"He's going to be fine."

The words left his mouth in a barely audible whisper, even to sentinel ears.

He's going to be fine.

The words failed to offer him the relief he sought. The meaning refused to wash over him. Oh, his head grasped the definition easily enough, but his heart was having trouble with the interpretation.

Jim Ellison moved listlessly through the comfortable rooms he called home. A vital element of that comfort was missing. Instinctively, his senses reached out in search of the one presence that could fill that void, knowing even as he did so, he would not find it. That presence, that essence, was not here, and, thanks to James 'Gotta-Be-In-Control' Ellison, would not return for a very long time.

If ever, his inner voice cruelly informed him.

Jim sank wearily onto the couch, vainly trying to silence the viscous inner voice. It refused to be muted.

"He's going to be fine," Jim said once more, as much to argue with the voice as to hear the words again.

He'll survive, but will he be fine? the voice returned.

Jim shook his head and closed his eyes. "He's coming home. It'll take awhile, he has a long road ahead of him, but he will come home." If he wants to, the voice countered.

And that's when the truth of the matter struck home. Jim's eyes snapped open violently. No...NO! God, I need my guide...my friend. would God be so cruel? To spare the young man and still remove him from Jim's life? Would that be Jim's punishment for allowing his guide to be injured? Somehow, it seemed fitting.

Jim leaned forward, buried his head in his hands, and prayed. For what felt like the millionth time in the past two days, he pleaded with God -- not for his friend's life, as he had before, but for his friend's presence. AThat's all I'm asking this time, God. The hard part's over. Blair's going to be all right. I know it'll take time. I know it'll take a lot of work. But he's going to live, and I guess that's all I really have a right to ask. Maybe I'm being selfish here, but that's not enough. It should be, but it's not. I need him to come home, to want to come home. I know I don't have a right to ask that. Not after what I've done. But I need him to stay.

Jim laid down on the couch, drawing into himself as desperation swept over him. Why would Blair want to come back? Why shouldn't the kid pack up and run as far away from Jim Ellison as he could? Especially when Jim was the one responsible for his being injured in the first place.

"I just wanted to protect you, Chief," he whispered. "I thought you would be safe in the truck."

Blair had argued, of course; he always did. I have to watch your back, Jim. Come on, man, you know that by now.

And Jim did. He knew the younger man's arguments by heart, and he almost always gave in. After all, he did need Blair. It was Blair who kept him grounded, kept him in control.

I can control these senses well enough, he'd shot back at his guide, barely noticing the hurt look that passed quickly through his partner's eyes. What Jim hadn't added, at least out loud, was that the only reason he could control the senses was because he knew Blair was there to guide him through it, to anchor him. Blair was his control. Jim knew that, but he'd never admitted it aloud.

"I should have listened to you then," Jim admitted to his inner voice. "You told me I would need my guide, but I didn't listen. I only wanted to protect him." But you didn't protect him, the voice argued back.

"No, I didn't," Jim conceded painfully. "I wasn't there to protect him when he needed me, because I didn't have control without him. I made a mistake. And my guide almost paid for my mistake with his life."

Jim had zoned in the warehouse, because his guide wasn't with him, because he had insisted that Blair remain in the truck -- where he would be safe -- but it hadn't been safe. Jim had zoned and the suspect had gotten around him, out of the warehouse and to Jim's truck with its ready-and-waiting hostage.

Even now, Jim wasn't sure what had brought him out of the zone. All he clearly remembered was the panic that had shot through him when he realized where the suspect had escaped to. The pursuit had been agony for the sentinel. His enhanced hearing had been both a blessing and a curse in the chase. If not for his hearing, he would have never been able to direct the search for his truck as it fled, but it was that same hearing that allowed him to hear Sandburg's pleas, first for the man to face the inevitable and turn himself in. Jim had almost grinned at that. Typical Sandburg tactic: Talk the suspect to death. But then, as the net tightened on the fleeing felon and hostage and the chase grew more reckless, the pleas had become desperate. And it was the curse of his hearing that had allowed Jim to listen in horror as the pursuit ended with a sound he would never forget -- the sickening shriek of metal against unyielding metal.

But the horror of that sound had done nothing to prepare him for the sight that greeted him as the squad car he had commandeered rounded the corner and squealed to a stop mere feet from the twisted remains of his truck. Jim felt as though his heart had stopped in that moment as he silently surveyed the scene. More police cars arrived, spilling officers onto the scene, but Jim was oblivious to the chaos around him. His breath caught in his throat, and he refused to release it until, at last, he found what he was frantically searching for -- the weak, faltering beat of his guide's heart.

The suspect was dead, killed instantly as the truck folded in on itself. It took the summoned rescue unit over an hour to extract the unconscious and barely breathing Sandburg from the wreckage. In that time, barely noticed by the sentinel as he stood vigil over his guide, nearly the entire population of the Cascade P.D. Major Crimes division had assembled to lend their support and prayers to one of their own.

Jim remembered that now, two days later. He remembered how the guys from the station had been there at the scene as Sandburg fought to maintain his erratic hold on life, and again at the hospital as that fight had continued. Jim hadn't noticed it at the time, his only thoughts had been for his guide, but he wasn't surprised that the men and women of Major Crimes felt so strongly about the young man Jim called partner and friend. Sandburg had a way of slipping into people's hearts without them being any the wiser, as Simon Banks could attest.

You didn't protect him, the voice reminded Jim, drawing him back to the present. If he had been at your side, where he belonged, he would have been safe. You never would have zoned, and he would have been protected. A guide's place is at his sentinel's side. You let him down.

Jim squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the pain of that truth. "I need him," he whispered.

To keep him, you must let him go. The words echoed in his head. Jim slowly opened his eyes. "To keep him, I must let him go." He repeated the words aloud, comprehension tugging at his heart. "I have to give him up to protect him." And he knew the implications of that simple statement. Knew it painfully.

