He wondered how long it'd been since Jim had any substantial sleep. The night before Carolyn arrived, perhaps? So that would be what? Seventy-two hours with barely a catnap or two? No wonder Jim wasn't making any sense. Or maybe he was. "Eagle didn't die from the ant bites? How do you know?"

"There was no pain. Soul-Snatcher works too quickly. He came and took Eagle as she rested by the river. Jaguar didn't hear his approach; even if he had, he wouldn't have been able to stop him. Nothing stops Soul-Snatcher."

O...kay. Jim was definitely on the wrong side of exhaustion if he was speaking so openly about his dreams. The scientist in Blair craved to ask Jim more questions while he was in this state, the friend in him chided that he'd be taking advantage of his partner if he gave into the craving, and the Guide in him threatened to kick his ass if he didn't do something to alleviate his Sentinel's pain. "What time is it, Jim?"

"A little after eight a.m."

"What time did, uh, Soul-Snatcher strike?"

"12:13 a.m."

How precise. "And how long have you been sitting in that chair?" A shrug. "Did you sleep at all?"

Jim smiled ruefully. "I think I'm getting the message, Chief. You've seen better looking Halloween masks, right?"

"I've seen better looking roadkill, man. Were you trying to avoid another dream?"

"No."

Blair could tell from Jim's startled look that the thought had never crossed the man's mind. That was good. From his studies of such phenomena, Blair had concluded that prophetic dreams rarely could be circumvented. They just found more dangerous ways to manifest themselves. "Go to bed, Jim."

Jim turned toward the door, and Blair watched it open to admit an African-American woman with a distinct glare focused on Jim.

"Don't tell me you've been here all night, Ellison," she reprimanded.

Blair bristled at her tone, and turned to Jim, silently demanding to know why he wasn't tearing this woman a new one.

"Chief, this is Colonel Lynne Reese. Lynne, Detective Blair Sandburg."

Lynne. Jim's friend from USAMRIID. Still, she didn't have to be so abrasive. Couldn't she see that Jim was tired? "Before you interrupted, Colonel, Jim and I were discussing his need for rest."

Lynne's eyes fell on the man in the bed, and she realized she'd behaved rudely. "I apologize for barging into your room, Detective Sandburg. It's just that I've been looking for Jim. I have the results of--"

"What did you find?" Jim asked. She tilted her head in Blair's direction. "You can talk in front of him. We have no secrets."

"Ms. Plummer's death was the result of a congenital heart defect. It was a flaw deep within the organ; only a post mortem would have detected it. There was nothing we could have done."

"But it was the added strain of the disease which caused the defect to be fatal, right?" Blair asked. It sounded as if the government was prepared to blame Carolyn completely for her own death. Typical.

"Actually, most people who have the type of defect Ms. Plummer had usually don't survive the journey down the birth canal. If they do, they rarely make it past the stage of walking upright; the heart cannot withstand the pressure change. By all rights, she shouldn't have seen her first birthday."

"Instead, she saw thirty-eight of them, " Jim said, rubbing at his forehead. "An excellent tagline for your report, don't you think?"

"I'm not going to be offended by your attitude," Lynne said patiently. "I know as well as you do how our government loves a good cover-up. That's why I personally observed the procedure." She'd noticed his avoidance of the word autopsy. "I saw the defect for myself. It was very real. You have my word on that, Jim."

Jim dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, Lynne. It's just been a long night."

Blair couldn't take his friend's suffering anymore. "Jim."

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Go to bed."

"But Mom and Dad--"

"Need you strong and rested, man. You're the only one they have to lean on. I'm stuck in this bed, and Wendy-- well, you know how Wendy is. I'm sure its going to be several hours before the government has the paperwork the way they want it--" he looked meaningfully at the colonel, who obediently nodded-- "so you have some time to grab a nap."

"I am a little tired," Jim admitted reluctantly.

"Then you should rest. For Paul and Louise's sake."

Jim stood, laying his hand briefly against Blair's wrist. "You are better, and you're also right. I'll see you in a few hours, 'kay?"

"Something tells me I'll be waiting right here," Blair said with a warm smile.

"Mind if I stay for a minute, Detective Sandburg?" Lynne asked, sidestepping from the door so Jim could pass. "I haven't had the pleasure of personally going over your charts."

"In other words, you want to ask me some nosy questions. I can deal," Blair said lightly, waving Jim out the door. "What is it you want to know, Colonel?"

"First, I'd really like to know how you're feeling. Your test results are encouraging, but obviously, we can't rely completely on the results to tell us the total health of our patients."

Blair looked at her speculatively. "Carolyn's death was a blow to you guys, wasn't it? I spent most of my adult life involved in research. I know it must have been a heady feeling thinking that you'd defeated a disease like anthrax. This version had been reported to have a ninety percent mortality rate, and you thought that with your intervention, you had completely defeated it. But now, let's see.... Four people contracted the disease, one death. Twenty-five percent mortality."

"Still a dramatic improvement over the expected ninety," Lynne pointed out defensively.

"But not as good as zero percent."

"Tell me. Do you hold all doctors in such contempt, or just government ones?"

Blair thought about the question. It was a fair one. Goading her had been a show of contempt. "I prefer holistic medicine, but I don't think I've been openly hostile to the medical profession as a whole."

"So, it's the insignia that offends you?"

"Jim and I-- especially Jim-- have had some run-ins with your species."

"Jim is my friend."

"And if I had a dollar for every time Jim has heard that and was subsequently betrayed, my picture would be right beside Gates' on the Forbes 500 list." Blair took a deep, centering breath. "I'm sorry. You haven't caught me at my best. I don't do 'patient' well."

"And you're in pain."

"Some. It doesn't feel like there's a ten-ton anvil sitting on my chest anymore, but it does feel like there had been one, you know? Like the ache after a bad muscle cramp. But the worst part about all of this is that it's keeping me from helping Jim. He's hurting so badly right now, and all I can do is lie in this stupid bed and let him watch me." A fist lightly pummeled the mattress.

"He said that helped."

"What?"

"Seeing you helps him. That's what he told me when I found him in here after Ms. Plummer-- He knew. Did he tell you that? That he knew she had died before I could tell him."

"12:13 a.m."

Lynne took the chair Jim had vacated. "That's the recorded time on the cardiac monitor. We tried to revive her for nearly an hour after that. Time of death wasn't called until after one o'clock." Blair didn't react to the information. "Were they close? Jim said the term ex-wife was misleading."

"They remained good friends after the divorce, and Jim is very close to her family. In time, I think the two of them would have been close again." Blair closed his eyes in deference to the pain he was sure Jim was feeling. There had been signs of how Jim and Carolyn had spent their night in his bed together, how they'd probably spent the morning before he and Simon had descended upon them. Blair had noticed a certain spryness about Jim, an air of happiness. Now.... The really sad thing about it all was that this wasn't the first time he'd had to survive something like this. Jim had slept with Lila, and she'd been killed in front of him. He'd slept with Veronica, and she'd been killed in front of him. Now, he'd slept with Carolyn, and.... Damn. He wouldn't be surprised if the man headed for a monastery after this.

"He not only knew when Ms. Plummer died, but that it was not a direct result of the anthrax." Lynne was deliberately casual.

Blair cracked open an eyelid. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't try to play me. Don't go looking for something that isn't there. Don't give Jim something else to worry about. Don't make Jim add you to his list of betrayals."

"You always fight his battles for him, Detective Sandburg?"

"Actually, Colonel, I'm fighting yours. You and your colleagues should know how dangerous it is to corner an injured animal. Jim won't strike back honorably, nor will he play by the rules."

"We are not the enemy. I am not Jim's enemy."

"Glad to hear it." He shifted uncomfortably.

"Would you like me to up your pain meds?"

"Nah. I can deal. I can't operate a dial like Jim can, but I manage." Blair tossed out the comment, wanting to see if the colonel was willing to let the matter drop as she'd indicated.

"About Jim--" he sighed at her expected response, "--do you think I should prescribe him a sedative?"

"No!" he said quickly, but with relief. "The last thing Jim needs is unnecessary meds running around inside him. He heals better on his own."

"Well, you seem to be the expert on your partner, Detective. Is there anything you need before I leave?"

"Check on my mom for me? She probably senses the bad vibes around the place, and she might think they have something to do with me."

"Your mother is like Jim?"

Blair laughed. "Not by a long shot. She's just highly attuned to emotions, that's all."

Lynne nodded. "I'll let your mother know you're okay. Did she know Ms. Plummer well?"

"No. They'd only just met. But Mom's still going to be bothered by her death. However, Captain Banks was a good friend of Carolyn's. A little care in telling him will be appreciated."

Lynne stood at the door and looked back at him. "You take care of your family and friends quite well, Detective."

"The same way they take care of me, Colonel."

Blair watched the door close slowly behind her, and tried to get more comfortable in the bed. "Sleep, Sentinel," he whispered just in case Jim was listening. "All is well."

In the room two doors away, the Sentinel stirred, and fell into a deep sleep.

*****

"Plummer's dead."

Lambert looked up sharply from the box he was carefully unpacking. He'd learned that as long as he could recreate his desk from one office to the next, he could work anywhere. He was sure the idiosyncrasy had some deep, perhaps perverted, psychological meaning, but hell, it worked. And that was more than could be said of some other aspects of his life. "I thought the antibiotics were working."

"She had an undetectable heart condition. You know, it feels good to get a break in all this."

"This isn't a break, Freer."

"Yes, it is. Plummer was the only witness to the actual data. Whatever she shared with the others is now merely hearsay. And we don't have to worry about it happening again, because security protocols have been tightened." Freer plopped down on the corner of the desk, and frowned in consternation at his superior. "Okay, what's wrong now?"

Lambert shook his head, and set out a paperweight obviously made by a child. "You just don't understand."

Freer sighed. "Why don't you enlighten me, sir?"

"Yesterday, we just had an irate husband after us. Now, we have a vengeful widower. His code of honor will demand he find us and make us pay for our crime."

"I wouldn't worry about your soldier boy. Pretty soon he'll have greater worries than us," Freer predicted.

Lambert made no reply as he fingered the paperweight. Once upon a time he'd been a vengeful widower, and despite the fact it had cost him his family, he'd satisfied his code of honor. Just as Ellison would, greater worries or no. It was all just a matter of time.

Chapter Twelve

"Sleeping Beauty awakes."

Sleep-filled eyes peered at him. "What? Who are you calling a beauty, man. I'm not the one who's all tarted up."

Jim laughed, looking down at the suit he was wearing, the top button of the shirt undone, and the tie hanging loosely around his neck. "Now I'll never be able to wear a suit and not think of myself as being 'tarted up.' Thank you for that, Sandburg."

"You're welcome," Blair replied, more awake now. "You're going to tell Carolyn's parents?"

Jim placed his left ankle on his right knee. "I've already told them, Chief. They're in a motel right down the street from here."

"They're here? How did they get here so quick?"

Jim shook his head. "Not quick, Chief. It's after nine o'clock at night."

Blair swiveled his head, forgetting his room had no window. "What do you mean it's nine o'clock at night? What happened to the day?"

"You slept through it. A nice, long, healing sleep. Guess I wasn't the only one who needed it."

"How about you, Jim? Did you sleep?"

"A few hours. Then I had a long argument with the big guys about telling Paul and Louise in person. I lost. So I told them over the phone, and arranged for a helicopter to bring them here to the hospital."

"Why? I mean, why bring them here?"

Jim rubbed at a spot on his highly polished shoes. Maybe he was tarted up. He'd requested clothing so he didn't have to greet his former in-laws wearing a gown. A seaman had shown up with two suits. "Carolyn has to be-- cremated. Biological hazard concerns. The family priest is coming in the morning to say rites over the body, then the procedure will be done. There's a wake scheduled tomorrow night in Bellingham, sort of a memorial service for those who knew Carolyn as a child. The funeral mass will be held in Cascade the next morning."

"Cascade?"

The older man nodded. "Mom and Dad want her to be here with me. Her remains will be placed in the columbarium at Glenwood."

Where Jim already had a plot. "That sounds nice. Why are you frowning?"

"They want her here with me, Chief. They don't blame me," Jim replied wonderingly.

"Blame you? For what?" Blair narrowed his eyes. "You aren't blaming yourself for anything, are you, Jim? None of this is your fault, you know that, right?"

"She came to me for help."

"And you did all that was humanly possible. Even more than that. She-- all of us-- might have died from anthrax if you hadn't been aware of our exposure. Carolyn didn't die because of what you promised to protect her from. She died because-- because Soul-Snatcher took her. And Soul-Snatcher can't be stopped."

Jim paled. "I told you?"

"Yes, you told me."

Jim shook his head. "I was pretty out of it last night."

"I know. How much did you eat yesterday?"

A shrug. "Whatever it was they served around here."

"What about today?"

"I ate with Paul and Louise in the cafeteria downstairs. Why?"

"I think you were hypoglycemic last night, Jim. Your blood sugar level dropped too low because you hadn't eaten enough. It all goes back to what I was saying at the loft. You burn a lot of energy as a sentinel, so you regulate your food intake accordingly. But you couldn't do that here, and you came up short last night. Hence, your overwhelming fatigue and mild confusion."

"Is this anything I should worry about?"

"Nah, man. I'll just add a candy bar to the SCK, and you'll be back in business in no time. I can't believe they wouldn't let me bring it here. 'Items from the premises might be contaminated,' they said."

"The SCK?"

"Sentinel Care Kit. Uh, don't tell me you haven't noticed I'm still carrying a backpack around, Jim?"

"But I've seen you stick files and stuff in there. I thought you'd just gotten used to hauling the thing around, so you continued even when you didn't need it."

"Earplugs. Eye mask. Unscented baby wipes. Hyper-allergenic eye drops, lotion, and soap. Bottled water. Antibiotic cream. Bandaids and bandages. Extra cell phone battery. A hypo of epinephrine for severe reactions; Benadryl for lesser ones. Some of that stuff that you punch and it becomes an ice pack. A couple of herbal mixtures you can tolerate. The notebook of medicines that you react to...."

Jim listened in fascination as Blair counted off the items using his fingers. "I guess you better put me together a kit before you leave for Duke."

"I've already decided to give Simon one. Hmm, I better make that two, so he can pass one along to whoever you're going to be partnered with during my absence. There's already an abbreviated kit in the truck."

"That insulated lunch bag thingie behind the seat?"

Blair nodded. "And the medicine cabinet in the bathroom needs to be restocked. Man, I need to make a list of what needs to be done before I leave. Guess I better make sure I save enough money to fly home for Christmas, so I can set you up for the next semester."

Jim tried to stop the smile he felt coming but couldn't. "You're going to come home for Christmas?" Home. That sounded nice.

"Yeah, and I better find you in peak condition, or else Simon is going to have to answer to me."

"So he's my designated babysitter?"

"Sentinel-sitter," Blair corrected with a grin.

"Oh, that sounds so much better," Jim replied dryly. "Guess I need to scout out a Blair-sitter. I'll ask Naomi about that guy of hers. There's also a couple of guys I know at Ft. Bragg."

"Come on, man, you can't be serious," Blair said, and Jim just stared at him. "I'll be good, Jim. I swear. No hostage situations. No trying to rescue fair maidens. I won't even tell anyone I'm a cop. I'll just be average Joe College, you see? The bad guys won't even give me a second glance."

"We'll see, Sandburg," Jim said carefully. Maybe Blair could pull off staying out of trouble-- and maybe he couldn't. A little bit of backup already in place wouldn't hurt.

"Nothing really bad ever happens in North Carolina anyway," Blair added, looking for a more definitive answer from his partner.

"Hurricane Floyd ring any bells, Chief?" The storm had devastated the eastern part of North Carolina. Now, nearly a year later, the inhabitants were still trying to get back on their feet.

"Fine, whatever," Blair pouted. He glanced at Jim. "You're all right with all of this, right?"

Jim nodded. "I want you to be all that you can be, Chief."

"Hey, I may have joined the police force, but I'm not going into the Army," he joked, playing on the familiar Army theme: Be All That You Can Be-- In The Army!

"What about the Marines? I hear they're looking for a few good men."

"Cut your hair, and suddenly everyone's planning your life," Blair muttered, his smile belying his grumbling. "Speaking of the military, Captain Ellison...."

"A temporary solution to a temporary situation, Chief."

"You aren't going to be compromised by this, are you? Your friend, Colonel Reese, was asking questions about you last night."

"And then you threatened her, and she backed off. She told me all about it. You know, I'm starting to think I can't take you anywhere," Jim berated jokingly. "And you say I can't play nicely with others."

"I'm serious about this, Jim. I cannot go across the country without knowing that you're safe-- well, safe from being carted off to some government facility for study. As for the rest, I'll just cross my fingers every time the phone rings."

Jim put his right hand over his heart and held up his left. "I swear to you, Blair, that if I disappear into the night, it will be of my own accord, and I promise to send you a post card with my whereabouts."

"Better yet, just stop by and pick me up on the way."

Jim chuckled. "You got it, Chief." He tugged on the loosened tie and stood. "I really should be going to bed and letting you go back to sleep. But first, I want to thank you."

Blair looked at him in surprise. "For what?"

"For making me smile. I haven't done much of that today."

"Do you know how frustrating it is to be in this bed, and not by your side while you deal with all of this? You shouldn't have to come to me to find your smile. I should just be there."

"You are, Chief. Wherever I am, you'll always be."

Blair blinked and looked away. "Get out of here, Jim. You need your rest."

Jim smiled. The kid was good at dishing it out, but he didn't take it all that well. "Goodnight, Chief."

"Night, Jim."

*****

No matter how nicely appointed, a funeral home was a funeral home. Jim had taken Benadryl so he wouldn't sneeze himself to death due to the massive amount of flowers, but that didn't stop the heavy floral scent from turning his stomach. Flowers from a florist didn't smell like real flowers; there was something fake-- plastic-- about the smell, probably because they were grown in a greenhouse and not in the wild.

"Jim, you okay?"

He looked down into the concerned eyes of Wendy Plummer. "I'm fine. Just drifted away for a few seconds." Perfectly acceptable at a wake. "What about you, kiddo? This isn't getting to be too much for you, is it?" Since this was her hometown, Wendy knew a lot more of the people than Jim did, so she had to put up with more of the sympathetic gestures. She had confided that the sympathy made her feel worse rather than better.

"I'll survive, and I have you to thank for that."

"Me?"

She nodded, and smiled impishly. "They're so busy wanting to know about your and Carolyn's current relationship that they gloss over the sympathy part and go directly for, 'Were they getting back together?' Let me tell you, that's a much better topic than, 'She was such a sweet little girl. I remember, blah, blah, blah.' I know she's gone, but it creeps me out to talk about her in the past tense. I guess it's just too soon."

"You don't have to make excuses, Wen. Grieve in your own way, in your own time. Quite frankly, I doubt if Carolyn would've been pleased with all these people standing around talking about her. She was a very private person."

"So private that I didn't even know you two were back together," Wendy said. "You could have given me a clue, you know."

A small lie to explain Carolyn's presence in Cascade. Paul and Louise had agreed that they would keep the danger Carolyn had been in to themselves, since it had nothing to do with her death. "We weren't back together, Wen, but we were working on it." Not a lie.

"I always hoped the two of you would find your way to each other again. But even if you hadn't, I was just happy that you hadn't divorced our family when you separated. I really need a big brother, someone who listens patiently when I call at three a.m., whining about the stupidity of men."

"Listen?" Jim looked at her with mock horror. "I'm supposed to listen? No, Little Sister. According to the 'Being An Understanding Older Brother' handbook, all I have to do is answer the phone, make appropriately sympathetic grunts every so often, and try not to snore audibly until you're ready to hang up, or the maligned boyfriend sees the error of his ways and pops up on call waiting."