"To keep him," he repeated, in an agonized whisper, "I must give him up."

Blair refilled his coffee mug and went back to the table. Jim glanced up at him briefly, then turned his attention to his breakfast. Blair threw a nervous glance at his friend. It was now or never. If he didn't say this now, he would never find the nerve again. It should be easy; he had been practicing this speech for the past two days. Had it been only two days? It seemed like an eternity ago that he'd gotten the news from Doctor Ruskin.

Blair took a minute to bitterly reflect on the irony of the situation. He'd worked so hard for the past two months to get past the injuries from the accident. It hadn't been easy, but he'd made progress, real progress. Or so he'd thought. For two days now -- two days and two sleepless nights -- Blair had struggled for a way to give Jim the news. And now, it was time.

Blair took a huge sip of the still too-hot coffee, ignorant of the pain the searing liquid caused, and set the mug aside. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Jim set his fork down with a loud clang and cleared his throat.

"Blair, we have to talk."

Blair blinked at his roommate, confusion running rampant through his sleep-deprived brain. Jim sounded as nervous as Blair felt. Had he found out somehow? But how? Doctor Ruskin wouldn't have said anything, and no one else knew, not even Naomi. Had Blair given it away? He forced his rigid muscles to relax. Maybe this was better. It would be easier now to discuss it.

But Jim's next words erased the hope. "Blair, I was waiting until you were completely recovered to bring this up."

Completely recovered...so Jim didn't know. Then what did the detective want to discuss that had him so nervous? Blair suddenly found his own adrenaline levels rising.

Jim cleared his throat again and looked down at his plate. "I reached this decision weeks ago, right after the accident. I've been waiting for the right time to bring it up. Since Doctor Ruskin gave you a clean bill of health the other day, I don't think I should put it off any longer."

A hole opened up in the pit of Blair's stomach and his heart fell through. Suddenly, he knew where this was going. There had been plenty of hints. God, how could he have been so dense? How could he have not seen this coming?

Jim continued quickly, as though he was afraid to stop. "There've been too many close calls. I've recognized that before, but I guess it took this last one to make me admit it. I know that your becoming my partner was a mutual decision, Chief, but it's one I can't live with any longer. This is too dangerous, Blair. We can't do it anymore. It's time for our working relationship to end."

Jim lifted his eyes then, and Blair quickly slammed his defenses into place. "The sentinel stuff...?" he managed, proud of the way he kept his voice steady.

"We can continue with that," Jim hurried to reassure him, "just not on the job. We can work on it at night. You need to concentrate on your own work anyhow. I know I've been slowing you down there, holding you back. Maybe you'll be able to finish up your dissertation now."

It was a justification. Blair recognized it because it was something he would have done himself. Jim had made his decision, and now he was pulling out all the stops to defend it. "What about...who will watch your back?"

Jim pushed his plate away and rested his elbows in its place. "You've taught me a lot, Blair. I can control this stuff now a lot better than I could even a few months ago. I can handle my job."

In other words, you don't need me. The thought stung painfully. Blair had heard the same words before, the night of the accident. He swallowed the lump in his throat and stood, ignoring the spasm of pain the movement caused. Picking up the dishes, he went into the kitchen and began running water in the sink.

Jim followed. "Sandburg, please, say something."

"What do you want me to say?" Blair asked as calmly as he could manage.

"I expected you to argue or something, try to talk me out of it."

Blair began washing the dishes, not able to face Jim. "Do you want me to argue?"

"No, but--"

"There's no point; your mind is made up."

He heard Jim's exasperated sigh behind him. Then, the detective turned and headed for the stairs to his room.

Blair scrubbed angrily at the plate in his hands, not really seeing it. For the past two days, he'd been convinced that life couldn't possibly get any worse. It never pays to think that way, Sandburg. You should know by now that's a jinx. It not only could get worse, it just had. With a few short sentences, Jim had managed to destroy the only thing Blair had left. Of course, it didn't really matter, Blair tried to reason with himself. In a few more months, he would have been forced to quit his work with Jim anyhow.

And if he had nothing to offer Jim, what did that leave him?

He heard Jim coming back down the stairs and quickly schooled all expression from his face. Jim paused behind him, but Blair forced himself to concentrate on the dishes. Realizing he was still scrubbing the same plate, he set it aside and reached for a glass.

"I'm not kicking you out of here, Chief. You know that, don't you? I don't want you to misunderstand. I only want to end the working relationship. We can go on around here the same as always. There's no need for any of that to change."

Blair nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Good, I just wanted to be clear on that. It's nothing personal, Blair. Please understand that. I just think it's a lot safer this way."

Safer. And with that word, everything suddenly clicked into place. What Jim was saying became as clear as the glass in Blair's hand. The danger on the job, it didn't just affect Blair. How many times had Jim risked his own life or safety to save Blair? Why hadn't he seen it before? God, Blair Sandburg, you are so selfish.

Blair wiped his hands dry on a dish towel and turned to face Jim. "I understand, Jim." I honestly do. And though it's breaking my heart, I'll go with you on this one. "You're not going to get an argument from me."

Jim must have sensed the sincerity behind the words. He visibly relaxed and released a long breath. "So, we're okay on this?"

"Sure, Jim," Blair forced himself to meet Jim's gaze. "We're okay." As okay as we can be, considering our lives have just been ripped apart and there's not a damned thing I can do about it.

Jim nodded and turned for the door. "I'll be late tonight. Don't worry about cooking for me. I'll grab something."

Blair waited until he was sure Jim was gone before letting out a long, pain-filled sigh. God! What had just happened? He'd gotten up this morning with the resolve to tell Jim everything. He'd known Jim would take the news hard, blaming himself, and Blair had been unwilling to give his partner that much additional guilt at first. But two days and nights of soul searching had convinced Blair that he would be better off telling Jim now, before things got really bad. It would give them both a chance to adjust and make decisions about the future, a future that would affect both of them.

Or so Blair had thought this morning.

He forced his suddenly numb legs to carry him over to the couch, where he gently lowered himself, careful not to put too much pressure on his still-healing back. It wouldn't be possible to keep the news a secret much longer. Jim would began to notice soon. According to Doctor Ruskin, Blair had only weeks, maybe a few months if he was lucky, before things were going to get really bad. There would be no way to keep it from Jim.

Suddenly, Blair didn't want Jim to know. It had been hard enough when he still had something to offer the man, but now...? He couldn't help Jim at the stat-ion, his guide duties were essentially over, and soon he wouldn't even be able to contribute financially. Where did that leave him?

Out on the streets, he realized with a start. Oh, Jim wouldn't kick him out, especially once he knew what was happening, but Blair didn't want Jim's pity. God, there was no way he could handle pity from James Ellison. Blair buried his head in his hands, fighting back an overwhelming sense of frustration.

After a long moment, he gathered himself and sat back up. Feeling sorry for himself had never been his style, and he had no intentions of starting that now. What were his options? He could stay here, but he would be living on Jim's pity and guilt. The idea was unbearable.

What else? There was always Naomi. He would have to tell her sooner or later anyhow. But the idea wasn't very appealing. He didn't want to tie her down out of a sense of responsibility. She was a free spirit. She valued her freedom and independence tremendously.

No, not Naomi, at least not yet. So what did that leave? Hell, he'd been taking care of himself for years, so why should that change? If he started right away, he'd have plenty of time to organize his life and prepare for his inevitable future. What he had to do was suddenly very clear.

Blair stood up, grimacing at the pain that spasmed in his lower back. Just a foreshadowing of things to come, he told himself grimly. He headed for his room, strengthened by the resolve of his decision. No matter what happened, he was taking charge of his own future.

"Come in," Simon growled, not even bothering to look up from the report on his desk.

"Here are the photos from the Ramey case," Jim said, tossing a packet on the captain's desk.

Simon set his report aside and picked up the photos, thumbing through them. "Anything in here I should know about?"

Jim dropped into the chair across from Simon's desk. "A couple show the tag on the car, and at least one shows a partial view of the contact's face. There's an artist working on that one now, putting together a sketch we can work with."

"Good work, Jim. Let me know if you get anything useable."

Jim nodded and stood to leave.

"Hold up a minute, Jim." Simon waited until the detective was seated again. "How's Sandburg?"

Jim's face flashed an unreadable emotion as he answered. "He's fine."

So much for subtlety. Let's try the direct approach. "I was just wondering when he'd be released to come back here."

This time Simon had no trouble identifying the expression on Jim's face. It was one of pain and guilt in equal measures. "He was released two weeks ago."

Simon made no effort to hide his surprise. He'd thought Sandburg would have shown up the same day he got the okay from his doctor. Maybe the kid was playing catch-up at the university. "When is he coming back to the station?"

"He's not coming back."

"What?! Whose decision was that?" Pointless question. Simon knew full well whose decision it was. There was no way Sandburg would've quit of his own volition.

"It was mutual. We discussed it and decided it was in everyone's best interest for our working relationship to end."

"How can you sit there and calmly tell me that you and Sandburg have dissolved your partnership? I know what this job means to the kid. I can't believe he would just accept that it's over. "

"He surprised me too, sir. I think the accident was just the last straw. He must have finally realized he was in over his head. Hell, Simon he's got to be tired of being an easy target for every psycho in the city."

Simon shook his head. There was no way he was going to buy Jim's story. That the wreck scared the kid he could accept, but Sandburg was not one to run from his fears, and he would never leave Jim's side willingly. It would take a whole lot more than a little personal fear to drive the kid away. He told Jim so.

"Normally, I would agree with you, Simon, but this one was hard on the kid. There was a while there when he didn't know if he would walk again. It had to scare him. Hell, it scared me."

"Damn," Simon said, shaking his head. "It never occurred to me he wouldn't return." He sighed softly. "The place won't be the same without him. It'll be a lot quieter, that's for sure. So, what about the sentinel thing?"

"He'll still coach me at home, but I don't really need him on the job anymore. I've got pretty good control now."

Simon snorted skeptically. They both knew better than that.

"You're right," Jim conceded with a sigh. "But I can't let Blair risk his life because of these damned senses. I'll have to control them. There's no other option."

Simon recognized the admission for what it was. "I knew it was your decision."

Jim nodded in defeat. "Yeah, it was my idea, but Blair didn't even offer an argument when I told him. He agreed with me right away. I think he was relieved, actually."

"So, just like that, it's over?"

"No, not just like that," Jim protested. "I gave it a lot of thought. This isn't easy for me either, Simon. I need Blair. We both know that. But I need him alive and healthy. I'll find a way to make this work."

"Does the kid know you need him, or did you just give him the boot with no explanation?"

"We discussed it. He understands it's a safety issue."

"I hope you're right on this one, Jim, but I don't mind telling you, I don't agree with you one bit."

Blair let himself into the loft, heading directly for his room. Once inside, with the door firmly shut behind him, he gave way to his pain and misery. Jim wasn't home yet, but the detective was due any minute. His secrets were getting harder and harder to keep. It had been only a few weeks since Ruskin had given him the news and already the pain had reached staggering proportions. Imagining how much worse it was going to get depressed Blair, and he was finding it difficult to hide both the pain and his depression.