Wendy swatted him gently on the arm.

"Assaulting an officer. Want us to run her in, Jim?"

Jim turned to see Joel, Rafe, and Brown. "Hey, guys. I wasn't expecting to see you until tomorrow."

"Well, the captain here has us working tomorrow," Brown said with an aggrieved sigh, "So, when he said he was driving up here tonight, we told him it was only fair that he take us with him."

"And we would have been here sooner," Joel said, throwing a baleful glance at his companions, "if they hadn't wasted fifteen minutes arguing about who got to ride in the front seat."

Jim laughed, earning him a frown from several bystanders. Like he cared. "Wendy, I would introduce them as Cascade's finest, but I want you to feel safe when you're in the city tomorrow, so I'll just say this is Captain Joel Taggert, Detective Brian Rafe, and Detective Henri Brown. Gentlemen, this is Wendy Plummer, Carolyn's sister."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Joel said, taking her hand. "I'm sorry to hear about your sister. We worked together on several cases, and shared many jokes."

Wendy smiled. "I don't think anyone else in this place knows about Carolyn's wicked sense of humor. Let me introduce you guys to my parents, then we'll take this conversation out to the parking lot where we won't be so stifled."

The group headed over to where the elder Plummers were. A man stood with them, and something about him pricked at Jim's senses. He didn't know why; the guy looked normal enough. Maybe he was just running low on sugar again.

"Jim, Wendy," Louise Plummer called. "This is Robert Walker. He knew Carolyn in Oregon." So maybe his sugar level was just fine. "Mr. Walker, this is Carolyn's husband, Jim, and her sister, Wendy."

"Ah, the ex-husband," Walker said with a sneer as he shook Jim's hand. "I would have thought you'd be more god-like."

Everyone froze. "Excuse me?" Jim asked, his jaw clenching.

"Carolyn described you in such glowing terms that I was convinced you had to be more than just a mere mortal."

Jim felt Wendy squeeze his arm anxiously. "I'm sorry, Mr. Walker. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You're upsetting my family."

"Your family? You certainly have audacity. Playing the widower, although you and Carolyn were divorced. I offered her marriage, damn it, and you know what she offered me? A pitiful, 'I've been married once, and I don't think I could handle another divorce.' Like it was inevitable or something."

"As inevitable as the restraining order she was going to have taken out against you," Jim whispered harshly. He turned to his comrades from Cascade. "Hey, guys, why don't you escort Wendy and her parents to the next room? The air in this one is getting stale."

"It's funny, isn't it, Ellison, that she was going to take out a restraining order against me, but you're the one who ended up killing her!"

"My daughter died of a heart defect!" Louise hissed in Jim's defense.

"Your daughter ran to this man because she was frightened, and instead of protecting her, he allowed her to be killed!"

"Shut up," Jim said softly. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Walker grinned, a glitter of madness in his eyes. "You wanna bet? I'm not one of those stupid cops you're used to working with. People were calling me, asking me if I knew where Carolyn would go if she thought she was in danger. To that fucking god of an ex-husband of hers, I told them."

Jim's hand shot out to grip Walker's upper arm. "You told them?"

"You let them kill her. How could you be so negligent? Or were you? Maybe you didn't care what they did to Carolyn. Maybe you let them kill her so she wouldn't be clinging to you anymore. Maybe you--" Walker's words were stopped abruptly by Jim's fist.

The funeral director hurried over. "Gentlemen, I must insist--"

"Get him out of here," Jim growled.

"We got it, Jim," Brown said as he and Rafe grabbed Walker's arms.

"You killed her, you son of a bitch!" Walker yelled as they dragged him out of the room. "You'll pay for that, motherfucker!"

Whatever else he had to say was cut off by Brown's hand coming across his mouth, and a hastily whispered, "If you bite me, you'll be sent back to Oregon in a box-- several boxes."

Jim stopped focusing on Walker and turned back to his family. Louise was too pale, so he guided her to a chair and asked for a glass of water. "I need you to just breathe for me, Mom. I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Louise asked.

Jim stared into a face that Carolyn's would have eventually grown into-- lightly lined in all the right places-- and eyes that used years of life to search the soul. "Sorry that Walker disrupted this gathering."

"Did you invite him here?"

"No."

"Did you tell him to spout nonsense and disturb us?"

Jim shook his head.

"Then why are you apologizing, Jimmy? We know what happened to Carolyn. We know you weren't responsible." Her voice rose so that everyone could hear her. "You loved my Carolyn and she loved you. No piece of paper changed that. Living in different states didn't change that. When Carolyn thought of home, she thought of you. That's why she's going to rest in peace in Cascade. Because that was her home, the place where her heart lived. Where it will always live. Don't let that fool twist things in your heart and head, son. It hasn't for me, or your dad."

Paul put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Your mom's right; you loved my baby girl. That's all a dad can ask for. Come on, let's get your mom home. She's had enough excitement for one evening, I think."

An hour later, Jim stood on the Plummer porch, waiting for his military escort back to the hospital.

"You gonna be okay?"

He smiled faintly at the woman coming to join him. "Yeah, Wen. How about you? Are you guys going to be okay tonight? I don't care what the military wants. I'll stay if you guys need me."

"Mom and Dad are already asleep, and I can feel today catching up with me, so I won't be too far behind them." She leaned against his arm. "How much of what Walker said is true? Not the part about you killing Carolyn," Wendy hastily added when she felt his muscles gather themselves beneath her head, "but about someone being after her."

"She stumbled into something accidentally. She thought I could help, that I could protect her.... I tried, Wendy. God help me, I tried."

She lifted a hand to his face, and wiped away the tear she found there. "But they not only got to her, but to you, and Blair, and your friends. There was something about some weird mold found in your place in Cascade. That's why you're in a military hospital, and why Blair can't be with us through all of this."

"Yes."

"But it wasn't a mold. You were attacked."

"Yes."

"And Carolyn died."

Jim shook his head. "Carolyn really did die from a congenital heart defect. Everyone else affected is getting better-- Blair included."

"Good. I don't think I can bury more than one sibling at a time."

He didn't reply, quietly sliding his arm around her and pulling her close.

"Either way, it's not your fault, Jim," she continued, her voice muffled against his chest. "She was safer with you. We're all safer with you. I don't know what you do. I don't know what that sentinel stuff was about last year. But I know Blair's not a liar, and I know there's something special about you. Carolyn was right to go to you. She died knowing she was loved. That's pretty special, Jim, and that's the thought that's going to get us all through this dark period. You included."

"My ride's here," he said hoarsely, relaxing his grip on her. A moment later, car lights appeared around the corner. "If you need me--"

"We'll call. I promise. Say hey to my kid brother for me."

"I will. He hates not being here."

"I know. But as much as I enjoy his company, I'd rather have him recuperating, instead of draining his strength here."

Jim kissed her forehead, and started down the walk to the car parked at the end of it. As he got into the backseat, he saw Wendy still standing on the porch, her arms crossed as she leaned back against the door. So like her sister.

As the car pulled away from the curb, he was grateful for the concealing darkness.

Chapter Thirteen

"Guess I can't grumble about paying my taxes this year," Paul Plummer said from the back of the funeral home limo, which was taking his family from the helipad to the church. "The government's been flying us all over the place in their helicopters, putting us up in the motel out on the island...."

"Don't worry about it, Dad," Jim said. "Human compassion is just a part of the program." He smiled at the looks of disbelief that statement received. They needed to take advantage of whatever "light" moments they could get today. The funeral mass and the deposition of Carolyn's ashes in the columbarium would wring them dry emotionally.

"So which official did you put the screws to in order to access this human compassion?" Wendy asked dryly.

"That information is on a need-to-know basis," Jim intoned, squaring his shoulders. "But, if you ever need to know, just give me a call." He felt the long car slowing down. "We're here."

The mortuary's assistants helped them out, and out of habit, Jim stopped to scan the area. He saw a number of police officials, which was to be expected because Carolyn had worked with the force, but he also saw officers who appeared to be on duty. He excused himself from the family and walked over to a just arriving Joel.

"Why the security?" Jim asked bluntly.

"To make sure Walker doesn't make an appearance. There was nothing we could do last night in Bellingham. But this is Cascade," Joel said meaningfully.

Jim's jaw clenched. "Any sign of him?"

"No. Even if he does show, you have nothing to worry about. We'll take care of it."

"Thanks." Jim patted Joel's shoulder, turned to walk away, and froze.

"Jim?" Joel reached for his radio.

"It's okay, Joel. Just a couple of people I need to see."

Joel followed the intense gaze to two gentlemen, and nodded before going to get a seat inside the church.

"Dad. Steven."

The elder Ellison gave a grim smile. "Surprised to see us here, Jimmy?"

"Yes," Jim answered honestly. Neither had shown for the wedding, and to his knowledge, they'd never even met Carolyn.

"We know we're running years behind, Jim," Steven said, "but we're hoping to make up for past mistakes."

Jim nodded. "Thank you for coming. I mean that. Although Carolyn and I were divorced...."

"You still loved her," William Ellison said softly. "I think maybe that's something we've all learned lately-- that separation, for whatever reason, doesn't change the love you feel for someone."

"Yeah, Dad." Jim embraced his father, then his brother. "I have to get back to the family. But it's nice knowing you're here."

He took his place beside Wendy as her escort. "Who are they, Jim?" she asked, having watched him with the men.

"My father and brother."

"Oh."

Jim was grateful for the strict rituals in the Catholic service. He read, knelt, and prayed at the appropriate places, but never really allowed himself to consider where he was-- or why he was there. It was only as the priest was reverently placing the urn with Carolyn's ashes in the proper recess that Jim accepted what was happening. The realization almost buckled his knees, but he gritted his teeth, dug his blunt nails into his palms, and kept upright.

He was also grateful for the pair of shades he had in his pocket when he stepped out of the building into the pale sunlight. His control of his senses was becoming ragged, body and spirit weakened. But all he had to do was to get through the condolences and goodbyes. Afterwards, he could go back to the hospital and be with Blair.

"Jim."

Jim joined Joel, saw that he was accompanied by Brown and Rafe, and knew his return to the hospital was going to be delayed. "What's up? You catch Walker?"

Brown shook his head. "We're not here about Walker, my brother. It's the loft."

*****

Blair didn't understand his restlessness, but he knew he had to get out of his room or start screaming. Earlier in the day, he'd been allowed to walk to the bathroom as long as he dragged his IV of antibiotics with him, so he figured as long as he was accompanied by "Ivy", he should be able to manage a trip down the hall to see his mother. Since this was an isolated floor, with only a minimum staff now that they were on their way to recovery, he made the trip without being seen.

Pushing the door open a crack, he saw Naomi sitting lotus-style on the bed. "They said they were hiding a pretty woman in here," he said, opening the door wider.

"Blair!" She held out her arm. "Come!"

He did so gratefully. Not only had he missed his mom, but the short walk had taxed his strength. "You're looking good."

"So are you, honey. But I knew you were okay. I could feel your vibes, and Jim came by faithfully every day to tell me how you were."

"You saw Jim today?"

She nodded. "He was on his way to the funeral. Pain clouded his aura."

"I know. That's why I'm mad I was asleep when he came by my room. I haven't seen him since yesterday, before the cremation."

"It hurts not being with him?"

Blair settled on the bed. "Oh, Mom, you have no idea. Jim can be so full of bull when he's hurting, and I'm afraid if I'm not there, he's going to either shut down or come undone. I'm not sure which one's worse."

"He's handled grief alone before."

"Yeah, and lost chunks of his life while he was at it," he muttered. Naomi looked at him curiously. He shook his head. "The point is, Ma, that he shouldn't have to handle anything alone anymore."

"You're not his only friend, sweetheart."

But I *am* his only Guide. "No, I'm not his only friend. But Simon is down the hall, just as stuck in this place as I am, and the others can only get so close because he's here in isolation. Besides, Jim's very particular about who he reveals his real self to."

"No one taught him that it was okay for a man to cry," Naomi said sadly.

"He's had to rely on himself for so long that he's never had time to cry; it was an indulgence he couldn't afford."

"But now he can, because he has you to rely on."

"Supposedly. I told you we talked about this Duke thing, Mom. We agree that I should go. But it's starting to feel wrong."

Naomi patted his knee. "You're just worried about him, honey. Once we're out of here, and things return to normal, you'll see you both made the right decision."

"I hope you're right, Mom." He gave her a quick smile. "So, how are you doing? Really?"

"I feel fine. This has been kind of a meditational retreat. Few distractions, food delivered to me. My mind has never been clearer."

Blair shook his head. Leave it to his mom to turn being quarantined into a cleansing getaway. "I'm glad you found the time productive. I'm also glad you're okay. When I saw Jim's face after Carolyn died, the first thought that came to my mind was that something had happened to you."

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "My time will come when it comes, honey. When it happens, don't mourn too much, okay? My spirit will be happy wherever I am."

"You mind if I don't think about that for a while?"

"Oh, Blair." She patted her lap and he put his head down. "I didn't know Carolyn long or well, but I get the feeling she's soaring around above us, free forever."

"Jim says she's a golden eagle. Maybe the two of you should get together and compare notes. After all, you also knew about the danger Carolyn was in before we told you."

"It didn't take a special gift to know that, baby. The tension and fear oozed from all three of you. It just all came together and bopped me on the head because I was meditating. Besides, you're the one with the real gift. You, my darling, are an empath. You feel what others feel, and when necessary, you make them feel what you want them to."

He turned his head to look up at her. "What?"

"How many people have you talked into doing what you want them to do? How many times have you confronted frightened people and convinced them they were safe?"

"That's just because I know Jim will always come for me."

"But the others don't know that. You give them your confidence, your surety. You say, 'Fight because my partner is coming,' and they fight because you've shrouded them in your emotion."

"I think they need to cut back on your antibiotics," Blair said with a skeptical chuckle.

"You know my words are true, Blair."

Well, he had convinced that neighborhood to stand up to the gangs, and Stacy Newman had trusted him enough to go with him when he'd found her. His students had always found him incredibly easy to talk to, like Rick telling him about what Brad Ventriss had done to his girlfriend, Jill. Lindsay Conkle had given her father a chance when he'd prodded her, and the guys at the station often took his advice. Maybe....

"And there's Jim," Naomi said softly. "He listens to you, baby. He seeks your counsel."

"I'm his Guide," Blair explained.

"Yes, you are."

Shit. Is that why Incacha had named him a shaman? Was that why Jim had reluctantly trusted him from the beginning? Did it have less to do with saving Jim from the garbage truck, and more with him emotionally pushing Jim into relying on another person? What about the whole roommate thing? He'd asked, cajoled, begged Jim for a week-- four years ago. Jim admitted to needing him now, but what about before? How much of what they had become, had not been of Jim's own free will? How much had he unwittingly manipulated the man?

He rolled away from Naomi and sat up. "I don't like the pictures my mind is coming up with."

"Then they are the wrong pictures," she soothed. "There is nothing perverted or abusive about what you and Jim share. His own gifts are equal to, if not greater than, your own. You haven't taken advantage of him. And, Goddess hear me, he has not taken advantage of you. I know that now."

Blair stared at her solemnly. "What made you change your mind about Jim? I know you didn't bring that letter from Duke just to show me I had another option. It was your way of getting me away from Jim, away from being a cop."

Naomi didn't pretend he was wrong. "I honestly thought you'd be miserable by now, at least on the inside. I knew you would put up a front for Jim, but I'm your mother. I would see the pain behind those beautiful blue eyes, and I wanted to have something to offer you, a way out of the situation I had unintentionally gotten you into."

Blair shrugged. "You were right; I apparently have some unresolved hostility left over from last year's events."

"But you weren't aware of it until I brought the subject up, Blair. That tells me that you were processing it, that your anger was mere residue that would've eventually cleansed itself from your soul."

"Or it could have been a firebomb waiting to explode."

Naomi shook her head. "Your empathic abilities wouldn't have allowed that. Haven't you noticed, honey, that when you're angry, you're really angry? You can't hide it, and you don't hold it back."

Blair thought back to the few times he could remember being truly pissed. When Sweet Roy had been murdered, and he thought the cops were moving too slow on the investigation.... Oh, and the whole thing with Brad Ventriss. Yeah. Jim and Simon would both attest to the fact that he didn't try to conceal his anger. Hurt, yes. Disappointment, yes. Anger, no.

"So, because I wasn't the walking poster boy for hurt and dejection, you decided Jim wasn't the controlling, domineering pig you thought he was?" he asked curiously.

Naomi looked offended. "You know I've never thought that way about Jim. Whatever faults he has come from years of being controlled, and being forced to follow ideologies other than his own."

"You thought he was a pawn."

"Yes, but in the nicest way."

Blair snorted. "You never knew him at all." The only true pawns were innocents. Jim had lost that particular virginity in a Peruvian jungle.

"I'll admit that I had preconceived notions about him, and that they might have colored my thoughts. The first time I came to visit you, there were blinders in place, and his willingness to involve you in an undercover operation didn't win him any points with me, honey. You were supposed to be safe in a classroom, not transporting stolen vehicles."

"I'm a grown, very opinionated man, Mom. Jim doesn't involve me in anything I don't want to be involved in. Not then and not now. If you only knew how hard I had to beg sometimes to be included.... I'm not saying this to hurt you, and more often than not, it's damn annoying, but Jim is way more protective of me than you are. Those instances in my teen years that you called 'growth experiences', would have Jim shuddering through nightmares for months." Blair grinned at the thought of the horror that would cross Jim's face if he ever told him about that voodoo ceremony he had participated in during a summer spent in Louisiana.

"You mentioned his nightmares. That's what made the difference, Blair. The way he spoke of his visions so openly, the way he trusted them to guide him. That told me what manner of man he is, more than any glowing report from you."

"Gee, thanks, Mom."

She smiled. "You're somewhat biased when it comes to Jim, Blair."

Blair could only smile back because she was right. But-- "It's more than just Jim that has me content here. The Major Crime Unit, others in the department-- they make me feel like I belong. They're good people, Ma, and good friends."

Naomi regarded him with a frank look. "Does this mean you've changed your mind about Duke?"

"No. I need to finish that part of my life so I can go on to the next."

"As a cop?"

"As me, Naomi, whoever or whatever that turns out to be. Will you be able to accept that now?"

"You want me to detach with love?"

"Not detach, Mom. Never that."

She reached out to embrace him. "You are so much more than I ever hoped for, Blair. I'm proud of you, and I accept you-- as whoever or whatever you are or will be."

"Thanks, Mom. Now, I need to stop by and see Simon before I'm tracked down and sent back to my cage. Maybe he has some news about Jim. He should be back from the funeral by now."

Naomi laughed. "And you claim Jim is overprotective?"

Blair shrugged and grinned. "I've picked up all kinds of bad habits from him. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, honey."

Blair gathered Ivy, and headed toward the captain's room, rapping lightly on the door before entering. Simon sat in the room's only chair, his feet up on the bed and a newspaper spread across his lap.

"What you doing rambling around the halls, Sandburg?"

"Wondering if you have any information on Jim. He should be back by now."

"He's probably just making sure his in-laws are doing okay before he leaves them. I know Joel said he was going to make sure Walker wasn't going to make any more trouble."

"Walker?" Blair sat down beside Simon's feet. "Who's Walker?"

"Jim didn't tell you?"

"I was sleeping when he left this morning. Who's Walker?"

"Some jerk Carolyn dated in Oregon. He showed up at the wake last night, and accused Jim of killing her."

"Shit."

"According to Joel and the guys, Jim was holding it together until Walker admitted he was the one who told the perps Carolyn's probable location. Even then, he only hit the guy once. Brown and Rafe tossed the guy to the sidewalk and warned him to stay away, but since it was out of our jurisdiction, nothing permanent could be done."