He dropped his backpack on the floor and gingerly stretched out on the bed. It helped to lay down, took the pressure off of his spine. God, how much worse could life get? He'd been looking for a place to live for weeks, with no luck. Everything he could afford was either too far from the hospital or not laid out with wheelchairs in mind. Both of which were important considerations. It wouldn't be long before transportation would be an issue. Already, driving was difficult. And the wheelchair consideration was a top priority.

As soon as Doctor Ruskin had realized Blair was looking for a place to live, she had brought up the idea of federal housing for the disabled. At the time, Blair had adamantly refused, ashamed of the idea of accepting welfare in any form it came, but the option was beginning to sound more appealing. He definitely had to do something. He couldn't stay where he was much longer. With a sigh of despair, he braced himself against the pain and rolled over in the bed. Before he could lose his nerve, he picked up the phone and punched in the number Doctor Ruskin had given him for the hospital social worker. A woman took his information and promised to set the wheels in motion.

Twenty minutes later, Blair hung up the phone, feeling more depressed than ever. The woman had told him it could take anywhere from a few weeks to a few months to handle his paperwork and find an opening. What was he supposed to do in the mean time? There had to be an answer. His time was fast running out.

There were a couple of friends that he could rotate between for a few weeks. He wasn't really comfortable with the plan, but he could live with it for a short while. Maybe that would be long enough. Maybe he would get lucky with this one thing. It was time for something to work in his favor.

Blair looked around the small room he'd called home for the past two and a half years. He'd begun paring down his belongings already, not that there was a whole lot to begin with. A transient life had taught him to keep material possessions to a minimum. All that was really left were the basics: clothes, a few books, photos, one or two mementos he couldn't bear to part with. The rest was gone, either back to the university, or to the Salvation Army. Naomi would be proud. She'd always preached that material goods enslaved you. Well, he was free now, he thought sadly.

The only thing left to do was to come up with a good enough excuse to offer Jim for the move. This one was definitely going to take some thought.

The opportunity presented itself much sooner than Blair could have imagined. Jim came home less than an hour later with the news that he would be going to Sacramento to attend a law enforcement conference at the end of the week. He would be gone for five days.

Blair realized then that the time had come, and he began making preparations. By the time Jim left for the conference, Blair was ready. On the morning after the detective's departure, Blair loaded the last of his belongings into his car and with a last look at the only real home he had ever known, he drove away.

Simon allowed himself the rare luxury of sleeping in, not arriving at the station until well after ten. Police business had kept him out especially late the night before, and he reasoned that a few extra hours sleep were the least he owed himself.

He'd barely seated himself behind his desk with his coffee, when the phone rang, shattering the fragile illusion of peace. Simon answered with a growl and was surprised to hear Sandburg on the other end of the line. He'd missed the kid more than he was willing to admit.

"Sandburg, how are you doing?"

"Not too bad, sir."

The 'sir' and the hesitation in Sandburg's voice instantly alerted Simon. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine, sir. Actually, great. That's why I'm calling. Something pretty amazing has come up, and I've decided I can't afford to let it get by. An old professor of mine called with an unbelievable offer to join him in Cairo. It's too good to let get by, Simon, but the only thing is, if I want the position I have to leave today."

Simon took a moment to absorb the information. "This is all rather sudden, isn't it?"

"That's the way it works in my field, Simon. You have to grab at the opportunities when they present themselves. Sometimes you don't get a second chance."

Simon knew the kid was referring to the missed opportunity to accompany Doctor Stoddard to Borneo. It'd been a difficult decision for Sandburg, but one he'd made in order to continue working with Jim. With that no longer a factor, what was to keep the kid from going? Blair was right not to pass up another chance.

"I know this is sudden," Blair continued, "but I had to make a quick decision or lose the opportunity. I just hate that there isn't enough time for a proper good-bye. It was great working for you, Simon. I don't regret a minute of it. I just wanted you to know that."

"Sandburg," Simon was at a sudden loss for words. What could he tell the kid? "It won't be the same around here without you." He cleared his throat. "I'll miss you."

There was a long moment of silence, and Simon wondered if Blair had hung up. Then, "That means a lot, sir. Thank you. Tell Daryl good-bye for me, will you? Tell him I'll write."

"I will. Have you talked to Jim?"

Another hesitation, then, "I tried all morning to reach him. I guess he's busy. I was hoping you would give him a message for me."

"Sandburg, you can't leave without talking to Jim first. It'll kill him."

"I'm sorry. If there was any other way, Simon, I wouldn't do this. Just tell him I'll call as soon as I'm settled, but that may take a while. Where we're going is a little off the beaten path."

"Are you sure you can't postpone this for a day or two?"

"Not unless I want to miss out on it altogether. I just can't do that, Simon. This is a chance to get on with my life. Tell Jim...tell him I'm sorry to do it this way, but there's no other choice. Tell him thanks for everything. I'll get in touch when I can." There was a pause, then, "Oh, and tell him not to worry about the dissertation. I decided not to publish after all. Thanks, Simon. Bye."

The line went dead.

Simon sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair. His coffee, now cold, sat untouched before him. How in the hell was he going to break this to Jim? Had this been inevitable from the day Jim had broken off his and Sandburg's working relationship? Simon couldn't help but wonder if they would ever see the kid again.

Jim knew the minute he stepped into the airport terminal and saw Simon, rather than Blair, that something was wrong. Every enhanced sense was on instant alert. One look at the captain's face confirmed Jim's fear.

"What happened?" he demanded as soon as he was close enough to be heard. "Where's Blair?"

"Nothing's happened," Simon stated, though his pulse rate said otherwise.

"Don't lie to me, Simon," Jim warned.

Simon sighed. "I knew better. Look, Jim, it's nothing bad. Well, that's not true either. But no one's hurt or anything like that." He stopped and took a breath. "Oh, hell, Jim. This is hard enough. Don't look at me like that."