"And they think he might show up at the funeral?" Damn. Jim didn't need this on top of everything else.

"If he does, he's going to be taken in on a loitering charge and not allowed to see the light of day for twenty-four hours."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "Ever heard of abuse of power, Captain?"

Simon gave him an evil grin. "Ever heard of 'I don't give a shit', Sandburg? You got a problem with it, take it up with IA."

"No problem at all, Simon. I'd probably be up on assault charges if I'd been there last night. Jim's already flirting with feeling guilty about this. He doesn't need anyone reinforcing the thought."

"So un-reinforce it."

"Gee, Simon, give me the easy assignments why don't you?"

"You volunteered to be his partner long before it became an assignment, Sandburg."

"Simon Banks, the man with all the answers," Blair muttered. "So how come you rate a newspaper? I couldn't even find an old magazine."

"Charm, Sandburg, charm."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Well, before it rubs off on me, I'm going to see if I can find out if Jim's on his way back. I'll see you tomorrow, Simon."

"Yeah. And if you need assistance with Jim, let me know. He's not responsible for any of this."

"I may take you up on that."

Blair slowly made his way out into the hallway, debating whether to go to his room or Jim's. The decision was made for him when he saw Jim coming in the opposite direction. He knew something was wrong immediately. For one thing, Jim still had on shades. For another, he walked as if every movement was pure agony.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said wearily. "You doing evening patrol today?"

"Thought I'd take my best girl Ivy here for a little stroll." Jim tried to smile, but it came out a grimace. "Let's take that stroll to your room, Jim," he suggested, pitching his voice low to minimize Jim's irritation. "Your control wearing a bit thin?"

"What control?" Jim mumbled. He barely heeled his shoes off before collapsing onto the bed.

"Come on, man, you're not going to feel better until you're comfortable. Let's get that tie and jacket off of you," Blair coaxed.

"I'm not going to feel better unless someone puts a bullet in my brain, Chief," Jim replied, nevertheless sitting up to shrug out of the jacket. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt until Blair finally took pity on him and undid them himself.

"The funeral was that bad, huh?"

"It was a funeral. Dad and Steven put in an appearance."

"Did Walker?"

"You know about him?" Jim obediently held out his wrists so that Blair could undo the buttons on the cuffs.

Blair frowned when he saw red welts marring Jim's arms. "What's this?"

"A reaction to something in the shirt, or maybe to the soap they have around here. I got a rash the first time I used it, but I managed to adjust to it."

"Jim, rashes appear for a reason, just like pain." Shit. Why hadn't they let him bring his Sentinel Care Kit? Maybe he could get some hydrocortisone from a nurse. If it was the soap, there was probably more irritation under the T-shirt.

Jim shrugged offhandedly. "How do you know about Walker?"

"Simon told me."

"He was a no-show." He groaned, standing to remove his pants. By the time he sat back down, Blair had the covers pulled back. "I would have told you about him this morning, but I didn't want to wake you."

"I know." Blair came out of the bathroom with a wet washcloth, which he draped over Jim's eyes. "If it wasn't Walker, what brought this on, Jim? You haven't been this far off the scale for a long time." He stroked his thumb across the creased forehead, pleased when the furrows eased.

"You know how you were saying you were going to come home for Christmas, Chief? I'm sorry, but that's going to be impossible."

"Why is that, Jim?"

"No home."

Blair stopped his stroking. "What are you saying, man?"

Jim removed the towel, and pain-filled eyes sought their Blair's. "The loft, Chief. It's gone. Someone blew it up."

Chapter Fourteen

"What?" Blair sat down unsteadily on the edge of the bed.

"The loft doesn't exist anymore, Chief. Just...rubble."

"You're shitting me, right?" Blair mumbled. Not that he didn't believe Jim. His partner wouldn't tell a cruel joke like that. Neither could Jim fake the lost, anguished look in his eyes.

"I know what you're feeling. I had to see it before I believed it. Joel didn't want to take me there, but I insisted." Jim closed his eyes. "The two outer walls are completely gone, and the balcony is just so much concrete and brick littering the alley. The fire marshal was surprised that it hadn't turned into a three-alarm blaze, but there wasn't really much to burn, was there?"

"Just everything we own," Blair said softly. Jim's hand squeezed his wrist sympathetically. "Was anyone hurt?"

"No. The building was still evacuated from the 'mold scare'. And it was a real professional job; more of an implosion rather than an explosion. Most of the debris fell in, instead of out on the street where it could have hurt a pedestrian."

"Thoughtful sons of bitches, huh?"

Jim's lips narrowed grimly. "Joel and the rest of Major Crime are at the office looking at our old and current cases, trying to figure out who might have done this. But you and I both know this doesn't have anything to do with our police work."

Blair nodded. "But I don't get it, Jim. Why destroy our home?"

"I don't know. Maybe to distract us. Maybe as a warning. Maybe they had so much fun killing my wife, that they thought taking away everything else I had would be a hoot." Jim turned his head aside as his voice cracked.

Blair's eyes filled with tears for his friend. What kind of sick bastards defiled a man's home while he buried his wife? No wonder Jim had so little control left. The fact that he was still able to function at all was amazing. "What's done is done, Jim," he said, trying to focus his thought more positively. "The important thing is that no one-- including us-- was hurt. Everything else can be replaced."

Jim nodded. "And the stuff we had in storage in the basement might be salvageable. I think there are a couple of boxes left from your last exploding house." He managed a weak smile.

"At the rate I lose all my earthly goods, maybe I should become a Buddhist," Blair joked.

"And cut off all your hair?"

"Well, actually, 'dispossessed Jew' works, too," he said with a wry smile.

"Job."

Blair shook his head, knowing Jim spoke of the biblical figure who lost everything, yet still didn't curse God. "Job not only lost his possessions, he also lost his family. I still have mine, Jim. Naomi's just down the hall, and you're right here. I got nothing to complain about."

"The original 'Mr. Silver Lining'," Jim teased.

"Yep. Did I ever mention my middle name was Sunshine?" Blair quipped. His smile became broader when he saw true amusement shine out of Jim's eyes. Well, if being an empath meant he could lighten Jim's emotional load like this, then, dammit, he didn't have a problem with it.

Before either could make another comment, someone knocked on the door. They both turned to see Lynne Reese enter.

"Gentlemen," she said, looking at Blair in surprise. "Detective Sandburg, you seem to be outside your current jurisdiction. But since I come bearing good news, I'll let you stay a few more minutes before chasing you off."

"Good news?" Jim sat up, not completely able to hide a wince as his head protested the movement. "I can always use some of that, Lynne. What is it?"

She beamed at him. "You've been given a clean bill of health. You can go home tomorrow."

"Go ho...." Jim mumbled an apology, scrambled out of the bed, and sprinted to the bathroom. The faint sound of retching could be heard from behind the closed door.

"Jim?" Lynne started toward the bathroom, but stopped when Blair spoke.

"Give him a few minutes to himself, Colonel. He doesn't like anyone standing over him when he's sick."

"Sick? What's wrong with him? His blood samples have all come back anthrax free."

"It's not anthrax. Your words just threw him for a loop, that's all." Blair didn't say how close he was to joining Jim in his worship at the altar of the porcelain god.

She looked at him bewilderedly. "My words? All I said was that he could go home."

"He doesn't have one anymore. We...don't," Blair said very softly. He could see she was still confused. "While Jim was at the funeral, someone blew up the place where we lived."

"My God!" Lynne glanced anxiously at the closed door. "I didn't know. No one informed me. Dammit! Is it related to the investigation of Sirocco?"

Blair shrugged. "It's too soon to tell, but that's the prevailing theory at the moment. Further--"

"Sandburg, you in here? Good," Simon was saying even as the door was flying open. "Joel just called and--" He stopped when he saw Blair wasn't alone. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"The loft's gone. I know, Simon. Jim told me."

"He's back?" Simon looked around the room, gripping the IV stand he'd had to drag along.

"He's in the bathroom making a ritual sacrifice."

Simon grimaced. "I knew he was going to take it hard. The guys are at the station right now, digging through your files."

"And they aren't going to find a thing," Jim said, standing in the bathroom doorway. "You need to convince them that their time would be better spent working on something they can solve."

"Normally, ma'am," Simon said, hoping to stop Jim from saying something confidential, or inflammatory in front of whoever this pretty visitor was, "my men know better than to parade around in their underwear when ladies are present."

Jim snickered. "Lynne's no lady, Simon. She's a doctor and a colonel. Lynne, this is Captain Simon Banks. Simon, Colonel Lynne Reese, commander of USAMRIID."

"My pleasure, ma'am," Simon said politely, cocking an eyebrow in Jim's direction.

"It's nice to meet you while you're awake, Captain," Lynne said. "I've checked in on you occasionally."

"And now that you've been properly introduced she can ask you questions," Jim said, heading toward his bed. "Preferably in someone else's room."

"Is he going to threaten me, too?" Lynne asked. Ignoring the hint to leave, she wrapped her hand around his wrist and glanced at her watch.

"You threatened the lady, Jim?" Simon inquired, trying to get on the same page as the others.

"Call her a lady again, and she's probably going to deck you," Jim warned. "And no, I didn't threaten her. Sandburg did."

"What?"

Lynne shrugged. "It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for. Is this the first time today you've been nauseous?"

"Yeah."

"Did you eat anything other than breakfast?" Blair asked.

"You threatened her, Sandburg?"

"You want me to prescribe something for the nausea?"

"No. Most anti-nausea drugs affect him adversely. Damn, I wish I had that SCK. There are some herbs he tolerates pretty well. But you can get me some hydrocortisone, one percent topical. See these welts--"

"You're an officer of the court now, Sandburg. You can't go around threatening--"

"What caused this?"

"Something in the shirt, perhaps, or...." Blair pulled back the sheet and thin blanket to expose Jim's legs. "Yep. It's the soap. Just use water in the morning, okay? We can send out for your soap tomorrow, and then you can take a proper shower. How the hell did you tolerate any clothing at all today?"

"I told you, I had it under control until all this other shit hit the fan."

"Under control? What exactly does that mean?"

"Don't sweat it, Lynne."

Simon got it. The doctor suspected something was "suspicious" about Jim, and Blair had warned her off. Typical. However, if the doctor was indeed a threat.... No. Jim was treating her like a friend. Shit. That was probably worse.

"Can we get that hydrocortisone, Colonel? The welts are spreading."

"I'm calling the nurse's station right now, Detective."

"Jim, I need you to relax."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that, Sandburg? Everyone's screaming around my bed--"

"No one's screaming, Jim."

"Maybe not from where you stand."

Shit, Jim. Watch your mouth. "Ellison, listen to your partner. Shut up and relax. We're just trying to help you."

"If you want to help me, find me somewhere to live. At least you were leaving anyway, Chief."

Leaving? Simon lost it again. "What do you mean he was leaving?"

"Blair's going to Duke to finish his education."

"I don't know about that, Jim. With all this coming down--"

"No way are you backing out of this, buddy. We talked, and--"

"That was before we had to rebuild our lives from scratch, Jim."

"You can rebuild in North Carolina."

"What do you mean, 'finish his education'? I thought it was finished."

"Naomi got him into Duke. It seems he really didn't do anything illegal."

"My life is not in North Carolina. It's here with you, Jim, and you are not going to use this-- misfortune of ours to get rid of me."

"I don't want to get rid of you, Chief. I told you I need you. But I don't want--"

"Duke? When were you guys planning on telling me about this? I'm still your boss, dammit."

"Shit, Jim. You're turning fire engine red here. Do your breathing exercises, man."

"Does this mean you're leaving the department, Sandburg? You think Jim can--"

"Here's the hydrocortisone, Detective Sandburg. I think-- Jim! You look awful. And you have a temperature. What the hell is going on here?"

"See? You can't leave Jim, Sandburg--"

"Stop it." Blair said the words quietly, but forcefully. "Everyone out. Now."

"I can't leave a pa--"

Simon placed a guiding hand on Lynne's back. "It's okay, Colonel Reese. As soon as we leave, Blair will make Jim comfortable, and then he'll toddle off to his own room. Right, Sandburg?" Blair ignored him to continue murmuring soothing words to Jim. Simon shook his head. "I doubt if either one of them knows we're here. Let's go, Colonel."

She didn't protest until they were out of the room. "I don't appreciate being forced out of my patient's room," she said stiffly.

"Even if it was for your patient's benefit?"

"Jim was exhibiting signs of severe allergic reaction. Detective Sandburg is not a doctor."

"But no one knows how to take better care of Jim than he does. If Jim requires medical attention, Blair will make sure he gets it." Simon turned towards his own room.

"Captain Banks," she called after him. "This doesn't faze you at all, does it?"

"Partners take care of each other, Colonel Reese. Maybe it's a cop thing."

"Or maybe it's a sentinel thing."

Simon paused. "Isn't that something you put on your dogs to keep them from getting heartworm?"

"Not according to certain archived issues of the Cascade Times."

"I wouldn't know; I stay away from the media as much as possible."

"Unlike a couple of your men. Ellison and Sandburg seem to be media favorites. Especially Ellison. He's quite the dedicated officer."

"Must be why he got Officer of the Year honors," Simon remarked dryly. "But I don't know why you're surprised. After all, it was you people who trained him."

"We can't take all the credit. Some of it had to be genetic."

Simon started back down the hall. "I don't mean to be rude, Colonel Reese, but it's been a while since I've been upright this long. I'm going to bed now, and I suggest you do the same. Maybe a good night's rest will help you straighten out certain priorities."

"Or you'll help me straighten them out?"

"Your words, Colonel, not mine."

Simon entered his room and closed the door.

*****

"This is not the way to convince me that it's safe to leave you alone for a day, much less a year," Blair said, as he dabbed ointment on the welts on Jim's arms.

"You know this isn't the usual way I handle stress, Chief."

"And your usual way is so much better, right? The silently suffering hero with the clenched jaw. Or maybe the indignant, bitching hero, with the flashing eyes. Which were you going for this time, Jim?"

"Fuck you, Sandburg."

"Oh, the bitching one. Good choice. I always thought that was better, more expressive, you know? Well, I'm here and listening, so bitch on, MacDuff. I'd just appreciate it if you kept the comments about my mother to a minimum. After all, she's just down the hall."

"You don't have to act so sacrificial," Jim muttered. "You were the one who kicked everyone else out."

"Not sacrificial-- martyred, Jim. I'm just a poor, suffering martyr to the cause."

Jim snorted, feeling a bit more under control thanks to the ointment, and a certain proximity to the one known as his Guide. "What cause?"

"The Protecting Jim Ellison From His Own Stupidity cause." Blair looked up from his ministrations. "You have to stop bottling all this up inside you, Jim. What did you do when you saw the loft? Did you yell? Did you slam your fist into the car? Did you cry? No. I know exactly what you did. You stood there, and you watched it burn, smoke, whatever, then you turned to Joel, and asked, 'Can you give me a ride back to the helipad?' You didn't let a single emotion escape, did you?"

"I'm not an emotional guy."

"That's bullshit! We're all emotional people, Jim."

"I don't see you bawling your eyes out," Jim retorted defensively.

"Then maybe you're not looking hard enough."

Jim placed his hand on top of Blair's, stopping him from applying more of the hydrocortisone. "It'll be okay, Chief. We'll fix up the loft, or if the structural damage is too bad, we'll find us another place. It's like I told Carolyn: home isn't just where you live; it's the people who live there with you."

"You and Carolyn talked quite a bit, didn't you?"

Jim nodded. "More than before, but not nearly enough."

"You were going to try again?"

"Who knows, Chief? We'd always done the early stuff easy-- the connecting, the learning of which buttons to push and which to avoid, sex.... It was the long-term stuff we couldn't handle-- living together, communicating, compromising. We probably wouldn't have made it past that point."

"I don't know. You'd probably both grown since your last attempt. I know you have. From what little I knew of Carolyn, I'd say she had, too."

"Maybe. But we'll never know, will we?" Jim turned his head away from Blair, his eyes closed. "You believe in curses, Sandburg?"

Blair looked at him in surprise. "You think you're cursed?"

Jim shrugged. "Maybe all the Ellison men are. Dad couldn't keep Mom. Steven couldn't keep his wife. I just buried mine today."

"Don't do this, Jim. Don't start blaming curses for everything that goes wrong in your life. It's not healthy. Bad shit just happens, you know that."

"But does it always have to happen to me?" Jim's eyes widened as soon as he closed his mouth. "I didn't just say that, did I?"

"Yep, Jim. You just committed the ultimate whine," Blair replied solemnly. "Next stop: the talk shows. And then the researchers will come out of the woodwork, writing books on when the Ellison curse began," he continued, when he saw Jim appreciated the lightening of the mood. "Probably had something to do with sheep."

Jim gave an amused snort. "Sheep? You're a sick man, Sandburg."

"Me? I didn't say how the sheep were involved, did I? That was your own sick mind, Ellison" Blair pulled back the covers and inspected Jim's legs. The fiery welts had subsided to pink spots. He put the covers back into place, closed the ointment, and went into the bathroom to wash his hands.

When he returned to Jim's bedside, he saw that his partner had curled up on his side, tears leaking from the corners of his tightly closed eyes. He sighed. The contrary bastard. If it had been something impersonal like a screw-up in court, Jim would have stomped around with a growl, banged his fist into a wall, yelled at someone, or found some other way of releasing his feelings. But when it was personal, when it affected that giant, sensitive heart of his, Jim closed up like a tulip at night, protecting his fragile center from the creatures of the dark and shadows.

"You're tired, Chief," Jim said, his voice a mere whisper. "Go on to your room. I'll be okay now."

"You shouldn't be alone."

The red-rimmed eyes opened. "I'm not."

Blair nodded, and pulled "Ivy" slightly behind him. "Goodnight, Jim."

"Night."

Just as Blair closed the door, he heard Jim call to him, "And neither are you, Chief."

Blair smiled, and wearily made his way back to his room.

Chapter Fifteen

"Do we have a problem, Sandburg?" Simon demanded as he walked into Blair's room late the next morning.

"I don't know. What have you done?" Blair asked as he stretched. He would still be asleep if the resident bloodsuckers hadn't come around for their morning extractions.

"I'm talking about Colonel Reese," Simon explained, taking a chair.

Blair could see from the bandages on his captain's arm that the bloodsuckers had descended upon him as well. At least Ivy had been detached and sent to the corner of the room. "I don't know. What have you done?" Blair repeated.

"Dodged a handful of leading questions. She's been messing around in the archives of the Cascade Times."

"Fuck. The only thing I can say is that Jim considers her a friend."

"That's not very reassuring, Sandburg. One, she's a female. Two, she's a friend of Jim's. Three, she's a friend of Jim's. You see where I'm going with this?"

"You and I are Jim's friends, Simon. What does that say about us?"

"That the law of averages works."

Blair had to laugh. "He'd kill us if he knew we were sitting around plotting how to keep him safe."

"Well, to kill us he'd have to be free, and not locked away in some government facility."

Blair sobered. "That's true. I don't know what to tell you, Captain. Jim's being given the green light today, so maybe with him gone, she'll head back to Maryland, curious but unsatisfied."

"She doesn't look like the type who settles for anything less than total satisfaction."

"Then we'll just have to rely on Jim's charm to get him through this. He can work her, Simon. It wasn't mere duty that sent her three-thousand plus miles to help him."

"Jim isn't in any condition to be charming, Sandburg. He's hurting, and you know how that affects him."

"Good morning, everyone!" Jim said, coming into the room. He was dressed in the slacks from one of his suits, topped by a well-fitting T-shirt. A pair of shades stuck up from the shirt pocket, adding an air of "Californian" to the Sentinel.