"Just say it, Simon."

"Sandburg's gone."

Jim just stared at him in silence. He had misunderstood. Of course, he had. Where would Sandburg go?

"He called a couple of days ago. Told me he got an offer to accompany some professor to Cairo. He seemed pretty excited about the whole thing. He implied he didn't have a reason to turn down offers like that anymore. He wanted to get on with his life."

Jim opened his mouth, but nothing came out. This was a mistake. It had to be. Blair wouldn't leave without so much as a goodbye. Again, he tried to speak, this time managing an approximation of a voice. "Why didn't he say something?"

"He said it was sudden, and he had to make a quick decision or lose the chance. He tried to get in touch with you in Sacramento, but I guess you were out. He promised to call as soon as he could."

"Tell me what he said," Jim demanded. "Everything, word for word." This was a mistake, and if Jim could just sort it out he could fix it, he knew he could.

Simon relayed the conversation from the first word to the last, ending with Blair passing on his thanks to Jim for everything. The way Simon said it made it sound like Blair had no intention of coming back.

Jim's theory was confirmed when the captain drove him back to the loft. The place was completely bare of any indication that the young anthropologist had ever lived there. His room was completely empty, the bed stripped and bare.

Jim wandered from room to room, searching desperately for any sign that this was a temporary trip, that Blair would return. He found nothing. A burning in his chest reminded him of the need to breathe. Filling his lungs, he sat down on Blair's bed -- no, not Blair's anymore, he reminded himself. This was just the extra room, a storage space, as it had been before. Jim swallowed against the lump in his throat and rubbed at the sudden stinging in his eyes.

Blair hung up the phone in his office with a relieved sigh. The apartment had finally come through. Thank God! Blair had long since gone from desperation to panic. He knew he couldn't impose on his friends much longer, and he would soon no longer have his office as a fall-back option. There was only a week left in the term, and his resignation would go into effect the week after that. That left only two weeks before he would be living out of his car. But an apartment had been found for him. Maybe his luck was beginning to look up.

Blair was afraid to hang around the familiar campus much longer. It'd been almost two weeks since he'd left the loft, and he was certain Jim had given up trying to find him, but he didn't want to take the chance the detective would actually come to the university. He knew Jim had called the administration office several times trying to get information, but Blair had left strict instructions that no personal information was to be given to anyone under any circumstances. Hopefully, Jim had taken the hint and given up.

The past few weeks had been misery. Blair had been determined to finish out the term in spite of the pain that had increased to an almost debilitating level. The medication Doctor Ruskin had prescribed helped only marginally. She had promised to give him something stronger, but not until he agreed to give up driving, and he couldn't do that until he was settled in the new apartment and no longer working.

Blair looked around his nearly bare office. Everything belonging to him had been sold, the money hoarded away against the weeks to come when he would have no income. He had applied for disability compensation, but it could be months before he received any assistance. Not for the first time, he wondered how he was going to survive until then. If he was healthy, it would be no problem. He had picked up a lot of skills working his way through school over the years, but unfortunately, none he could perform from a wheelchair.

Maybe he could tutor for awhile. It didn't pay much, but it would surely help. He made a mental note to put the word out that he would be available next term.

But first, he had a phone call to make. As hard as it was to admit, it was time to ask for help. He picked up the phone and hesitantly punched in a series of numbers. When the line was answered, he panicked and almost hung up. Instead, he took a bracing breath.

"Mom?"

"That was a waste of time," Simon growled, dodging a small crowd of people trying to board the elevator he and Jim were exiting. They turned toward the hospital lobby, heading for the front doors. "If I had known how close-mouthed Byrd was going to be, I would've just sent a couple of uniforms to question him."

Simon took a few more steps, still talking, before he noticed that Jim had stopped just outside the elevator doors. The detective's head was cocked slightly to the side, and he was concentrating on something he alone could hear.

"What is it, Jim? Something wrong?" Simon was instantly on alert.

As he watched, Jim's face paled, and his head snapped around, scanning the crowded corridors.

"Jim!"

"It's Blair, sir." Jim began moving down one of the corridors, still scanning. "I hear Blair...I smell him."

Simon hurried after Jim. If the sentinel said he heard Blair, Simon wasn't inclined to argue, even if the facts said the kid was half-way around the world and had been for better than two months now. Suddenly, Jim stopped so short that Simon ran into him. The captain looked around, at last spotting what Jim had already seen.

"Holy Mother of God!" Simon managed around the tightening in his chest. Just as Jim had said, it was Blair. But, God...this couldn't be right. That couldn't be Sandburg. The kid was in Cairo, Simon's brain argued with his eyes, not here in a...in a...wheelchair! Simon shook his head in a vain attempt to dispel the illusion. How could this be real?

The young man was maneuvering the chair slowly in their direction. Beside him walked an attractive young woman with short blonde hair, wearing a lab coat. It took a moment for Simon to recognize her as Sharon Ruskin, the neurologist who had treated Blair following his accident several months ago. The two were in the midst of an intense conversation. Blair stopped his advancement several times to use his hands to make a point. Doctor Ruskin was equally as animated.

Simon glanced at Jim. The detective had lost all color in his face. He appeared to be scarcely breathing, and his eyes were unfocused.

"Dammit, Jim," Simon said, taking the detective's arm and shaking him lightly. "Now is not the time to zone!"

Jim came to himself with an audible gasp. He shook his head like a dog shaking off water, then turned to look for Blair again. "Simon...what...why didn't he...?" he stammered to a stop, unable to find the words for his confusion.

Simon looked back down the corridor. Blair and the doctor had stopped before a door less than thirty feet away. The woman had shoved her hands deeply into the pockets of her lab coat and was staring at the ceiling as though searching for something. Blair was looking up at her expectantly.

Finally, Doctor Ruskin sighed and looked back down, locking eyes with Blair. "I understand your reasoning, Blair. I just hate to see you go. You're making progress here. I don't want to see that disrupted."

"Come on, Sharon, I can make progress in Dallas just as well," Blair argued.

Dallas? Simon glanced at Jim, but the detective was absorbed in the conversation, his face revealing nothing.

"I guess I'm not going to be able to talk you out of it," the doctor admitted in defeat. "But I am going to miss you, you know?" She smiled warmly down at him.

"You could always come with me," Blair said with a laugh that said he was teasing.

"Oh, it would surprise the hell out of you if I took you up on that offer, wouldn't it?" She laughed. "But, alas," she said dramatically, "my practice, my patients, my debts are all here. You'll just have to get by without me." She reached for the door knob. "Let me grab your paperwork. I'll be right back." She stepped into the office, letting the door swing shut behind her.

Blair turned his chair and caught sight of the pair of men watching him. He froze, a look of panic on his face.

Jim moved forward, stopping a few feet away, not even aware that Simon had moved with him. "My God, Blair..."

Blair continued to stare, the color draining from his face.

"How long...?" Jim managed to ask.

Blair swallowed several times. "It...it was a gradual thing. Full time, about a month."

"Is it permanent?" Simon asked.

Blair nodded, his eyes never leaving Jim's face.

Before more could be said, Doctor Ruskin returned. She looked up at Jim and Simon, apparently not recognizing them from their few brief meetings months ago, then glanced at Blair, who had turned his attention to her, pointedly ignoring the presence of the other men.

She took her cue from Blair and handed him one of the folders she was carrying. "This one is for Doctor Gunter. You have an appointment with him on the twenty-eighth. He's been advised of the changes in your medications and will monitor you for reactions, so it's important that you keep that appointment." She then handed him the other folder. "This one is for the physical therapists. You need to call when you get to Dallas and set up a schedule. I've called Daniel and notified him of the change in your pain medication. Don't forget what we discussed about the side effects. Do we need to go over them again?"

"No, I've got it," Blair said, his eyes darting nervously to Jim.

"I guess that's it then," Ruskin said. "I'm really going to miss you, Blair. I'll follow your progress with Doctor Gunter, but I'd really like to hear from you once in a while." With that she bent down and kissed Blair softly on the cheek. "Keep in touch, okay?" With another curious glance at Jim and Simon, she walked away.

"I think we need to talk," Jim said, his voice calmer than his expression.

"Why don't we go to the cafeteria and have some coffee?" Simon suggested.

Blair shook his head. "I can't. I have to catch my ride in a few minutes. Maybe some other time. I'll call you."

"Like you were going to call from Cairo?" Jim snapped.

Simon laid his hand on Jim's arm. "Jim, you're not helping." He turned to Blair. "We can give you a ride, Sandburg."

Blair looked ready to refuse, but Jim said, "Blair, please, this isn't right. I think you owe me something here."

After a long moment of silence, Blair finally nodded. "All right. Let me notify my ride." He wheeled to the front desk and spoke to the woman sitting there. After a minute, she picked up the phone and placed a call. Satisfied, Blair made his way back to the two waiting men. Without a word, the three of them headed for the cafeteria. No one said anything until they had secured a table at the back of the room, Jim and Simon with coffee, Blair with a glass of ice water.

Jim was the first to speak. "Was the whole trip to Cairo a lie?"

"Yes," Blair said without elaboration.

"Why?" There was an edge of pain in the question that Jim was unable to hide. Simon wasn't sure exactly what the man was questioning -- why did Blair lie? Why did he leave in the first place? Why was he in a wheelchair? Why were they acting like strangers?

"You made the break, Jim. It was your decision."

"I only ended our working relationship, not our friendship."

Blair's face darkened with anger. "You made a decision that affected the whole rest of my life, and you didn't even give me a voice in it." He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Being your guide was all I had to offer you, Jim. When you took that away, I didn't have anything else. Doctor Ruskin had already painted a very vivid picture of my future."

Blair must have read something on Jim's face, because he continued quickly. "Yes, I lied about that, too, but only because I hadn't come to terms with it myself yet. I had finally worked up the courage to discuss it with you the same morning you broke your 'good' news. Ironic, isn't it? I realized then that the best thing for both of us would be for me to move on."

"You didn't have to leave, Blair. Friendship is not about what one side or the other contributes."

Blair studied his water glass. "I didn't want your pity. With nothing to offer in return, I had no right to saddle you with my problems."

"Blair, you should have told me," Jim insisted quietly.

"This was my decision. You like to be in control of everything in your life, man, but it's time you realize that you can't control me. I'm still able to make my own decisions, damn it!"

There was a long awkward silence. Finally, Simon felt compelled to break it. "You're leaving town?"

The younger man toyed with the top of his water glass for a long moment, considering his answer. "It's time for a new start. I don't have anything holding me here anymore. I have...'cousins' in the area. They're going to help me line up a place to stay and a job." The last comment was said with more than a touch of bitterness.

"What happened to your job at the university?" Jim asked.

"It's a little hard to remember the finer points of anthropology when you're doped to the gills, Jim," Blair said angrily. "I do good to remember how to get home some days."

"What about disability compensation?" Simon asked, hoping it wasn't a touchy subject.

"It takes a while," Blair mumbled. His eyes darted to the clock on a nearby wall.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked. "I mean, how are you making it? Where are you living?"

"I'm doing okay," Blair said. "I'm not looking for sympathy. I've got everything worked out. Don't worry about me." He glanced at the clock again. "I really need to get home. I have an appointment in a little while. If I hurry, I can probably still catch my ride." He backed his wheelchair up from the table.

"That's not necessary," Simon said, standing. "I have my car. I can take you home."