"What the hell have they pumped into you now?" Blair asked angrily. "I told the colonel not to--"

"Whoa, Chief!" Jim said hastily. "I'm not 'on' anything. I have an appointment with a realtor, and I want to give the image that I'm the kind of person you can trust your furnished suburban home with for a few weeks. I figured 'dangerous cop whose home was blown up' just wouldn't cut it."

Blair frowned. "The suburbs? Why are you trying to find something in the suburbs? We've done the 'burbs, Jim. It wasn't pretty, remember? Gun clubs in the garage, swingers and assassins next door."

"Sorry, Chief, but we need somewhere for you guys to recuperate. An air mattress on the floor of some apartment is fine for me, but you're going to need furniture. I figured a sublet for a month, maybe less if I can get away with it."

"You can bunk with me for a while, Jim," Simon offered.

"Thanks, Captain, and we might take that option later. But you, Blair, and Naomi all need beds. I just think it'll be easier in a bigger place."

"I have to admit the thought of my bed does sound nice," Simon sighed. "Nobody waking me up at the crack of dawn to stick a needle in me, no mattress that hisses every time I turn over. How the hell did you stand it, Jim?"

The automatically adjusting beds were supposed to alleviate the possibility of bedsores, but Jim figured at least with bedsores he would have had at least one decent night's sleep. "I didn't. That's why despite not having a home to go to, I am getting out of here today. Sleeping at my desk has to be better than this."

"So, did the colonel say anything about when we'll get sprung?" Blair asked eagerly.

"Maybe a couple of days. But you're going to be on oral antibiotics for at least a month." Jim glanced at his watch, which had been returned to him along with the other personal items he had, like his keys and wallet. "I have to go or I'm going to miss my ride to Cascade. Anything you need me to pick up at the office for you, Simon? I have to go by there to pick up the truck. Traffic was kind enough to have both vehicles towed to the garage, instead of leaving them outside the loft."

"Joel seems to have everything under control, but you can ask him if he needs to get something to me."

"Will do, sir. You two stay out of trouble while I'm gone. I'll be back this afternoon to check on you. And take it easy on Lynne. She's curious, but she's not dangerous."

Blair smiled. "Okay, Jim. We'll take your word for it and behave ourselves."

"Yeah, what he says, Jim," Simon said agreeably.

Simon waited until he figured Jim was too far away to hear him. "'She's not dangerous,' he says."

"I swear I felt someone walk across his grave when he said it," Blair admitted. "Maybe we should try some of that charm stuff ourselves, Simon."

"Double-team her, huh?"

Blair grinned. "Sounds like a plan, Captain."

*****

Jim made it to the relative safety of the station's elevator before he dared to ratchet his touch dial up a notch. Why everyone who offered their condolences felt the need to pat, punch, squeeze, or otherwise assault his shoulder, he had no idea. However, it was heartwarming to know so many people cared about what happened to him and Blair.

Stepping out onto the sixth floor, he turned the dial back down again just in time as Brown came down the hall. "Jim, my man, how's it hanging?" the detective asked, thumping his colleague on the back.

"We're surviving, H. Anything new in the investigation?"

"We're still on the outside. Marshal Avery hasn't cleared the way for forensics to go on-scene yet. Most of the damage was done to your place, but apparently the explosions did a number on the building's struts."

"Explosions?"

Brown nodded as they walked into the Major Crime bullpen. "Aerial shots show at least three different blast points. It looks like an expert wiring job."

"Only the best to take out my home," Jim said dryly.

A shoulder squeeze this time. "It'll be all right, bro. We look after our own, you know."

"Brown speaks for all of us," Joel said, approaching them. "It's good to see you, Jim. You and Blair doing okay?"

"I think Blair's still in a state of shock. Probably won't become real to him until he sees it for himself."

"Like you."

"Like me," Jim agreed. "I just came by to pick up the truck so I can run some errands. I'm supposed to meet the insurance agent at the site, then stop by the bank and rearrange some funds. I'm also scheduled to meet with a real estate agent."

"Sounds like a busy day. But if you can squeeze me in a few minutes, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure, Joel. Is now good?" Jim asked. He smiled at the other Major Crime members who were patting him as they passed. Humans and the Comfort of Touch. Sounded like another good anthropological dissertation topic. Who knew the police department was so rife with fodder for the anthropological crowd?

"Come on in to Simon's office." Joel shut the door behind them, and unlocked a file drawer. He extracted an envelope and handed it to Jim. "This is for you and Blair. The fund was started even before we got back from the site yesterday."

Jim looked down at the bills stuffed into the envelope, and felt his throat close up. "Tell everyone thanks," he rasped. "We-- Blair and I-- appreciate this. We really do."

"As Henri said, we take care of our own, Jim. And so do the citizens of Cascade." He reached into the drawer and brought out a handful of multicolored, multi-sized mail. "This stuff has been arriving all morning. The front desk says that people just come in and drop them on the desk without a word."

Jim saw more bills and checks in the envelopes. "Damn," he whispered.

"You've been good to the people, Jim. I think they relish the opportunity to give something back to you. The money may not equal the peace of mind you've given them over the years, but it makes them feel good to do something, you know?"

Jim just nodded, overwhelmed by the generosity of strangers. He looked at Joel in disbelief when the captain handed him two more envelopes. "Your brother dropped these off."

"Looks like I'm going to be using all my spare time writing thank-you notes," Jim said, awkwardly joking. "Think I'll go over to my desk and sort these out before I go to the bank."

"It's your desk, Jim."

"Yeah, it's nice to know something of mine still exists."

Jim had put the cash in a discreet pile in the shadow of his computer, and the checks in another pile. Even though he was in a police station, he didn't want to become too big of a target for criminals; after all, he'd hate to have to murder someone on what was turning into a very nice day. He shook his head as he added another check to the stack. Five thousand, from Steven, with a nice note asking about Blair, and offering his help in any way. Beneath that one was one from William; no note, just a clear statement on the memo line of the check-- Gift, not loan.

"Jim?"

He looked up to find Joel next to his desk, with a well dressed man standing beside him. "Yes, Captain?"

"This is Andrew Blevins. He's an attorney for Wilkenson."

"The Wilkenson?" Wealthiest man in the city. Had this huge building named after him to prove it.

"Mr. Wilkenson asked me to see that you received this personally."

Another envelope. Someone was going to top William's generous twenty-five thousand dollar check? Jim's sensitive fingers told him immediately it wasn't a check. He ripped open the envelope and two plastic cards fell out. Some kind of key cards. "What's this?" he asked the lawyer curiously.

"Keys to the penthouse at Wilkenson Tower. It's yours to use for however long you and Detective Sandburg need it. It's fully furnished, and the refrigerator was stocked this morning for you."

Jim was flabbergasted. "Uh, tell Mr. Wilkenson that we thank him, but we couldn't possibly--"

"That's why I was asked to deliver this personally, Detective Ellison. By accepting this offer, you are in no way violating any laws. Mr. Wilkenson is not asking, nor will he ever ask, for anything in return. The penthouse is for foreign members of staff who travel with their families, and therefore remains empty ninety-nine percent of the time. When he saw the remains of your home on the evening news last night, he immediately thought of the wasted space at the top of his building and concluded that if anyone deserved to know that they had a roof over their heads, it was you and Detective Sandburg. The Mayor, Police Commissioner, and State Attorney General agree."

"How the hell can I say no after that?" Jim mumbled.

"Exactly, Detective. The penthouse has a separate entrance and private elevator. Security will show you around. Have a nice day." The attorney left before Jim could find his voice again.

"Guess you can cross the real estate agent off your list," Joel said. He patted Jim's hand, chuckling at the detective's bewildered expression. "People like you, Jim. You're just going to have to get used to it."

Jim nodded. "Sandburg's made a lot of friends."

"It's sorta hard not to like him. In fact, I don't see how people do it. It's like that thing about how it takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown. I think it takes less effort to like Blair than it does to dislike him."

"Don't I know, Joel. How the hell do you think I went from letting him stay with me for a week, to putting his voice on the answering machine?" Jim asked with a self-mocking grin.

"Yeah, poor Jim," Joel said, rolling his eyes. "By the way, here's some more envelopes for you." He placed them on the desk, and walked away. A second later, he was back, bending across the desk to reach Jim's ear. "And it's not just Blair who's made friends, Jim. We both know that."

Whistling a jaunty tune, Joel made his way back to his temporary office, while Jim sat back, allowing a somewhat goofy smile to widen into a dazzling grin.

*****

"Colonel Reese, we're glad you could see us."

Lynne nodded carefully at Captain Banks as she entered Detective Sandburg's room. The request to see her had been a surprise, and she was wary of what they wanted to talk about. "Captain Banks, Detective Sandburg. What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"You can accept our apologies," Blair said. "We realize we've let our paranoia get the best of us, and we're sorry. It's just that, as I said earlier, we've run into government types before and the experiences haven't been pleasant. Also, Captain Banks informed me that you've been researching the media. That was also a difficult situation."

Lynne sat in the chair they obviously intended her to take. "Jim's...different, isn't he?"

A careful shrug. "We're all different, Colonel."

She nodded. So that was the way the conversation was going to go; nothing admitted to, but implied. Just a typical military dialogue. "But sometimes differences are good things, and should be shared, maybe even explored."

"I think that was the rationale for the first zoo, wasn't it?" Blair replied, his bitterness not far from the surface.

"But think of the species zoos have preserved."

"But how much are we interfering with nature when we do that, Colonel?" Blair argued. "Some things are meant to be, when they are meant to be. By preserving them past their time, we might be interfering with nature's long-range plans. What if that niche we protect is supposed to belong to some upcoming species? By preserving the old, we could be limiting the future."

"If Jim were to be labeled, which would you label him as-- future or past?"

"Jim would be one of the rare creatures who spans both worlds. A symbol of the past, perhaps a direction for the future."

"So he should be preserved," she posed.

"Not preserved, but protected."

"Can they not be one and the same?"

"No. Not within these confines. We live in an age where mysteries are consigned to the dark, catalogued and hidden away supposedly for the good of the people and the mysteries themselves." Blair lifted an eyebrow. "Ever hear of Area 51?"

"That's not on any map I've ever seen, Detective."

"Exactly, Colonel. Wouldn't you hate for Jim not to appear on any map as well?"

Lynne shook her head. "That wouldn't happen. Hypothetically speaking, if Jim is what your thesis said he is, certain persons would probably want to study him, test him surely, but-- "

"Study him from the inside out? Test his blood, his cells, dissect him--"

Lynne looked at Blair in amazement. "I was prepared to overlook the Area 51 reference, but I think you are the one misled by the media, Detective."

"That's right, Colonel. I lie. The media lies. But the Army is one-hundred percent above board, right? You haven't kidnapped psychics and tried to recreate them. You haven't taken children and tried to redirect their brain signals. You know nothing at all about experiments in remote viewing and--"

"What my officer is trying to say, Colonel," Simon interrupted, "is that it would only take one overzealous scientist to perhaps go too far in studying the differences in certain people, or in trying to duplicate those differences, and Jim would be in grave danger. I'm a policeman, ma'am, and I know all about trying to police your own people. No matter how hard you try, someone is going to slip through the cracks. We just don't want Jim to run into one of those."

Lynne looked into the captain's brown eyes and saw the same fear she saw in the blue ones that she also faced. Damn. She wished she could assure them that they truly were being paranoid, but she couldn't. She knew all too well just how excited some would become at the thought of a-- what had Detective Sandburg called him?-- yes, a sentinel actually existing. Hell, she'd already had to restrain some of them in the lab because of the anthrax. They'd wanted a closer study of the victims, and although she hadn't said anything to Jim, Ms. Plummer's autopsy had been extremely "thorough". She could imagine her colleagues not only wanting to understand what Jim could do, but wanting to "make" more Jims. So dangerous.

She thought back to their time in the jungle. She hadn't noticed Jim do anything out of the ordinary, other than keep them alive. So could she honestly say she believed what she'd read in the paper. And Detective Sandburg had renounced his findings. Who was she to call the man a liar? Still.... "What happens if these differences occur in someone else? Shouldn't there be documentation? Shouldn't someone have knowledge of what's going on?"

"Someone does, Colonel." Simon looked at Blair.

Lynne gave a wry smile. Why else would a former anthropologist become a cop? Why else would he have put together such an extensive notebook on allergies, and know instantly what drugs his partner could or could not tolerate? "Will that person's findings ever be shared?"

Blair shrugged. "If necessary. Or when the information can't hurt the subject anymore."

Lynne closed her eyes, trying to decide if she could do what these men wanted her to do. She knew she had been manipulated, and part of her was angry at their change in tactics. At least the animosity was honest. But she could also sense the desperation underlying their words. Sandburg had mentioned twice that Jim had already undergone some kind of trauma because of what he was. Would she, for the sake of the science that was her life's work, put him at risk again? "I met Jim under very trying conditions," she said softly. "My team and I were trapped between warring guerillas in the bush of Brazil. An arrogant captain with eyes so cold that I shivered in humid ninety degree heat, told me that if we listened to him, we would survive. There were times, instances, where I didn't believe him. But every time I was about to give up, this arrogant captain would manage to make me laugh, and the hope that I thought was lost would make a glorious reappearance. I went another mile, and another, and he was right: we survived. To this day, Brazil has been the single most frightening event in my life. But thanks to Jim Ellison, it doesn't haunt me.

"I owe him, gentlemen. I owe him the hope he gave me in Brazil. Whatever I know, whatever I think I know about him, will remain within my heart and my mind. But I want a promise from the two of you: if he ever needs my help, I want you to call me. I know you're gun-shy of military types like me, but I'm truly not your enemy. I'm not his enemy." She stood and held out her hand. "Do we have a deal, gentlemen?"

"I think it's more of a pact," Blair said. "And since it protects Jim, I definitely agree to it." He shook her hand warmly.

"Count me in," Simon said, also taking her hand.

"Well, in honor of this pact, I'm going to see about getting all of you sprung in the next day or so. I think the less time he spends around here, the better."

"Thank you, Colonel. For everything," Blair said with a blinding smile.

She had to answer it with one of her own. "You're welcome."

Simon waited until he thought she was out of range. "You almost blew it, Sandburg. The idea was to finesse her, not get her hackles up."

"I know, I know. But she hit a nerve when she started playing that whole 'denial' game, and--"

"What 'denial' game? And I distinctly remember telling you two to behave."

Blair and Simon looked guiltily at the door where Jim stood, his arms folded in disapproval.

"Hey, Jim! You back already?" Blair asked perkily.

"I've been gone the entire day, Sandburg," Jim reminded him. "And if I don't want to spend the night here again, I have to be leaving soon. The last ferry back to the mainland departs in a hour."

"Ferry? You drove here?"

"Yeah. It feels good not to have to rely on anyone else for transportation. So, what have the two of you been up to? Harassing my friends again?"

"Actually, Detective, we've been making friends," Simon said haughtily. "Sandburg and I realized we were being paranoid, and we acted to make amends."

"If you're such good friends now, what was the crack about the 'denial' game?" Jim asked shrewdly.

"Friends can disagree," Blair replied. "Since you're determined not to spend the night here, does that mean you have somewhere else to spend it?"

"When I left here, Sandburg, I said I was going to find us somewhere to stay. I'm a man of my word."

"Just how 'burb-y' is it, man? Is the lawn well-manicured? Are flags and other outdoor ornaments outlawed? Can you park the truck in the drive, or must such a vehicle be hidden in the garage? How thick is the CCR manual?"

"CCR?" Simon inquired, eager to participate in Blair's distraction ploy.

"Yeah. Covenants, Codes, and Restrictions. It's a Satan's pact you have to sign before they let you move into 'the best' neighborhoods. It explains what's 'appropriate' in certain residential areas. No flags, no trucks, boats, or RVs in plain sight. No outdoor pets, no children--"

"Sounds like a bunch of elitist crap," the captain snarled. "Probably no black folk either, right?"

"It depends, Simon. I mean, are they well-trained black people? Because you know we can't have loud noises and lewd behavior marring a perfect community."

"And everyone knows I have to love hip-hop, and getting my groove on in the front yard is an absolute must." Simon's eyes glared from behind his glasses.

"Guess Jim's going to have to smuggle you in and keep you locked up in the basement, Captain. After all, in the 'burbs, conformity is necessary for safe communal living."

"Not all of us can be meerkats, Sandburg," Jim said, wondering how this conversation started, and if they really expected it to distract him from investigating how they spent their day. "Speaking of, I'm going to check on Naomi for a few minutes before I leave. Also, you know exactly what I would do with a CCR agreement, Chief. Oh, and by the way, you're both full of bullshit, and I will find out what happened here today. "

"Blah, blah, blah," Blair said, mimicking a talking mouth with his hand. "Tell Mom I'll see her in the morning. And Jim, keep tomorrow open. We might need you to come get us."

Jim looked at him meaningfully. "I knew you'd been up to something. But don't worry, I'll be here, Chief. I'll feel a lot better when we're all home in Cascade."

"So say we all," Blair whispered as he nodded to his partner in crime.

Simon just winked.

Chapter Sixteen

"So, are we going by the station first?" Blair asked from the backseat, where he sat with his mother. Jim had driven the captain's car to pick them up from Oak Harbor. Blair was sure that once or twice he'd noticed Simon, who was sitting up front with Jim, flinching as Jim drove with his usual Ellison 'flair.'

"No."

"You just want to scare Simon to death by taking his car into city traffic?"

"No."

Blair looked to Simon for help, but the captain was in a sort of petrified fugue state. The poor man was more than likely remembering the last time Jim drove his car. There were probably still parts of it in the dark corners of the airport's parking deck. "Uh, you aren't taking us by the loft, are you?" The thought of seeing the loft was suddenly uncomfortable.

Jim shook his head. "I thought we'd do that tomorrow. Just the two of us."

Blair nodded. "So, what are we doing in the middle of downtown? The 'burbs are thataway." He pointed in the opposite direction.

"You sounded unhappy about the 'burbs, Chief, so I decided 'If my friend wants urban, I'll give him urban,'" Jim explained, with a grin that made Blair nervous.

"We're not staying at the Y, are we? I mean, I have nothing against it, but you are so not going to like--"

"We're not staying at the Y." Jim turned into an underground parking deck.

"This is for Wilkenson Tower. Gonna stop and get me flowers from the florist on the first floor?" Blair teased.

Jim ignored him, and rolled down the window for the approaching security guard. "Hi, John."

"Hi, Detective Ellison. I see you managed to collect your family all right." He peered into the car, and Blair could see he was memorizing their faces. "You folks have a good evening."

"You, too," Jim said politely. He pulled into a space marked "Private", and opened his door. "Everyone out," he called when no one moved.

"What?" Simon managed to ask, now that his car was safely parked.

"We're home."

"This is an office building, Jim."

"A tall office building," Blair added.

"With a penthouse on the top floor," Jim said. He took out the keycard and slid it into an innocuous looking slot. A panel hissed back to reveal a plush elevator car.

"I don't believe this," Blair murmured as the door closed and the elevator began surging upward.

"Wilkenson made sure to clear it with everyone but the President of the United States, so by the time the offer was made, there was no way I could turn it down. I figure we'll camp here for a week or two until we can find something more suitable."

"This is not camping, Jim," Blair said as the elevator opened directly into the penthouse. An expanse of obscenely white carpet spread out before them. Equally white leather furniture, paired with crystal-topped tables, completed the elegant setting. "Although this place is about as big as a couple of state parks I know. About that offer to stay in the 'burbs, man...."

"Can you believe this is supposed to be for company officials who travel with their families?" Jim asked, still amazed at the stupidity of the decorator. "I wonder if Wilkenson knows why the apartment is empty ninety-nine percent of the time."