"It's okay," Blair argued. "It's out of your way. There's a van that provides transportation for us. It's paid for by the taxpayers. Might as well get our money's worth."

"Blair," Jim interrupted, "just let us do this for you, okay?"

Blair hesitated, obviously wanting to refuse. Instead, his energy seemed to flag. "Whatever." Without another word, he turned the wheelchair and rolled toward the exit. Simon exchanged a look with Jim, and the two men followed.

At Simon's car, the captain unlocked the doors and stepped back, watching as Blair maneuvered the chair close and locked the wheels. Jim reached to help Blair as the young man grasped the door to pull himself up.

"I can do it!" Blair snapped.

Jim silently backed away.

Blair struggled to his feet and into the car, biting his lip, but unable to completely muffle the cry that met his efforts.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked, concern coloring his tone.

"I'm fine," Blair answered, the lie obvious even without sentinel abilities. Just that small amount of effort had left the young man pale and trembling.

The drive to Blair's apartment was made in almost complete silence, broken only by Blair's clipped directions. Jim attempted questions twice before giving up in the face of Blair's discomfort. Judging by the address given, the discomfort might well have been embarrassment, Simon decided. He knew it as one of the less desirable areas of town. Rent was low, crime was high.

Blair waited quietly as Simon got the wheelchair from the trunk, opened it and locked the wheels in place. He took a deep breath, holding it against the pain as he pulled himself to his feet. The agony of the movement made him dizzy, and he had to wait a long moment before he was able to lower himself into the chair. Finally, he let the breath out, embarrassed that it was so obviously ragged.

Cursing the shakiness in his hands, he wheeled the chair clear of the car and turned to face Simon and Jim. Please, God, don't let them make this hard. It was embarrassing enough to have them see what he had been reduced to without having to deal with their pity, too. One more lousy week. That's all he'd needed, and he would've been out of here. No one would have ever known what had happened to him. Damn his luck!

He cleared his throat. "I appreciate the ride--" he began, then caught a look at Jim's face. Damn! The detective's intentions were clearly written in his expression. I can't deal with this. I don't have the energy, and I hurt too bad. I just want to go upstairs--alone--and wait for Daniel and my shot. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

"We're going in with you, Blair," Jim said.

It wasn't a question, or even a suggestion. It was a statement of fact. Jim had no intention of leaving until he was good and ready, and Blair knew it would be a waste of time to argue. Even if persuaded to go, Jim would just be back.

One more lousy week...Blair sighed, too tired to even be embarrassed at the pain in the sound this time. "Whatever." He turned and headed for the building.

They exited the rickety elevator on the fourth floor and Blair led the way to the door of his apartment. He dug his key from his pocket and, with another silent curse for his shaky hands, unlocked the door.

Once inside, he surveyed the single room he was now calling home, trying to see it through objective eyes. It wasn't much, but he'd lived in worse. There was very little furniture in the room, but he didn't need much. There was a couch, such as it was, a small table with two mismatched chairs, and a single bed. A small niche set into the wall served as a kitchen, a sink, small refrigerator, single cabinet and stove, the extent of it. The walls were bare. Blair frowned as he realized how it must look to Jim and Simon.

Jim's voice drew him back from his thoughts. "Blair, I don't understand any of this. Why--"

"Look, Jim," Blair interrupted, "if this is going to take long, you might as well sit down. It hurts my neck to have to keep looking up."

Jim sighed, an exasperated sound, and moved to the couch to sit down. Blair waited until Simon followed before wheeling over to park in front of them. He was too tired and in too much pain to deal with what he knew was coming, but he something was going to have to be settled before Jim would leave.

"I don't know what you want from me, Jim," Blair admitted. "You made some choices, I made some choices, and now we both have to live with the consequences. That's just the way it is."

"It doesn't have to be this way," Jim protested. "Your moving out was not what I wanted. Dammit, Blair, you should have told me what was happening with you. You didn't have to go through this alone. You have friends." He stopped and looked at Blair. "What about Naomi? Does she know?"

Blair nodded. He didn't miss the anger that crossed Jim's face with the information, and he prepared himself for the outburst he could see coming.

"Then where the hell is she?" Jim demanded. "Why isn't she here--"

"Taking care of me?" Blair interrupted, angry himself now. "Because I don't need anyone taking care of me. I can do just fine on my own. And Naomi has enough faith in me to see that. She raised me to be independent and self-sufficient, and she knows when to back off and let me be just that." Why didn't that sound like he intended it to? "She was here for awhile. She helped me get moved in and settled here." And why was he defending his mother's absence to Jim?

Jim opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Blair glanced up in surprise. It couldn't be Daniel. He wasn't due for another half-hour. Please, don't let it be Daniel, Blair prayed. He'd hoped to get Jim and Simon out of here before the man arrived.

But Blair's prayers went unanswered. He opened the door to a huge, bald black man, who looked more like a pro-football player than the home-care nurse that he was.

"Hey, man," Blair greeted tiredly. To hell with Jim and Simon. Blair was in pain, and Daniel had the relief he needed. He would just have to worry about explaining things later. "You're early."

"Only thirty minutes," the big man said, his deep voice filling the small room in much the same way his bulk did. "Doctor R called me about the change in your meds. Way she talked, I thought you might be glad to see me."

"Yeah, I am. Thanks."

As Daniel stepped further into the room and set the case he was carrying on the table, Jim and Simon stood. Daniel noticed the men and, with a surprised expression, crossed the room. "Daniel Armitage," he informed them, extending his hand.

"Detective James Ellison," Jim said.

Blair flashed Jim an irritated look, wondering why he felt it necessary to use his job title.

Daniel shook first Jim's hand, then Simon's, as the captain introduced himself. "Cops?" He looked back to Blair. "Is there a problem?"

"We're friends of Blair's," Jim explained.