Blair looked longingly at his friend as Jim stepped out into the penthouse. "I'm scared, Jim."

Jim sighed. "Take off your shoes if it makes you feel more comfortable." Three pairs of shoes were quickly removed and shoved in Jim's direction. He chuckled and set them aside.

"The bedrooms are more user friendly," Jim said when he turned around to find that they had timidly left the elevator. They seemed to be in a trance as they stared at the whiteness, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't zoned yesterday. "Down the hall are the bedrooms. I've given you the master suite, Naomi. I've already put away the things I bought for you. You can go shopping tomorrow for something you like."

She smiled warmly. "You did an excellent job of shopping for me, Jim. Should I be flattered that you know not only my sizes but my tastes so well, or is this a by-product of your sentinel abilities?"

Jim flushed. "Guess it's more of a by-product of being a cop. Observation skills are a top priority. That's why your son does so well."

She covered a yawn. "You would think that after all that time in the hospital--"

"You don't have to apologize. You're all still recuperating, and you need to rest. I haven't figured out yet how these two talked the doctors into releasing you so soon." He glared at Blair and Simon.

"Thanks for packing me a bag, Jim," Simon said quickly. "Daryl let you into my place?" He peeked into the room Jim opened for him. The dark wooden furniture seemed acceptable.

"Actually, it was more like a B and E, Captain. I didn't think you'd mind. I'm sure you were as tired of hospital-wear as I was."

"Well, I do mind, Ellison! Why the hell am I paying $39.99 a month for a security system that obviously doesn't work?"

"Change to the $19.99 a month plan, and use the extra cash on better locks," Jim advised.

"Why don't I dump it altogether?" Simon asked with a grunt of disgust.

"Well, the signs discourage casual thieves, and the fire alert part is probably worth the twenty dollars."

"So speaks the expert." The captain looked closely at his detective. "And here I thought the scariest thing about you was your driving skills. By the way, you didn't break into the car, too? I thought I saw keys in the ignition, but it could have been a ploy to give me a false sense of security."

"The entire office knows where you keep your spare car keys, Simon," Jim said quickly, fearing his poor character couldn't handle many more aspersions cast upon it. Gee, wreck a few cars, and suddenly you were an enemy of the state. "So now that that's settled, you should be able to sleep peacefully.

"In this place? The hospital was less sterile. But I am tired; I think it's the antibiotics. See you gentlemen in a few."

Jim moved to the next door. "This one is yours, Chief, right next to mine. So, if you need anything--"

"I'll just whisper as usual," Blair finished with a smile. "What are you going to do while we play invalid?"

"Fill out some paperwork for the insurance company-- which means I might be playing invalid myself in the near future." He gave an exaggerated snore. "Get some rest, Chief. All our problems can wait."

When Blair's door closed, Jim went into his room and got the packet of papers he needed. Stepping back into the hallway, he paused. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sounds around him. The chorus of soft breathing, the hiss of fabric as someone turned over, a snuffle as another eased from a light doze into deeper sleep, the thud of beating hearts. He smiled as he made his way back to the stark white living room. He was home. It might not be under the roof of choice, but his immediate tribe was once again together, and for the most part whole.

Yeah, he thought, defiantly throwing his feet up on the furniture. He was home.

*****

"That smells like one of Louise's casseroles," Blair said, sniffing appreciatively as he stumbled out of the bedroom two hours later. "Man, I need shades to come into this room. It's like snow-blindness. How can you stand it?"

"Sometimes this sentinel thing comes in handy," Jim replied with a smirk, writing his signature for the umpteenth time.

Blair's eyes widened. "You're using an ink pen in here?" he squeaked.

"Chief, you've been held at gunpoint and knife point. You've been kidnapped by serial killers, and chased by psychotics. Don't tell me you're intimidated by a carpet and some furniture."

"Okay, I won't tell you, but can't we talk in the bedrooms or maybe the kitchen? That casserole has my stomach rumbling for it."

"Give it about another twenty minutes, Chief. It is one of Louise's, by the way. The woman is something else. I called her yesterday to apologize for the abrupt way I left the funeral. When I told her about the loft, I had to talk pretty quick to keep her and Paul from driving down here. I assured them that I had somewhere to stay, and that our friends were taking good care of us, and she seemed appeased by that information. So I went on to my appointments and errands. Anyway, I stopped back by the station to see if Joel had any messages for Simon. I was up in Major Crime when the desk sergeant called and said I had a special delivery. I went downstairs and this familiar-looking man was standing there. It took me about two seconds to remember that I'd seen him at Carolyn's wake. Turns out he's Mom and Dad's neighbor, and a trucker. He made the mistake of letting them know he was going to be driving through Cascade, and the next thing the poor guy knows, he has four casserole dishes sliding around in the cab of his truck."

Blair laughed. "Louise is definitely a force to be reckoned with."

"Yeah, the Plummer women are tough." Jim's eyes grew haunted, then he shook himself. "I have some stuff in the bedroom you need to see. I would say have a seat, and I'll bring--"

"Way too much trouble."

By the time Jim caught up with him, he was seated in the center of Jim's bed. "Whatcha' got?" Jim picked up a plastic grocery bag and upended it. Mail swirled out onto the bed and Blair. "What is all this?" Blair asked in wonder.

"Cascade taking care of its own," Jim said proudly. "It seems our predicament made the evening news, and by the following morning, people were dropping off cards and monetary gifts at the station. Most were given anonymously. Still, I wrote down the amount that was in each card." He handed Blair the list, then gave him a large brown envelope. "This is the one that almost made me lose it."

Blair's hand trembled slightly. For Jim to admit something like that.... "Who is it from, Jim?"

"Mrs. Murphy's First Grade Class. I don't know a Mrs. Murphy. Do you?" Blair shook his head. "Well, her class decided to draw us some 'happy' pictures to look at when we got sad about our house."

Blair took a deep breath, and laid the envelope reverently aside. "I don't think I should tackle that one just yet."

Jim nodded. "It gets worse. There was thirteen dollars and eighty two cents inside-- mostly in change."

Blair wiped at his eyes. He focused on the list of money instead. "The guys at the station came up with a whopping six hundred and twenty-two dollars? Geez, Jim. I guess you must be feeling bad about getting the first pick of the doughnuts now, huh? I wonder how much we'd gotten if they knew you 'helped' the doughnut dolly load her cart every morning."

"That's right, Sandburg. Ladle on the guilt, why don't you? So as soon as our lives get back to some semblance of normal, we'll-- I'll," he corrected when Blair crossed his arms, "buy doughnuts for each floor. Oh, and we're going to need a really classy thank you note to put into the paper to thank all the anonymous donors. I'll let you take care of that."

Blair gave him the finger and scanned the list again. "Steven gave five thousand!" His hand shook as he did a doubletake. "And your dad gave-- your family has given us thirty thousand dollars, Jim!"

Jim shrugged. "It's just money, Chief. I better go check on that casserole."

Blair shook his head, stopping Jim from leaving with a light touch to his arm. "I don't think it's just money, Jim. And I don't think you think so either."

"I know they're trying to connect, Chief. I know that's why they were at Carolyn's funeral, too. I-- I called yesterday and thanked them. We're going to have dinner together as soon as I get things straightened out."

Blair smiled broadly. "That's great, Jim! You guys working out your differences is so cool. And they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

Jim speared him with a look. "I'm going to be gracious and assume the old dog you are referring to is my dad."

"Absolutely," Blair replied, his eyes twinkling.

Jim shook his head and turned to go check on the casserole, resolutely ignoring the low "arf" he heard coming from the room behind him.

*****

"Anything new with the investigation, Jim?" Simon asked, as they sat in the kitchen after dinner. Jim had refused to let them help with the dishes, but they balked at going into the living room. Even Naomi said the room's aura was all wrong for her.

"Nah. The fire marshal let forensics go in today for a short while. But apparently the building is really unstable. What looks like is going to happen is that Avery is going to let a few people in at a time to salvage what they can, then the building is going to be razed." Jim's eyes sought Blair's. "I'm sorry, Chief."

"Not your fault. I just hope the stuff in the basement survived, especially my notebooks from my observer days with Major Crime."

"Still doing your dissertation on Sentinels, Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"No way, man! I'm going to write on the dynamics of a Major Crime Unit. I really wish you guys could see yourselves the way I did."

"It won't be a problem that you're one of us now?"

"Not if I stick to what I discovered before I got my own badge. That's why I really need those notes."

"Well, we're going to stop by and see the place in the morning, Chief. Then I'll check with the fire marshal about going inside. When we do so, he's going to want a team monitoring the building the entire time."

Blair moved a couple of bottles of spices around. "It's really that bad, Jim?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. That's why I don't think you want some firemen hanging around when you first see it. Whoever did it knew what he was doing."

"What about the rest of this, Jim? What about the guys making Sirocco?"

"When I called the DOD, it became a military matter, Simon. I'm completely out of it now."

"Bullshit. I'm sorry, Naomi," Simon hastily apologized.

"That's all right, Captain. I've heard and used worse, I'm afraid." She looked at Jim. "Have you truly given up on finding them, Jim?"

"I'm not giving up. I'm just letting someone else do the search. The Department of Defense has a better chance of catching up to these people than I do. They have the added incentive of putting a stop to one of their scariest enemies-- biowarfare. Not to mention, if they can get proof of Sirocco's existence, they can ask Congress for a bigger budget."

"Practical to the end," Blair said dryly.

"The military way, Chief."

"You can drop me off at the station before you go check out the loft, Jim," Simon said. "I know Joel's been doing a great job, but--"

"Major Crime is yours, right?" Blair smiled. "That's the kind of stuff I'm going to put into my diss."

"And you have to go all the way to North Carolina to do it?"

"No 'have to's involved, man."

"But Duke's a prestigious school, Simon," Jim interrupted. "Don't you think Blair deserves the best?"

"Of course I do. But--"

"But nothing, Captain. I'm capable of surviving without him for a while. Especially since he's going to make you my official sentinel-sitter."

"Your what?"

"Come on, Simon. I really need your help on this one, man," Blair cajoled. "You know how he is on his own. He eats the wrong foods--"

"You expect me to watch his diet? Get real, Sandburg. You're the only one who can keep him out of Wonder Burger, and you know it."

"If he knows you're reporting directly to me, he'll listen, Captain. The only other things you have to watch out for are headaches and zones. He hasn't zoned in ages, and his headaches-- well, just keep an eye on that crease in his forehead."

"I am NOT going to watch his forehead!"

"You have to, Simon. He gets so bitchy when he has a headache."

"So he has a headache every day?"

"Hey! I'm about to get offended," Jim pointed out.

"You know if you weren't so damned useful, I'd tell you to take a year off and just go with him. But no, even a sentinel without a guide is better than no sentinel at all."

"Why, Simon, I'm touched," Jim drawled.

"In the head," Simon muttered.

Naomi giggled. "I think I'm starting to see why you're so happy, Blair. If you like, I'll check in on Jim for you while you're gone, honey."

"That won't be--" Jim began.

"That's great, Mom!" Blair outtalked him. "I won't be nearly so worried about him if I know you're around to make sure he's-- well, that he's living the way he's supposed to. And that he has someone to share the more metaphysical aspects of being a sentinel with. The captain here, loveable though he is, can be rather skeptical at times."

Jim had mental images of coming home to find his furniture rearranged and sage incense wafting through the air. "Blair, they have phones in North Carolina. I promise I'll call you if I have a dream."

"It's not the same and you know it, Jim. Mom will just be backup, okay?"

"You didn't think you weren't going to see me because Blair wasn't here, did you, Jim?" Naomi asked, patting his hand. "We've gone beyond you just being my son's friend, silly. I was planning on dropping in anyway. Just now, it won't be as big a surprise."

Jim gave a weak smile. "You know you're always welcome, Naomi."

"But it won't be here, right?" Naomi asked with a frown. "The feng shui of this place is awful, and I know a sensitive man like you must feel it."

Jim nodded. "I do. No, it won't be here, but wherever it is, I'll make sure you won't be arrested when you visit."

Naomi laughed. "I never realized you had such a playful sense of humor, Jim. Come on, honey, I think it's time for us to go to bed. We all have a busy day ahead of us."

"You have plans, Mom?"

"Always, dear."

"Don't forget to take your medicine," Jim called as Blair trailed his mother.

"We won't," Naomi replied.

Jim sat at the dinette table and dropped his head down on the well-crafted oak. "Sandburg wants me insane. That has to be his plan, Simon."

"If it is, it's an excellent one," the captain agreed. "But you can handle her, Jim. Truth be told, she'll probably be good for you." He yawned. "Guess it's time for me to turn in, too."

"Night, Simon."

"Night, Jim. And, Jim? He's just trying to make sure you're taken care of. It's not his fault it takes more than one person to fill his shoes."

Jim nodded. "I know, Simon. I know how lucky I am that he is who he is."

"I think you're both lucky. See ya in the morning, Jim. And, Detective?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"I'm driving."

"Yes, sir."

Chapter Seventeen

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"No, you're not," Jim said firmly as they stood across the street from the remains of 852 Prospect. "Just take deep breaths until you feel better."

"Feel better? How the hell can I feel better while looking at that?" Blair asked, his voice husky with emotion. "It looks like a mini Oklahoma City."

Jim tilted his head. It did sort of favor the sheered look of the remains of the Murrah Federal Building. That was just going to validate his point. "You're going to feel better because despite the wanton destruction you see before you, no one was hurt. There's broken glass, bricks, debris, ash, soot.... But there's no blood, Chief. Not a single drop."

Blair straightened. "You're absolutely right, Jim. It could have been much worse."

Jim brushed his shoulder against his friend. "That doesn't stop the hurt though, does it?"

"Not really." He squinted up at the jagged edges. "This was my first permanent home. Sometimes Mom and I stayed in one place for a while, but I always knew that eventually we'd move on, so I never got attached-- to the place, or the people. But I got attached here, Jim."

Jim nodded, performing a discreet sniff. "I know the feeling, Chief. Although most people thought it wasn't much of a home before you came on the scene, it represented an independence I hadn't had before. I went from my dad's house to a college dorm, to an Army barracks, followed by Officer's Quarters. The loft was the first place I could call my own. It was mine to do with as I pleased. The fact that I hadn't done much with it was my choice. Then you showed up and took over."

Blair gave a small smile, then led Jim forward until they were across the street, directly under the damage. The fire department had set orange and white plastic barrels on the sidewalk to keep people away from any falling debris. "I don't know what we're getting so worked up about, Jim. There were bad times here, too. Lash kidnapped me from here, and Cassie's psycho shot up the place. I also have that awful mental picture of you standing on the balcony, the loft completely bare behind you. That was creepy as hell, man."

"I still wonder just how sane I was during that time," Jim murmured, remembering what had jolted his sanity into place-- the same thing that had jolted life back into Blair. "Incacha died up there, too."

Blair shivered. "Do you think anything can be salvaged from the loft itself?"

"Doubtful. Maybe a trinket or two. But--" He stopped suddenly.

"Jim?"

"Get down!" Even as he spoke, Jim was shoving Blair behind the barrels.

Before Blair could get out a breathless, "What?" bullets were whizzing past the spot where his head had just been. Damn. They were under fire, hiding behind plastic, and neither was armed. Their weapons had been returned with their personal items at the hospital, but they had made a stop to personally thank Mrs. Murphy and her class, and knowing the precociousness of first graders, had left their weapons locked in the glovebox of the truck. Preoccupied by thoughts of seeing the loft, neither man had thought to retrieve them afterwards.

"You got your keys, Sandburg?"

"Yeah. What's the plan, man?"

"We retreat into the building and wait for backup." He heard the gunman dump a magazine. Reload time. "Hurry, Chief!"

Jim ripped the crime scene tape and Blair opened the door. Blair watched as Jim secured the lock. "And how do we know backup is coming?"

Jim pulled a slim phone from his hip pocket. "Because you're going to call them while I track the shooter."

Blair took the phone, and let his other hand rest on Jim's arm. He gave the information quickly and succinctly, and was rewarded with the assurance that help was on the way. Whatever else the 911 operator was going to say was lost when Jim shoved him aside, causing him to drop the phone. He looked on in horror as bullets tore through the door.

"Shit! Now what?"

"Up the stairs. Now!"

"Why are we running up? You're never supposed to run up, unless you know up has a way out," Blair muttered as they scrambled along the debris-strewn stairs.

"My backup weapon. Strongbox should have protected it."

If you can find the strongbox. And if you can hang onto the gun. Blair grinned. Colonel Reese had been right; a smile was the best thing for restoring hope. He'd held onto his keys, but he didn't need them. The door had been savagely blown from its hinges.

"Oh, man," Blair muttered as he saw the wreckage inside. The ceiling took up a large portion of the open space.

Jim skirted most of the mess, vaulted over the remains of the sofa, and squeezed around his bed to make his way up the stairs to his room. "Get behind something, Sandburg! He's on his way up!"

Blair dove behind the fireplace and assorted rubble just as the gunman entered the doorway and sprayed the room with automatic fire. It took a while before he realized the loft was quiet, except for faint cursing.

"They'll jam every time," Jim said, and Blair peeked over the top of part of the ceiling to see Jim standing up in the loft where his bed and a rail used to be, gun in his hand. "You might as well drop it, Walker."

"Or what, Ellison? Or else you'll shoot me? My weapon isn't working. According to Carolyn, you're too righteous to shoot an unarmed man."

Walker? This was the asshole who'd accused Jim of killing Carolyn? Fuming, Blair grabbed for the charred beam near his hand.

"Carolyn wasn't perfect, Walker," Jim called, seeing Blair's movement. "Sometimes, she could be completely wrong."

"Shut up! Don't you dare talk about her, you murdering bastard!"

"If anyone killed her, it was you, Walker. You told them where she was. You led them to her. You sold her out."

Walker howled and raised the rifle. The few seconds of cooling allowed the weapon to fire again. Jim dropped to the floor, ignoring glass from the shattered skylight. The burst stopped abruptly when Blair slammed the piece of wood against Walker's head. The man collapsed. Blair kicked the rifle away from him, and looked quickly toward Jim's former bedroom.

"You okay, Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief," Jim stood, brushing himself off. "But we need to get out of here. The place is creaking like hell. The struts are about to give way." Taking a deep breath, Jim dropped beside Blair, startling him.

"Shit, man. Warn me when you're going to do something like that. Grab his arms, and let's get out of here," Blair huffed, reaching for Walker's legs. "Jim?" he added, when his partner didn't move. He hadn't been shot, had he?

Jim bent over and ripped open Walker's jacket. Rows of explosives were taped around his waist, along with a timer that was counting down. Jim grabbed Blair's arm and tugged. "Go, Sandburg. We have to get out of here, now!"

They stumbled their way down the stairs, yelling at incoming officers to pull back. Blair got to the middle of the street before Jim slammed into him. Through the asphalt Blair felt an ominous rumbling, and a sound like echoing thunder deafened him. When he opened his eyes, he saw the air around them was thick with dust and grit. He quickly shut them again. Something shifted atop him: Jim.

"Hey, you okay? Jim?" The body above him lifted, and he turned over to face his partner. "You okay, man?"

"Ears are ringing, Chief. Can barely hear you," Jim said, placing his hands over his ears.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Blair asked anxiously.

"No. What about you?"

"I'm good." He looked around. Everyone he saw appeared shell-shocked, but healthy. "I think we avoided that blood thing again."

"Except for Walker."

"He planned on blowing us up, didn't he? The rifle was basically for show."

Jim climbed slowly to his feet, dragging Blair up with him. "He's dead; his motives don't matter to me anymore."

"Ellison! Sandburg!" They turned to see Brown and Rafe rushing toward them. "You guys okay?" Brown continued yelling.

"Yeah," Jim answered, turning to look at the building, which was now two stories instead of three. "Forensics is going to find some body parts up there."

"You know who?"

"Walker."

Brown growled. "We just got a sheet back on him. He was a demolitions engineer for a northwestern contracting firm, the kind of company you call when you want to blow up something like the Kingdome."

Blair nodded. The old Kingdome in Seattle had been imploded to make way for a new outdoor stadium. Twenty-four years gone in twenty seconds. Just like the loft. "He came after us with an assault rifle, and also wired himself. Guess he was determined to get Jim one way or the other."

"Crazy bastard. Let's get you guys to an ambulance."

"We're fine, Brown. Just the usual assortment of cuts and bruises."

"I'd say you were pretty damn lucky," Simon commented, walking up with Joel.

"Yeah, I'm starting to understand why Carolyn wanted a restraining order on Walker; the guy was tenacious," Blair said.

"And now he's dead," Jim remarked dryly. "Case closed."

"What bug has crawled up your butt, Ellison?" Simon asked, accompanying Jim and Blair to the truck.

Jim sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm just frustrated as hell. It isn't bad enough that we have this shadow organization on our tails, we get a psychopath, too? I'm just wondering how I got on this merry-go-round, and when the hell I'm going to climb off."

"Jim," Blair began.

The fire marshal's SUV pulled up."Ellison! Sandburg! Don't you dare leave before you give me your reports."

"And the carousel ride continues," Jim muttered. Kicking a broken brick out of his way, he crossed to meet Avery.

"He going to be okay, Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"Jim's used to working under pressure, but this is getting ridiculous. Is he going to suffer a meltdown? Speaking from tons of experience, I don't think so. A couple of years ago, he would have lost his senses by now. Emotional crap used to short-circuit him in a heartbeat. But he's not only grown into the gifts nature gave him, he's also grown into his sense of self which stabilizes him. So, no, he's not going to snap, but I think he's going to be in a hell of a bad mood for a while."

Simon grabbed a cigar from his inner jacket pocket and jammed it, unlit, between his teeth. "I started to say I wouldn't want to be the one living with him right now, but I am, aren't I? How long do you think it'll be before he feels comfortable letting me out on my own?"

Blair looked at the captain in surprise. "You understand? That he needs to watch over the three of us for a short while, that he's overcompensating for the loss of Carolyn?"

"Yes, I understand, Sandburg. I'm not a completely insensitive jerk. I've done my share of coddling Daryl after a bad illness. The truth of the matter is that we had a deadly disease, and more of us would have died if Jim hadn't detected our exposure as quickly as he did. That has shaken me, so I know how badly it's rocked Jim. And whether you admit it or not, you have to be on shaky ground as well. Not only were you infected, but so was your mother. You know, it might do Jim some good to know he's not the only one still trying to get over this."

"Wow," Blair said in admiration.

"And in case you're thinking I've turned into this caring, sensitive, turn-of-the-century kind of guy, let me point this out to you-- you have about a mile of white carpet to cross before you reach a shower."

Blair groaned, looking at the grime that obstinately clung to him. "That's cruel, Captain."

Simon laughed wickedly. "Yes, it is, isn't it?"

*****

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?" Jim didn't look up from where he was carefully inspecting an abrasion on Blair's knee for gravel and other foreign objects. Now that they'd made it back to the penthouse and showered off the concealing filth, it was time to patch the injuries. This was taking place in Jim's bathroom because he figured it was more sanitary than Blair's. However, Blair seemed to think it was because of some territorial instinct. Sometimes Blair thought too much.

"Simon said I should tell you how frightened I was when Naomi was sick." Blair sort of rocked back and forth as he sat on the vanity.

"You think I don't know that?" Jim picked up a pair of tweezers and extracted a small shard of glass from the scrape. "You think I couldn't smell the fear coming from you? That's why I made sure to tell you about Naomi's condition every single day. I also let Naomi know how you were, because she was frightened for the very same reason."

"Thanks, Jim."

Jim measured out a small ribbon of triple antibiotic and smeared it on the wound. "I also know about the anger." The knee jerked beneath his hand.

"The what?"

"The anger, Chief. You're angry at Carolyn for getting us into this mess. You're angry at Naomi for not leaving when you asked her to. You're angry at me because I should have forced the issue, and you're angry at yourself because you think you should have pressed harder."

Blair shook his head. "You're wrong, Jim. I never hide my anger. If I'm mad, I let everyone know."

"Except for when you think it's going to cause someone pain, or you think it's unjust. You think you can't blame Naomi for wanting to stay around to help you. You think you can't be angry with Carolyn, because in your heart you know she did the right thing in coming to me. You think you can't be angry with me, because you feel I've had enough shit dumped on me. You could be angry with yourself, but you're afraid you won't be there for us if you indulge in what's very close to being self-pity."

"And you got your psych degree from where?" Blair asked archly.

Jim grabbed Blair's hand, and turned it over to inspect the injuries there. Most of the scrapes were from pushing him to the asphalt just before the explosion. "Go ahead and get angry with me, Chief. I can take it. Your anger is nothing compared to what I have. Not that it's any less valid than mine, but at least you got to bash Walker's head in. That had to take some of the pressure off."

"Is that where your anger is focused, Jim? On Walker?"

"On Walker...and on Carolyn. Guess I took the easy way out by blaming it on the dead guys." He spread more antibiotic.

"You're angry at Carolyn for dying?" Blair hazarded.

"That's the least of it. She had no business dying. She had no business leaving Cascade and getting mixed up in that shit in Oregon. She had no business dating Walker." Jim flung the tube of ointment against the shower wall. "She had no business walking back into my life and into my bed only to die two days later!"

"It wasn't--"

"Don't you dare say it wasn't her fault, Sandburg. She was born with a defective heart. Fine. She didn't mean to see the file on Sirocco. Fine. She didn't invite herself into my bed, and she sure as hell wasn't the only one who enjoyed herself. But she's the one responsible for Walker coming into our lives, and Walker is the one who told those bastards where we were. Walker is the one who blew up our home. Walker is the one who came within seconds of killing us this morning!" Jim sent his fist toward the mirror, but his action was checked by Blair's hand, which deflected the blow.

"I don't think either of us can take seven more years of bad luck, man," he said softly.

Jim laughed weakly, and retreated to the toilet, sitting heavily on its lid. "Walker was Carolyn's responsibility. And Carolyn was mine, Chief. So, in the end, all of this was my fault. It's like that kids' story about an old lady swallowing a fly, then swallowing a spider to swallow the fly, then swallowing a bird to swallow the spider, and so on and so on. It might be swallowing the horse that actually kills the woman, but everybody who listens to the story knows it was really the fly."

"And you think you're the fly?"

"Buzz, buzz," Jim said sadly.

"You ever stop to consider if the old woman hadn't swallowed the fly in the first place, none of the rest would have followed?" Blair reasoned. "The situation existed long before Carolyn got involved, long before you got involved with Carolyn. The old lady just couldn't keep her mouth shut, man. Not your fault. Not Carolyn's fault. You were just gobbled up like the rest of us. She swallowed a horse for God's sake. Not a very picky eater."

"Bet she got to go to Wonder Burger," Jim said with a small smile.

"Yeah, and look what happened to her," Blair pointed out. "And since you're sitting so nicely, let me get a look at those cuts of yours. Keep going at this rate, Jim, and I'm going to have to switch the SCK from a backpack to a duffle bag."

"Think we should buy stock in Johnson & Johnson's?" The company manufactured ninety-nine percent of the first aid products they used.

"You mean we don't have any already? Man, that's like Bill Gates not having any Microsoft stock."

"Uh, maybe we want to rethink that," Jim said, remembering the trouble Microsoft was in. Gates was probably dumping stock on a daily basis.

"Nah, we'll be okay, Jim. Maybe the world can do without Microsoft, but we're always going to need Band-Aids."

"Sad but true, Sandburg." Jim put his hand on the one spreading the retrieved ointment on his arm. "Thanks, Chief."

Blair grinned. "You're welcome, Jim."

*****

Lambert stared out the window while his computer went through the procedure of "burning" a CD. So easy, he thought, to put a lifetime of work onto a little plastic disk. It really showed a person just how insignificant a lifetime was.

He sighed as the shadows lengthened in the grove of trees that was supposed to be a perk. A garden-view, they called it. But he didn't like the trees, and he most especially didn't like the shadows. They reminded him too much of the ones which were gaining on him, those of his past...and more importantly, those of his present. It was all going to end soon, and then the only shadows he'd see would be the ones dancing along with the flames of hell, flames blown about by a searing wind. Maybe it was fitting that a sirocco would be his immortal companion.

The computer beeped, and he hit the appropriate buttons. The disk slid out, the light refracting from the silver surface to shine a prism on the wall. A rainbow was said to be a promise, right? A covenant between God and man. Guess that's what he was doing. Making a covenant, between himself and another.

He pulled out a white cardboard mailer, and slipped the disk inside. Uncapping a Sharpie marker, he scribbled a name on the mailer, and put it in his jacket pocket as he stood. He walked down the hall, and knocked on a door.

"Come in."

"I'm calling it a day, Freer," he said. "See you in the morning."

"Good night, sir."

Lambert patted his pocket as he headed toward the elevator. Tonight wouldn't be a good night, but that was coming soon.

Everything was coming soon.

Chapter Eighteen

"Thanks, man." Blair reached for the bowl of popcorn Jim carried. "I only cross the tundra when I have to. Did I hear the phone ring?"

Jim smiled. The living room had been dubbed the Great White North, only to be ventured through on the way to the elevator. In fact, Blair had gone so far as to turn the master bedroom into a den now that Naomi had gone off with friends-- after promising to return at the end of the month for a complete checkup at Oak Harbor. Simon, too, had left the penthouse for his own place so if he ignored the Arctic Circle, Jim could believe everything was back to normal, at least for the short while Blair was still with him.

"Just a sales call. Think the Jags are going to make it?" he asked, wincing as he lay on the bed and looked down at Blair, who was sprawled on the floor; apparently the dark green carpet was nearly as intimidating as the white. Down three games to one in a best of seven series, it was a do or die situation for their home team.

"I hope they pull it out for Orvelle's sake," Blair replied. Orvelle Wallace, a personal friend, was the Jags interim coach. A former member of the team, he couldn't say no when he was asked to fill in after the Jags coach was found murdered wearing only fishnet hose and a Santa cap.

"I think Orvelle's just glad we haven't have to investigate the team in the past six months. That's a record in itself," Jim said, biting back a groan as he tried to get comfortable.

He wasn't as quick as he thought. Blair's head swiveled around. "Jim?"

"Just a muscle twinge, Chief. Goes along with almost getting blown up a few days ago."

Blair threw his head back against the bed's footboard. "This is when I really miss my stuff and the loft. We had that herbal liniment you liked, remember?"

Jim nodded. "At least we were able to finally get to the stuff in the basement. You got what you needed for your diss, didn't you?"

"Yep. Looks like everything is a go."

"You could sound more enthusiastic, Sandburg. You still agree this is something you need to do, don't you?"

Blair nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess, but after coming close to losing you and Mom, and losing the loft, it just doesn't seem as important as it used to."

"I was afraid of that," Jim sighed. "How about we go to Durham and check the place out? Soak up some of that academic air, and I'm sure you'll regain your enthusiasm."

"We?" Blair asked excitedly.

"Sure, Chief. I'm still in Mother Hen overload. Since my other chicks left, you're 'it' for a while, I'm afraid."

Blair's grin died. "Can we afford to do something like this?"

Jim shrugged. "The insurance is going to pay off. Besides, two tickets to North Carolina won't make much of a dent in Dad's check. I'll even shop around for a cheap flight."

"You sure about this?"

"Yeah. We only have a few more days of Disaster Leave from the department, and you need to let them know that you're quitting."

"I'm not quitting; I'm taking a leave of absence for educational purposes." Blair climbed up on the bed to be eye-level with Jim. "I'm coming back. I'm going to be your partner no matter what."

"I hear you, Chief. Now, pass the popcorn."

*****

"We have an eight-hour layover in D.C.?" Blair asked as the plane reached cruising altitude.

"You're the one who wanted cheap, Jack Benny." The late comedian was known for his penny-pinching ways.

Jim rubed his forehead. "You still have a headache?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded. "The altitude changes aren't helping."

"Could that be it, Jim? Could living in the penthouse be causing your headaches?" Jim had had a headache for the day it took them to get the tickets to North Carolina. It hadn't dawned on him that the height of the building could be the instigator.

"Possibly. We'll worry about it after the trip, all right, Chief? I plan on sleeping my way across the country."

"Sounds like a good idea, man. Must be why they call them red-eye flights, huh?"

Jim nodded and reclined his seat. He felt Blair squirm beside him, and the next thing he knew, a sleeping mask was slipping over his head. "Thanks, Chief."

"I have your white noise earplugs, too."

"You're too much, you know that?"

"So are you."

"What do you mean?"

Blair shook his head. "We'll discuss it later. Let's just sleep for now, okay?"

If it wasn't for the annoying headache, Jim might have pushed the conversation. Instead, he leaned back and let sleep overtake him.

Jaguar opened his eyes to find Wolf staring at him worriedly. His heart raced. He hadn't heard Wolf approach, hadn't sensed him in any way. If Wolf had not been a friend, a trusted companion, he might be dead. What had happened? What magic had prevented him from knowing of Wolf's presence? What evil now plagued his jungle?

He tried to lift his head to assure Wolf that he was awake and on guard. But he found he didn't have the strength for the simple movement. Wolf whined above him, and he felt a broad tongue lap at his fur. A hot wind swirled around him, causing a shiver to dance along his spine. Pain radiated throughout his body. Something was terribly wrong. Whimpering, he crawled closer to his friend, who seemed impervious to the strange air surrounding them. Wolf noticed his actions, and reached out to place a stilling paw on Jaguar's back. The paw was withdrawn quickly, but not before Jaguar saw it was covered in blood.

Ah. No magic. No evil. Just Flesh-Eater. He must have come in with the wind, hiding in the shadows until no one was watching. Jaguar curled up into a tight ball, the pain growing stronger. It seemed that Flesh-Eater was in a playful mood, eager to prolong his torture. Wolf howled, then pressed his head against Jaguar's, telling his friend that he was there, that he wasn't alone.

With a sigh, Jaguar sank against the soft jungle grass and knew that even if Flesh-Eater destroyed him, his soul was well-guarded.

Jim went from sleeping to awake in the blink of an eye. The first thing he did was peel back the eye mask and looked at Blair still sleeping beside him. Well-guarded, indeed. So, Sirocco hadn't been a bust after all. Or had he picked up something else? A stray bug at the hospital, or maybe the air system in Wilkenson Tower did have a fungus growing in it? He reached out his senses and found Blair's temperature normal. His own was not. That meant that Blair didn't have what he had. Good. Probably all those antibiotics had protected him. Still, he'd have to make sure Blair, Simon, and Naomi were all thoroughly checked out. Hopefully, he'd have time to do that before....

Blair stirred, and his eyes opened. "You awake, Jim? Where are we?"

"About an hour away from D.C."

"You sleep okay?" A shrug. "You wanna tell me why we're going to D.C.?"

"We're not going to D.C. We're going to Durham. D.C. just happens to be a point we cross before we get there."

"What are we going to do there for eight hours?"

"We're landing at Reagan National, Chief. You'll be just minutes away from dozens of museums and exhibits."

"And what will you be doing there for eight hours?"

Jim glanced at his partner, his eyes narrowing. "What is it that you think you know, Sandburg?"

"It took me a while to put it together, and I'm not sure what it was that originally tipped me off. It wasn't the idea of the trip itself; it was perfectly logical that you'd do everything in your power to convince me that I belonged at Duke. You would go with me, meet the people I'd be working with, see where I would be living, and it would ease your doubts, which in turn would ease mine. It all made sense, but something niggled at the back of my mind all night. Then you showed me the tickets, and the layover in D.C. was the catalyst for everything to gel in my mind. The sales call you got before the playoff game. What exactly was being sold?"

Jim knew it was useless to try to bluff his way out of it, nor did he have the energy to waste. "Information."

"On?"

"The creators of Sirocco."

"They're in D.C.?"

"A few miles away in Maryland. New offices. New labs."

Blair took a deep breath. "I thought you said you were going to let the military look for these guys."

"The military did look. I just made arrangements that I'd be 'notified' when the search was completed."

"And so what? You're going to be part of the operation that apprehends these guys?"

Jim looked down at his hand, suddenly very interested in that speck of something trapped beneath one of his nails. "Something like that."

"Be more specific," Blair demanded.

"Knowing the military, they're going to be more interested in recruiting these people, than in punishing them."

"And?"

"And I think they deserve to be punished."

"So, are you planning to be their judge, jury, and what? Executioner?" Blair whispered bitterly.

"I don't know. I just know I can't let them get away with this."

"You are NOT a vigilante."

"I am whatever I have to be, Chief."

"Let the military deal with this," Blair pleaded.

"No."

"Fine. I suppose you have some kind of plan laid out. What do we do first?"

"We don't do anything. I hear the Air & Space Museum has this new ex--"

Fingernails dug into his arm. "Either with you, or behind you, Ellison. Your choice."

"You don't want to do this, Chief."

The fingers released him. "No, I don't. But since you won't change your mind, I have no choice."

"This is outside the sentinel/guide realm, Chief."

"And that means squat! Ninety-nine point nine percent of what we are is outside the sentinel/guide realm. That's never stopped either of us, Jim, and you know it."

Jim felt the throbbing in his head increase, and his temperature move up a notch. "Promise me you'll do whatever I tell you to. If we're caught, they'd be within their rights to kill us."

Blair laughed. "Rights or no rights, everyone's always trying to kill us, Jim. And you know what? We always survive."

Jim nodded as the muscles in his stomach clenched. Maybe not always, Chief.

*****

Blair had never felt so out of his depth as he did sitting in the passenger seat of the Ford Explorer Jim had seemingly rented at the airport. But the SUV came with accessories Blair hoped wasn't standard on most rentals-- like weapons, blueprints, and camo gear in the back where the spare tire was supposed to be. When he'd asked Jim about the stuff, his partner said they were gifts from Jiminy Cricket.

"You bastard!" Blair called out suddenly as he realized everything in the back was already doubled. There'd been no time for Jim to arrange for extra gear for him. "You knew I would figure it out, didn't you?"

"There was always the possibility," Jim said calmly, steering the vehicle off the Interstate and onto a local highway. "I'm predictable. You're predictable. Guess that's why we're stuck with each other."

"Jim, do you know you can be really annoying at times?"

"Only at times? I must be improving."

"If it makes you feel better, you're a jerk all the time," Blair replied with an insincere smile.

"Oh, that hurt, Sandburg." He pulled off onto the side of the road, and popped the hood of the Explorer. "Grab the stuff out of the back, Chief. We hoof it from here." He propped the hood up, and hung a white towel from the window. Just another disabled vehicle if anyone noticed.

He led Blair to the line of trees blocking the industrial area behind from sight of the highway. There, they shed their jackets and slipped into bullet-proof vests and camouflage coveralls. Blair watched Jim smear on grease paint and attempted to mimic the action. Jim eventually painted Blair himself and stuck a cap on his head. After he and Blair slipped on very thin, tightly fitting gloves, he handed Blair a Glock model similar to the weapon he usually carried. Jim shouldered an automatic rifle, and grabbed a Beretta.

Blair checked his gun as Jim had taught him to do, and casually noted that the serial number had been carefully removed. Well, that told him all he needed to know. He glanced around and saw Jim watching him, waiting for his reaction. He knew if he expressed one iota of doubt, Jim would leave him behind, unconscious or tied up. "Ready when you are," he said quietly.

Jim nodded, and they took off at a slow jog. Using the trees as cover, they circled the industrial complex until they neared what had to be the headquarters. Blair used a pair of binoculars to spot two guards patrolling the building's grounds. Jim didn't need such help. Neither did he need assistance as he pulled out a slender tube, loaded a dart, and blew it into the neck of one of the guards. The man dropped without a sound.

"Hey, I didn't get one of those," Blair whispered sentinel-soft.

"It was a special order," Jim mouthed, before dispatching the second guard the same way.

They approached the door, which was activated by a key card. Blair held up the one he'd swiped from the first guard. Jim nodded in approval. Inside, Jim led them to the elevator, careful to make sure Blair kept his head down to keep the cameras from seeing his face. They exited on the sixth floor, Jim using his hearing to determine no one was in the hall before the doors opened. Blair worried that it was all too easy, but he didn't say anything as they prepared to enter the office of, according to the nameplate on the door, Gerald Freer. He held the Glock and prepared to go low and to the left, while Jim went high and right.

The unlocked door revealed nothing but an empty office. Jim motioned him inside, and closed the door. Jim pointed to the desk before going to the file cabinets. All-too-familiar with desk searches, Blair went to work. He'd found nothing, when Jim suddenly stiffened. Afraid someone was coming, Blair took aim at the door.

"Gunshot," Jim whispered, pulling his own weapon.

"Where?"

"A couple of offices down."

"Why didn't I hear it?"

"Whoever it was used a silencer."

Shit. The good guys never used silencers. He followed Jim down the hall, stopping behind him in front of John Lambert's office. Jim sniffed, smelling the scent of recent gunplay. They burst into the office, Jim's gun focused on the single heartbeat he'd heard outside.

"Captain Ellison, you're right on time."

A silver-haired man crouched over another. He stood slowly, a gun dangling harmlessly between his index finger and thumb. Harmless or not, Jim didn't blink, and his gun didn't waver as he glanced quickly at the blood splattered figure on the floor. A messy shot, but a deadly one. "Put the gun down and back away from the body."

"Of course, Captain." The gun dropped on the dead man's chest. "I'm John Lambert."

"And he was?"

"Gerald Freer. He was going to be-- difficult. I just went ahead and got him out of our way."

"Our way?"

Lambert shrugged and walked to his desk. He slid a white disk mailer toward Jim. "This is for you, Captain. All my work, and all the company's research into chemical and biological weapons."

"Why?" Jim noticed Blair securing the murder weapon. Good going, Chief.

"Because I owe you."

Jim listened and could find no evidence that Lambert had people coming after them. "For what?"

"Forty years ago, I had a wife who took my heart and gave it life. She was a nurse, and I was a biochemist. Being a devoted Catholic, she thought we should use our talents to help the unfortunate, to give back to the world some of the happiness the two of us had found in each other. We left our son, barely two years old, with her parents, and joined a missionary group. Somehow we got caught in a gunfight between warring tribes. Marilyn was killed. I wish I could say I went mad with grief, but I was quite sane as I used my training as a biochemist to totally wipe out both tribes. A government group found out about it, and I was 'disappeared.'" Lambert smiled. "Don't you just love the current generation, Captain? Their words mean just what they say.

"The disappearance wasn't totally against my will. I really didn't have much of a soul left after killing all those people, so I figured my son wasn't losing anything by not having me for a father. I spent the years designing killing weapons for a number of wars, taking out enemies before anyone 'official' was aware they were enemies. I was moved up to management, and found I was good at that, too. Once or twice, I thought about my son. I checked up on him-- even stole a paperweight he made in art class when he was eight. Eventually my son joined the Army and became a Ranger.

"When I found out he'd been killed in a helicopter crash in Peru, I felt pain for the first time since holding Marilyn's body in my arms. I wondered if I was to blame for his death, that maybe the sins of the father had been visited upon the son. Marilyn had been able to look up into my eyes and know that she was loved as she died. Our son? Our son had died in some godforsaken jungle, and probably his last memory was of some animal snacking on his flesh-- much like what had happened to the tribes I'd destroyed.

"But I was wrong. It seems that one man had survived the crash, and he had not only buried my son and marked his grave, but I heard later on that he'd known my son was Catholic, and had managed to give him a semblance of last rights before he died. This man had taken my sin from my son. There could be no greater gift."

Jim paled, but the gun didn't waver. "There was no Lambert on my team."

"For a number of legal reasons, his grandparents adopted him. He was known to you and the rest of the world as Tim Matthews."

"My XO," Jim said hollowly.

"Yes." Lambert wiped a hand across his face. "I repaid your gift with betrayal, Captain. When I first found out you were involved in this situation, I truly thought I could handle your death. After all, I'd been killing people for years, and not a single one of them had come back to haunt me. When Freer asked to run a field test on you, I gave him the green light.... From that moment on, not only did the soul I was sure was lost return, but it was also damned. You'll never know how sorry I am, Captain Ellison, that I didn't recover my soul quick enough to save you."

"What?" Blair asked, speaking for the first time.

"I wish I could have been spared the loss of my wife, and the fear for my friends' lives, as well," Jim said hastily. "You tell a sad tale, Lambert, full of the required pathos and regret, but it doesn't negate anything you've done. If you're telling the truth about what's on this disk, maybe you'll save lives for once in your miserable life. That will go in your soul's plus column, but it's never going to erase the minuses."

Lambert smiled. "Are you giving me my last rights, too, Captain? It's not really necessary. I've seen the shadows and the flames, and I'm prepared to face them." His eyes flashed a message to Jim. "If your partner would be so kind as to put the weapon back on Freer's body--"

"Like hell."

"Do it, Chief," Jim said quietly.

"I don't understand." Blair looked at Jim in confusion.

"It's about honor, Chief. Even the dishonorable can have honorable moments."

Still in the dark, Blair put the gun back on Freer's stomach, then aimed his own as he saw Lambert pull another out of his drawer. "Drop it!" he yelled.

"Get out of here, Blair. Wait for me in the hall," Jim ordered.

"Jim, you can't be serious. I'm not leaving you here with an armed suspect."

"The gun isn't for me, Chief."

Blair looked at Lambert. "No! There has to be another way."

"I'm too old for prison, Detective Sandburg. And I'm too guilty to plead innocent. Besides, I think you're going to cheer my action eventually." Lambert calmly attached a silencer to the barrel of his weapon. "I've already disabled the cameras. The cleaning crew will discover my body when they come on duty. The authorities will find a note in my drawer, explaining that I killed Freer. Uh, should I include the two guards as well? I can write an addendum," he offered.

"They're alive," Jim said. "I used darts coated with a powerful sedative, which also has the side effect of short-term amnesia."

Lambert smiled. "It's a good thing that you don't have a murderous soul, James Ellison, or you could have rivaled my ruthlessness." He looked at the gun in his hand. "Will you explain things to Tim and Marilyn when you see them? I'm afraid I won't be heading in that direction."

"This is insane," Blair muttered. "You don't want to do this, Mr. Lambert."

"Yes, I do. I may owe you the biggest apology of all, Detective Sandburg. Maybe one day, when you're old and gray, you will cease to curse my name."

"What are you--"

"Leave, Chief. I'll be out in a minute, okay?"

"Hell no, it's not okay, Jim. But I can't stop this, can I?"

"No," the older men chorused.

Blair backed out hesitantly.

"You know, don't you?" Lambert asked, looking into Jim's eyes.

"Yes."

"I am sorry, Captain." He rested the silencer against his lip and pulled the trigger.

Jim flinched, then picked up the disk. He joined Blair in the hall, and they left without looking back.

Chapter Nineteen

"We're going to head back to the airport, and forget this ever happened, right?" Blair asked, using a baby wipe to remove the paint from his face.

"Welcome to the world of Covert Ops, Chief," Jim said, his voice sounding oddly rough. Blair glanced at him, but his face was hidden as he removed his greasepaint.

After shucking the coveralls, and packing everything away in the back of the Explorer, Jim handed Blair the keys. "You drive."

"Why?" Blair asked suspiciously.

"Because I feel like crap."

Blair refused to let Jim look away. "What is it, Jim? Your head? You didn't get hit by flying debris at the loft and conveniently forget to anyone, did you?"

Jim refused to reply, and settled into the passenger's seat. He remained quiet until he asked Blair to pull off at a roadside phone that, according to a sign, was a quarter of a mile away.

"You need to check in with someone?" Blair guessed as he clicked on the turn signal.

"Listen, Chief, I know all about that pact you and Simon made with Lynne." Jim looked determinedly out the window as he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. "Here's her number. And make sure she gets the disk, too."

Blair slammed on the brakes, and a car shot around them, horn blowing. "Jim?" His partner turned. He was sweating, but the sweat was pink, as if the perspiration were tinged with-- Fuck.

Jim doubled over, and a black stream of blood gushed from his mouth.

*****

Blair paced the corridor of Walter Reed Army Hospital's Critical Care Unit. It wasn't as familiar a route as the one at Cascade General, but it was getting there. Six hours had crawled by since Jim had been wheeled into a special, high-level quarantine area, nearly eight since Jim had keeled over in the truck. Somehow, he'd managed to steer the Explorer to the phone and make the call. His hands had been shaking so badly that he'd had to dial Colonel Reese's number three times, and that was after he'd dropped the change that was supposed to go into the phone. Damn tiny slot.

To her credit, Colonel Reese had kept to her pact. She'd been waiting at the hospital when the paramedics, looking like rejects from a bad sci-fi movie in their heavy-duty protective gear, had rushed Jim inside. Jim had been a mess by then; covered in blood and other body fluids. He'd lost consciousness in the ambulance, for which Blair had been grateful. Despite his constant urging to decrease the pain dial, Jim had remained in constant agony until he passed out. Colonel Reese had a team of specialists ready, and had already contacted Simon, who promised to track down Naomi and get them both back to Oak Harbor. She herself had taken Blair's blood while she quizzed him on what medicines Jim could or couldn't tolerate. Then she had disappeared into the bowels of a lab, and Blair had accompanied a conscious, but terribly weakened Jim to the CCU, where they were placed in separate sterile rooms while the blood tests were being evaluated.

Blair had showered and his clothing, spattered with Jim's blood, was taken away to be properly disposed of. Donning maroon scrubs, he'd sprawled across the bed and tried sending good thoughts to Jim. If he had empathic tendencies like Naomi said, then that would help, wouldn't it? A nurse had come in later and moved him to a general waiting area, so he figured his blood had checked out clean. When he'd asked to see Jim, a nurse had told him that Captain Ellison couldn't have visitors at the moment-- not even his next-of-kin. Not wanting to upset the relationship with Reese, Blair had acquiesced, and dutifully stayed within the boundaries given him. What was important was that Jim was still alive.

"Detective Sandburg."

Blair turned to see the colonel approaching him. She looked tired, and he smiled at her sympathetically. "Make it Blair. The formality is just adding to my stress."

"And heaven knows, we all have too much of that already, Blair. First, I want you to know that you, your mother, and Captain Banks have all tested clean."

"Clean of what? It's some kind of hemorrhagic fever, right? Like Ebola?"

Lynne sighed. "Not like Ebola; it is Ebola."

Blair fell back against the wall, and slid to the floor. Ebola was, like, the epitome of bad diseases. It was so bad that Hollywood loved it, gleefully showing the images of people bleeding from every orifice, their organs liquefying like gelatin left out of the fridge too long. "Is there--" He stopped, knowing she probably couldn't understand the choked up words. He took a deep breath and began again. "I know there isn't a cure, but what about a treatment?"

"So far, none of the known antiviral agents work on the Ebola virus. What we have done is to initiate supportive therapy. That means we're keeping his fluids and electrolytes balanced, keeping close watch on his oxygen intake and blood pressure, checking constantly for complicating infections, and have machinery in place in case he goes into organ failure."

"How probable is that?" Blair asked hesitantly.

Lynne shrugged. "Ebola is a strange disease. Not only do the symptoms vary from patient to patient, but recovery is very much dependent on each patient as well."

"Jim?"

"From his history, I think he has a good chance. His immune system is strong, and it reacts quickly. His white blood cell count has shown constant exponential growth while he's been here. That means his body is fighting back."

Blair nodded. Fighting back was something Jim was awfully good at. "Are we talking about a full recovery, or could there be lingering problems?" he asked. Better to be prepared than hit cold later.

"He's going to be markedly weak for a long time. The fever and fluid loss is desiccating his body. The weight loss will be noticeable. There may be liver abnormalities, and in some cases there are aural and visual complications."

"What kind of complications?" he asked quickly.

"Short-term tinnitus and conjunctivitis are the most common. However, there have been instances of retinal infections which could lead to some level of permanent vision loss."

Blair had thought about standing, but after hearing that, figured he'd just remain on the floor a few minutes longer. "How? How did he get this?" If Lambert had infected Jim after he'd left the room, he'd personally hack the corpse up and feed him to any wild animal he could find. Or could Jim have been splattered by contaminated blood when Lambert blew his brains out? Honor, my ass!

"The CD you gave me explained that. Apparently the virus' RNA was inserted into the anthrax bacteria you were exposed to. When the bacteria died, the virus was released. In the case of you, Captain Banks, and Ms. Sandburg, the antibiotic soup we'd turned your blood into wasn't conducive to viral replication." Lynne paused, frowning. "That's the part I don't understand. It took expert bioengineers to create Sirocco. These experts would also know the protocol for anthrax exposure. Why didn't they realize the virus wouldn't be able to replicate in such a hostile environment?"

"They knew," Blair observed quietly.

"What do you mean?"

Blair shrugged. "Everything happened just as it was supposed to. We were exposed. We were treated with antibiotics. Although more of the exposed would have died if Jim hadn't discovered the contamination so soon, our deaths were never supposed to be the end result of Sirocco."

"Then what was?"

"The Ebola doesn't replicate in patients given aggressive antibacterial treatment, right?" Lynne nodded. "Who would get the aggressive treatment?"

"Everyone exposed to the anthrax."

Blair shook his head. "Jim didn't get it."

"That's because Jim was--" She slid down to the floor beside him. "We'd end up with a healthy civilian population--"

"And a stricken military one. If your intention is to cripple a nation, the civilians won't be the primary target."

"Diabolical, but strategically sound," Lynne said with a hint of admiration.

That made Blair remember why Lambert had been in the position to develop Sirocco instead of being punished for delving into mass murder. Jim had been right; Lambert would have escaped justice again if the military had been the ones to confront him and Freer. He sighed. The line between good guys and bad grew thinner every day. "Can I see Jim?"

"You can't even stand, Blair."

"That's easily remedied. Can I see Jim?"

Her eyes widened in remembrance. "Being near you helps him."

"Yeah." Does me a world of good, too.

"I'll make a deal with you: Go with me to the cafeteria, take that dose of antibiotics you've probably missed, then we'll negotiate terms for visitation."

"I'm really not very hun--"

"I'll give you the lowdown on why I call Jim 'Diablo'," Lynne enticed as she got to her feet.

"Yeah?" he asked, accepting her hand up.

"Ever been in the jungle with the man? Let me tell you...."

*****

"He's unconscious again," Lynne said, sounding apologetic as they went through the airlock to Jim's room. Why such a facility was already in existence, Blair really didn't want to know.

"That's okay. He doesn't need to be conscious to know I'm here."

"Please don't tease me with statements like that."

It was Blair's turn to apologize. "You've really been great about this whole thing, although if I'd known he'd be needing you this soon...."

She patted his arm, the paper gown crackling softly. Gowns, masks, booties, and gloves were mandatory precautions. "You were right about us being on a high back at Oak Harbor. Perhaps if we hadn't been so busy congratulating ourselves, we would have caught this."

"You really believe that?"

"No." She looked at Jim's file. "His numbers are steady. He just needs to keep hanging in there. Think you can convince him of that?"

"I'll give it my best shot."

She stroked the back of Jim's hand before stepping back toward the door. "I'll leave you gentlemen to whatever it is you do."

"Thanks, Colonel."

Blair grabbed a chair and dragged it to the bedside. "Hey, Jim. Yeah, it's me behind all this paper. And don't say a word about it not being Halloween, man. My costume's a hell of a lot more attractive than yours." He looked at the gaunt face, ghostly pale except for the dark bruise-like patches beneath his eyes and near his mouth. Tubes were attached everywhere, adding to and taking away appropriately.

"If this is the way you felt at Oak Harbor, watching over all three of us like this, I understand why you were so reluctant to stop mother henning us. I hope you realize there is no way in hell I'm moving to North Carolina now. No way, amigo. Ain't gonna happen. It's not that I don't trust you; I just don't trust the people around you. And you have the tendency to step into the deep shit, man. I mean, me, Mom, and Simon just sailed through this, you know, and what do you do? You come down with fucking Ebola. How the hell did you survive eighteen months in Peru without falling into a pit of guano, Jim? Or did you? Is that why you're so fucking reticent about your adventures down there? If Incacha hadn't gotten himself shot, what could he have told me about you? If I go to the Chopec with an interpreter and ask them about you, what will they tell me? Probably not a damn thing, because unlike you, I'm an outsider.

"Do you know how remarkable it was for the Chopec to accept you, to follow you? It takes anthropologists months, even years to gain access to indigenous tribes like the Chopec, and you did it, like, instantly. You were there for eighteen months; the pass was secured for eighteen months. That means you buried your people, and put the Chopec to work right away. Was it because Incacha knew who and what you were? Or did they all know it? But you'll never tell me, will you? Even when you were upset about Incacha, you never revealed anything about what went on down there.

"I know it sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm not. Well, not anymore anyway. I'm starting to see why you keep your secrets, understand more about the world you used to inhabit. I'm starting to see how having your trust is a great honor, and how much you risked by giving it to me. I thought I knew the world. I really did. I've been to so many places, studied the natives. But, God, next to you, I'm a naive little kid.

"I think maybe that's what Naomi held against you, that you were taking my naivete away. Guess she didn't want her baby boy to grow up. I can't hold that against her. But you know what? She likes you now. No, that didn't come out right. She liked you before; she didn't want to, but she did. You blew her away with your dreams, man, and the way you just came out and explained them. I didn't have the heart to tell her that we'd learned the hard way that ignoring your dreams, or keeping them to yourself, was a really bad deal. Can you imagine her reaction if I told her about Alex? I think she'd pack us both up, and plop us down in the middle of Tibet for a decade or two."

Jim groaned.

"Hey, you waking up? Take it slowly, okay?" Red eyes blinked open. "You're in the hospital, Jim, and you're doing really well."

"What's--what's wrong...me?"

"Sirocco."

"I know. But what...what is it?"

"Ebola. But you're going to beat it. Your body is already kicking its ass," Blair said encouragingly. "Hey, what do you mean you know it's Sirocco? Did you know you were sick? Before you started bleeding in the truck, I mean."

"Dream...on plane."

"And you didn't share?"

"Had...a...mission to...complete."

"Fuck the mis--" Blair stopped, realizing this wasn't the time to get into this with Jim.

"You...sound like Lynne."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard her use profanity."

Dry, cracked lips tried to smile. "Then I must be okay."

"That's what I've been telling you. I can't believe you'd take the word of a doctor over mine."

"Bite me, San...Sandburg."

"That would sorta negate all this protective gear, don't you think?" Blair teased. He grabbed a tissue and wiped the fluid leaking from Jim's eyes.

"Hurt."

Blair froze. "Your eyes hurt, man?"

"Bad?"

Blair realized Jim had heard his heartbeat spike. "Not really. But I think Lynne needs to know."

"She's Lynne now? Why do...I feel that's...not good?"

"I don't know, Diablo. Why don't you tell me?" Blair laughed, and reached for the phone.

Jim had dozed off by the time Lynne came in, trailed by a team of ophthalmologists. They poked, prodded, took samples and put in drops before bandaging Jim's eyes and leaving.

"Well?" Blair asked Lynne.

"There's some indication of infection beginning in the retinal areas, but it was caught early and the medicine should halt the progress of the inflammation. Your immune system is getting spread thin, Jim. We're just going to have to help it along a bit."

"I'm...all for help, Lynne. Just ask Sandburg."

Blair shook his head. Even exhausted and frightened, Jim was trying to make him feel better by teasing. "Oh, yeah. Jim's been known to call for help with the smallest things. Like hanging on to a moving train, and fighting death matches in prison...."

"Jim, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad we live coasts apart," Lynne said, smoothing the tape down on one of the bandages. "You need to get some rest."

"He'll be out in seconds," Blair promised.

"You need rest as well, Blair."

"We'll be out in seconds," he amended, his eyes pleading with Lynne.

"I'll be back to check on you later. I expect you both to be sleeping," she warned as she left.

"You heard the lady, Jim. Just relax, okay?" Blair said, stroking the back of Jim's hand to soothe him.

"You're the one...with the racing heart, Chief. The eye infection scares you?"

"Yes. I don't know why, but it does," he replied honestly.

"Probably...probably has to do with...Golden. Blinded me, almost killed you. Not surprised you have...issues with...it."

Blair laughed. "You've been reading Psychology Today again, haven't you? Okay, Jim. You sleep, and I'll deal with my issues."

Jim shook his head and reached out his hand, which Blair promptly caught in his own. "We'll sleep, then we'll deal with your issues, 'kay?"

"You come up with some great plans, man."

"Just...part of...my charm."

Blair smiled and squeezed the hand he held. Without letting go, he angled the chair around, and slid into a comfortable position. His thumb stroking assurances to his Sentinel, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

*****

"I don't want any more, Sandburg!"

"Please, Jim? Just another sip? For me?" Blair pleaded. Jim's latest blood work confirmed that he was well into his recovery, and Blair was eager to start replacing some of the weight Jim had lost. "You love chocolate shakes."

"That's not a chocolate shake. That's some kind of nutritional crap frozen to make me think it's a chocolate shake."

Blair couldn't see the blue eyes flashing at him from behind the dark shades Jim was required to wear until his eyes completed their healing, but he knew the look that generally accompanied that tone. "If you drink the rest of it, I'll bribe one of the orderlies to go to Wonder Burger and bring you a real shake tomorrow, okay?"

Jim sighed. "I don't want a shake, Chief. I want...."

"What do you want, Jim?"

"I want to go home. I think I'll get better there quicker."

"You can't get better much quicker than you already are, Jim. Two days ago, no one was sure you'd live."

"But I am going to live, and I'm going to see. And I'm going to gain weight, and be able to walk three steps without shaking like a leaf from exhaustion. But I think I'll do all that faster in Cascade. I need my tribe, Chief."

Blair threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, man, anyone who whines like that is ready to be released. Give it a rest, Jim. I've already arranged our trip home. We fly out of Andrews Air Force base tomorrow morning. You'll spend two nights at Oak Harbor, and if you continue to improve, I can take you home after that."

Jim sucked on the straw until it made slurping noises. "Here you go, Chief. One empty wannabe milkshake."

"I'm impressed, Blair," Lynne said, entering the room. "You got him to drink the whole thing."

"Only by bribing him with a trip home."

"You that eager to leave me, Jim?"

"You bet your ass, Reese," Jim replied with a grin.

"You always were an honest son of a bitch." She allowed him to pull her into an embrace. "I really wish I could say I'm going to miss you, but a hospital or two isn't the place for a reunion of old friends. Let's say we do Disney World or something next time, okay, Jim?"

"How about Carnival in Rio?" he asked cheekily.

"Not Brazil. I'm never doing Brazil with you again. Remember that."

"I'll remember everything about you, Lynne," he promised. "Come visit us if you're ever on the West Coast, and we'll make sure hospitals aren't on the grand tour, okay?"

"Deal. Gee, I'm always making deals with you guys. How come you are all so persuasive?"

"It's because we're cute," Blair said. "Me, Jim, Simon. We're all cute."

Lynne was still laughing as she walked out.

"I'm insulted, Jim," Blair remarked with a pout.

"We're going home, Chief. That's all that matters to me," Jim said, smiling at his partner.

Blair returned the smile. "Yeah, that's all that matters."

Chapter Twenty

Jim heard the elevator approaching the penthouse and looked up from his book. He was reading a paperback, because a hardback had been too heavy for him to hold. Even the lighter weight could be tolerated only about an hour before his muscles started twitching in exhaustion. He couldn't make it to the bathroom without feeling like he'd run a marathon. The light still bothered his eyes, which meant he donned dark shades whenever he was awake, which wasn't often. Mrs. Murphy's class had a later bedtime than he did. All in all, he was still quite a mess.

"Hey, Jim," Blair called. He slung his backpack to the alcove next to the elevator and removed his gun and holster.

"Hey, Chief. How was work today?"

"The usual. I mean, even I can't get into trouble when I'm chained to my desk until my partner comes back. And by the way, I'm enrolling Dills into a penmanship course. His writing rivals a frat boy's after an all night kegger."

"I guess you better get used to that."

"Used to what? Dills' scribble? I don't think so. As soon as we get some meat on your bones, you're coming back to work, and I'm not doing anybody's reports except ours."

"I meant the frat boy's scribble."

"I'm not a Teaching Fellow this time around, Jim."

"Oh. Maybe if you wrote Duke--"

"I've already talked with Duke, man." Blair sprawled in the chair across from the sofa.

"When do you leave?"

"I don't."

"Sandburg!" The sunglasses removed all the threat from of his glare. Besides, righteous anger took too much energy. "I thought you said this was something you had to do, that you had to finish your education so that you could move on."

"That's exactly what I'm going to do, Jim-- at Rainier."

Jim's book dropped to the floor. "Rainier? I thought the bad vibes--"

"Jim, look at me. I'm sitting in this living room, with my feet up on the table, thinking about going to get a bag of Cheetos. This place used to intimidate me. The idiots at Rainier used to intimidate me. But you know what happened? I watched my best friend collapse in a pool of bloody vomit. I watched him drop fifty pounds in less than two days. I saw doctors shake their heads when they thought I wasn't looking, listened to them whisper doubts when they thought I was asleep. I was told you might lose your eyesight, or maybe even your hearing. All of that was intimidating, man. This, this is pure crap. The furniture and the carpet can be cleaned. Chancellor Edwards and her clonies can be ignored at best, dealt with if they push it."

Jim snorted. "'Clonies'?"

"Yeah, undifferentiated, partially formed clones, without a thought in their heads that Edwards didn't put there." Blair deliberately leaned his head back against the white leather. "I've already been to the President's Office and gotten reinstated as a doctoral candidate. Funny what the threat of a lawsuit can do."

"And Edwards?"

"Mouthed off as usual. I gave her one of your stares. You know, the one where the other person is just an annoying bug and you're considering whether to ignore them or just stomp?"

"You prepared to step on her, Chief? She's probably going to take this personally."

"I think it's high time that people realize you don't come between Sentinel and Guide, Jim. Let her try, and I'll squash her, scrape my boot on the nearest curb, and keep on walking," Blair vowed.

"You're turning into a really mean son of a bitch," Jim said admiringly.

"Coming from the master, that's a compliment, my man. So, what have you been doing around here?"

Jim smiled. "The same thing I do every day, Pinky-- sleep!"

Blair laughed. "That's good. Exactly what you need." He sat up and stared at his partner. "You aren't getting ready to fall into that stage in your recovery where you're frustrated and depressed by your lack of strength and seeming lack of progress, are you? Because if you are, we're going to nip that in the bud right now."

"My progress has been remarkable, and I'm getting stronger every day," Jim recited dutifully. "When I got here a week ago, Simon had to nearly carry me to my room, and I had to be fed because I didn't have the strength to hold a spoon for more than five minutes. But I've gained ten pounds, can feed myself, and I even took a shower today."

"You did what? Jim, you know you shouldn't have tried that this soon, and especially while you were here alone. Of all the-- You know I was just getting ready to praise you for being such a good patient. Now, I think I'm going to make you drink another vitamin supplement."

"As soon as I'm able to go shopping, I'm going to love avoiding the Ensure aisle." Blair got up. "Come on, Chief. I don't need another can of that stuff. I'm sorry for taking the shower. I promise not to do it again unless you're here to spot me."

"I'm not heading to the kitchen, Jim. I wanted to show you something I downloaded off the internet today." Blair grabbed his backpack, and took out a sheet of paper. "It's from the Washington Post: the Chevy Chase local section."

"You cruising Maryland papers for a reason, Chief?"

"Yeah. This reason." He handed Jim the article.

MURDER/SUICIDE

Authorities have completed the investigation of the bodies discovered at Pharmtech Industries over the weekend. John Lambert, 65, CEO of the company, and Gerald Freer, 38, Vice President, were found dead in Lambert's office. According to the investigating officers, Lambert left a note detailing his reasons for killing Freer and himself. There is no evidence of outside involvement.

Company officials declined to speculate about the future of the business.

Jim looked up at Blair. "Are you okay with this, Chief?"

Blair shrugged. "I haven't really given it much thought. I just had too much other stuff to worry about after it happened, and now that I look back on it.... If you had left this alone, Lambert and Freer might be alive today. But they would also be out there developing Sirocco and other forms of biological weaponry. I have no doubts about that. You should have seen the look of admiration Lynne had on her face when she realized the implications of Sirocco." He held up his hand when Jim started to interrupt.

"No, I don't blame her personally. I mean most scientists hate the H-bomb, but that doesn't stop them from appreciating the skill and genius that went into its design. What some of the early anthropologists did to the tribes they studied, how they altered native lifestyles to 'civilize' and 'de-heathen' them was appalling. But that doesn't take away from the fact that their studies paved the way for other studies, that despite the destruction and chaos they caused, if it wasn't for them, we would have no record of what was. Burton and his crew probably left half-white babies all over two continents, but without him, I wouldn't have recognized what you are."

"You believe in fate, Chief?"

"To some degree. Do I believe our lives are pre-destined and we have no choices? No. But do I think certain things happen for a reason? Yes. However, it's up to us to find that reason, and choose to accept it or not. Why do you ask?"

"It just seems weird that I ended up having a connection to Lambert. What would have happened if I hadn't led the mission to Peru, or he hadn't had a son on that mission?"

"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Jim. Circumstances led up to the two of you meeting, but it was your own personal choices that dictated the outcome. Lambert could have ignored what you did for his son. You could have charged in there with your guns blazing. But both of you made other choices, and I'm hoping that somewhere in the Great Beyond, Lambert has found a certain peace because of what he did. Maybe his son has found peace, too, knowing that his existence and his death, kept his father from creating even more destruction and death."

"Don't panic, but I think my head's hurting again," Jim said, smiling so Blair would know he was teasing. "I'm not sure what I got out of that lecture, but I'm glad fate arranged things so that we'd meet, and I'm also glad that we made the choice to go forward from that meeting."

Blair smiled. "I'm glad, too, Jim."

Jim cleared his throat. "What's for dinner?"

"Simon's bringing it, so I'm sure it's nice and greasy. Better enjoy it while you can."

"Believe me, Sandburg, I am. What time's the game?" If the Jags won this game they would be in the finals.

"Not till eight. So, catch a nap while you can. I'm going to grab a shower."

Blair came out half an hour later, and adjusted a light blanket over Jim. He chilled easily these days. But he was getting better. He argued more, made it through entire conversations without falling asleep, and the joint pain didn't wake him in the middle of the night anymore. Definite improvement.

The intercom chimed once, and Blair hurried to answer it before it could wake Jim. "Yeah?"

"Send the elevator down, Sandburg."

"Sure, Captain."

Blair was waiting by the doors when they opened. He grabbed one of the bags from Simon, and motioned for the captain to be quiet. Simon saw the figure on the sofa and nodded, following his detective into the kitchen.

"He's still sleeping around the clock?" he asked softly.

"Not really. But I think he doesn't want to embarrass himself by falling asleep in the middle of the game tonight. Ribs? He's going to love them."

"Why would he be embarrassed? It's not like he's never slept through one of them before. Hell, it's not like I haven't fallen asleep during a game at your place."

"But that always happened because one or more of us was exhausted from some case. This time it's because he's sick, and you know how he hates that."

"Does he know how lucky he is to be alive? I checked into the Ebola virus, wanted to weed out the Hollywood hype, you know? Found out there wasn't much hype to it. What strain did he have?"

"A totally new one. The scientific community has defined Sirocco as Bacillus anthracis recombined with Ebola-Ellison. Cool, huh?"

"Uh, right. But now that the authorities have that disk, there isn't a risk of it occurring again, is there?"

"There's always a risk, Captain. Anthrax has been around for a long time, a treatment has been devised for it and everything, yet it's still the number one threat in biowarfare. Knowledge of a disease doesn't render it impotent; it just gives you a few more ways of possible survival."

"You know, a lot of my friends laughed at me for coming to Cascade to work. 'You aren't man enough to handle a real city, Banks?', 'Gonna arrest moose for crossing the street illegally, Simon?' You know what they say to me now? 'How do you stand it, man?', or 'What the hell's in the water in Cascade?' I won't go so far as to say you and your partner are the reason we're so crime-ridden here, but I will say that you're the reason why I know about stuff I never intended to know anything about. Government conspiracies, spirit animals, ghosts, sentinel temples.... None of this was covered in the municipal administration classes I took."

"Next time your friends say anything to you, tell them that you'd be bored to death in some hick town like New York or L.A."

Simon chuckled. "Yeah, the places are so uncivilized, they don't even have a sentinel."

"Sad, isn't it?" Blair commented with a grin.

"Do I smell ribs?" Jim's voice sang from the living room.

"No, man. Simon brought us some rib-flavored tofu. I'm dishing you out a plate now."

"It's not nice for the Guide to toy with the Sentinel," Jim said from the doorway. "I know Simon wouldn't do something that terrible to me."

"You could have stayed on the sofa, Jim. I would have brought it to you," Blair fussed, pulling out a chair and watching Jim sit safely on it.

"I know you don't fear the room anymore, Chief. But ribs? I wouldn't wish that on any cleaning crew."

"Okay, for the sake of the domestic help, I'll let you eat in here."

"Domestic help? You guys got domestic help?"

"Came with the penthouse," Blair answered. "They come in twice a week, whether the place is occupied or not."

"I don't remember them while I was here," Simon said.

"Oh. That was the week of the misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?"

"It's not my fault," Jim said defensively. "Blevins didn't say anything about a cleaning crew."

"Jim pulled his weapon on them," Blair said brightly. "They refused to come back until he apologized."

"They broke in, Chief."

"They had mops, Jim. I don't know about you, but I've never heard of cleaning thieves."

"What about Zeus Cleaning? That little operation was cracking safes until I went undercover with them."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You can come up with all sorts of excuses now that you've had time to think about it," Blair scoffed. "Where are you going?" he asked when Jim moved to stand.

"To wash my hands?"

Blair shook his head. "I'll bring you a wet towel."

Jim looked at Simon sheepishly.

"Dictatorial little shit, isn't he?" Simon said sympathetically.

"What was that, Simon?" Blair asked sternly.

"Uh, nothing," Simon hurried to reply. Jim just grinned at him.

Blair turned back to the plate he was fixing, hiding his own grin. This was just what Jim needed; a little bit of normality in his world. They talked about what was happening around the office as they ate, then cleaned up and went to the living room to watch the game on the high definition television disguised as an armoire.

"What's this?" Simon asked, picking up the newspaper printout. "Someone you know?"

"The father of one of my men in Peru," Jim said easily.

"Oh." Simon put it back down, knowing Jim avoided discussing that area of his life. "I still don't like this place."

"I'm off tomorrow, so I thought we could scan the real estate notices in the paper, Jim, and maybe check one or two out if they look promising," Blair said.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Simon asked.

Blair and Jim shrugged.

"We have no idea, Captain," Blair finally said. "We'll just know it when we find it, right, Jim?"

"Right, Chief. Just somewhere with easy access to the station and Rainier."

Simon nodded. "The paperwork is going to go through without a hitch, Sandburg. You're going to be on part-time until you get your degree, then we'll see about creating a position for you-- unless Detective Dr. Sandburg sounds okay to you?"

"As long as I'm riding with Jim, the title doesn't matter, Simon. Now, shush. Carter's sister is singing the National Anthem."

"Carter in records? Hmm. His sister looks a lot better than he does," Simon commented, as they settled back to watch the incredibly clear picture.

Jim managed to stay awake for the entire game, although his sacrifice did the Jags no good-- they lost 99-81.

"Guess I'll be stopping by the ATM in the morning," Simon said, as he stood and stretched.

"Who'd you bet with? Brown?" Jim asked.

"Nah. When someone asked him about it, he started going on about seeing the army coming down the Damascus Road after him...." Simon threw up his hands. "You know, if I didn't know my people so well, I would swear all of you were doing drugs."

"Actually, I am," Jim said with a quirk of his upper lip.

"And you've been more rational than I've ever seen. Think I can get a truckload of whatever you're popping?" Simon quipped. He shook his head and pushed the button for the elevator. "A lovely evening as usual, gentlemen. Goodbye."

They grinned and waved.

"Okay, Jim. It's way past your bedtime."

"I'm not eight, Sandburg," Jim complained. He tried to stand, and had to reach out and grab the arm of the sofa when his body protested the movement. "I'm eighty. Actually, I hope I'm not this stiff when I'm eighty."

Blair took his arm. "Come on, Grandpa. I'm sure this time next month, you'll be catapulting over the sofa, and running down eighty flights of stairs."

Jim leaned on Blair and let him lead him to the bedroom. "You're supposed to be making me feel better, Sandburg."

"Oh, right. Forgot that for a moment." Blair lowered him to the bed. "Stay. I'll get you some water for your night pills."

Jim struggled out of his T-shirt, angry that he ended up panting so hard he didn't have the energy to toss it farther than the other side of the bed. Damn, he'd be glad when he was well. At least well enough to drive. He needed the airport. He needed to be reminded that he was special, that he could do things others couldn't, because-- because he was really doubting himself right now.

"Jim."

He looked at Blair, saw the concern in his eyes, and so much more. This had been hard on his partner. Maybe the weight loss wasn't as great, but there were circles beneath his eyes, and he was too pale. Hell, if he couldn't do anything for himself, he might as well take care of Blair. "I was thinking that maybe looking for somewhere to stay could wait. What do you think about us going off to the mountains tomorrow? The sunshine and fresh air will do you good. Get some color back into your cheeks before you start that academic grind again."

"Sounds good, Jim, but you know you're not up to that yet."

Jim smiled. "I figured we could drive up as far as we could. You can go hiking or whatever, and I'll just hang around the truck, soaking up rays and sleeping. Maybe I'll luck out and there'll be an aerie nearby. It'll be nice to...soar with the eagles for a while."

Blair sat down on the bed, handing him his nighttime meds. "I think we have a plan, Jim."

Jim nodded. Yeah. It was definitely a good plan.

Epilogue

As quickly as the wind rose, it died, blending seamlessly back into the elements from which it had sprung. The telling char marks would eventually fade, the ashes and dust would integrate themselves into the land, and new life would arise to replace the lost. Nature's cycle was, is, and always will be. Even when it seemed to change, it never truly did. There was birth, life, and death. Nature demanded it and the universe had no choice but to obey.

Just as the sirocco had no choice. It'd been spawned, had destructively lived, died...and now waited for its rebirth.

THE END

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