Daniel shot Blair a questioning look. "I thought--"

"Old friends," Blair explained.

Daniel turned back to the two policemen, but his words were directed at Blair. "You want to do this now?"

Blair hesitated, throwing a quick, nervous glance at Jim and Simon. He didn't, not really, but he couldn't wait, and he knew they weren't about to leave. He was so tired suddenly, tired of hiding and lying and tired of hurting. It didn't matter anyway. In a few days, he would be gone.

"Yeah." He didn't even care that the word carried with it all of the pain and despair he felt.

Daniel moved back to the table and opened the case he had brought in. "So, how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Blair lied.

The big nurse wasn't buying it. "Come on, Blair, you know I can't help you if you ain't straight wit' me. Doctor R said you was having a rough day."

Blair shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Daniel gave him a stern look. "Don't make me get ugly, Sandburg. Spill it, kid. Tell me about the pain."

Blair sighed in defeat. "It's pretty intense, man."

"You been on your feet today?"

Blair shook his head. "Only briefly; in and out of a car."

Daniel nodded as he pulled a blood pressure gauge from his case and slid the cuff over Blair's arm. He took the reading, checked the other vital signs, and made a note of each one. "Any spasms?"

"Not since this morning."

"Doctor R discuss this new medication with you?"

Blair nodded.

"Then you know it packs twice the punch of the old stuff, right?" Blair nodded again. "She discussed the side effects? You know what to watch for?"

"Yeah, she was pretty thorough."

"Okay, then...let's get this over with."

If the tight lines around Blair's face hadn't given the kid's pain away, the paleness and trembling hands would have. Daniel had seen him like this more and more lately and was relieved that Doctor Ruskin was prescribing stronger pain medication. Maybe the kid would finally get some lasting relief.

Daniel had a soft heart that was belied by his extra-large size and street-smart demeanor. He developed a bond with all of his patients, which made him a good nurse and a compassionate caregiver. But Blair was different, and Daniel had noticed it at their very first meeting. Blair was fiercely independent and insisted on doing as much as possible for himself. The kid wasn't given to bouts of self-pity like most of the people Daniel dealt with, though God knew Blair had plenty to feel sorry for himself about. The young man simply took the nasty deals life offered in stride, at least to all outward appearances. Daniel knew better. He'd seen the depression that the kid struggled so desperately to hide. He'd watched, helplessly, as the light of life that had been in Blair's eyes at their first meeting was slowly extinguished beneath the burdens life had handed him. The nurse was witness to the gradual deterioration of a bright and enthusiastic spirit. And it had pained Daniel to see it, knowing that something vital and special was being lost.

So now, as he prepared to administer the shot, Daniel surreptitiously studied the two cops that had suddenly materialized in Blair's life, claiming to be old friends. Oh, the looks of concern they cast the kid's way were very convincing, but Daniel wasn't buying it. If they were so damned concerned, where the hell had they been the past few months? Where was their concern when Blair was facing this hell and misery alone?

Daniel swallowed the impulse to unload his considerable anger on the two men, knowing it would just agitate Blair and that was the last thing the kid needed. He turned his attention back to Blair, quickly and efficiently administered the medication and began putting away his supplies. By the time he was finished, he could see a slight relaxing of the lines around Blair's eyes that told him the medicine was already taking effect.

"Better?"

Blair managed a half-smile. "Yeah, man, thanks."

Daniel made small talk with Blair for a few minutes, pointedly ignoring the two cops standing behind him. When he was satisfied that Blair was feeling better and there was going to be no immediate reaction to the medication, he picked up his bag and stepped toward the door. "I heard Brian couldn't make his run this week. You need anything?"

Blair followed the nurse to the door. "No, I'm fine, thanks."

"You sure? I got a little time. I could go pick up a few things for you."

"Thanks, man, but I've got it covered."

Daniel was unconvinced, but let it go, having learned it was useless to argue with the kid. "Just make sure you eat something. You're too damned thin." He softened the criticism with a smile. "If you notice anything beyond what Doctor R mentioned, or if any of those side effects are too much for you, don't hesitate to call me. I'll have my pager on till eight, then I'll be home after that."

Blair closed the door behind the man and slowly turned his chair around. His face was a mixture of emotions, ranging from exhaustion to embarrassment. Before Jim could phrase a question, Blair spoke.

"I know you want to talk, Jim, but I'm really wiped. Could we do it some other time?"

The truth of the words was obvious, but Jim had no intention of leaving until he settled some of the issues his mind was racing with, so rather than answer, he sat back down on the couch. Simon stepped closer to the one window in the room, clearly removing himself from the coming conversation.

Blair let out a long sigh and wheeled his chair closer. "Look, Jim, I don't really want to talk about any of this. It's none of your business anymore."

Jim refused to take the bait, knowing that Blair was attempting to start an argument so he'd feel justified in throwing them out. "You're wrong, Chief. It's my business because I care about what happens to you. Regardless of how you feel, I still consider you my friend."

"Jim, I can't do this," Blair said in exasperation.

"Can't do what?"

"This roller coaster of emotions." The hand that Blair brought up to run through his hair was shaking. "Just let it go. I'm fine. I have everything under control." He shifted in the chair, wincing at the movement.

"Sandburg," Simon spoke for the first time, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" Blair snapped, then took a deep breath. "It's just the medicine," he continued in a slightly apologetic tone. "It'll pass, but I really need to lay down."

"The nurse said you should eat," Jim said, rising. "How about if I fix you something?"

"No, that's okay," Blair objected. "I'll get something later."

In spite of the words, Jim headed for the small kitchen area. Blair moved to cut him off but was too slow. "Jim--"

Jim opened the refrigerator, stunned to see it was practically empty. A quick perusal of the cupboard showed the same thing. A couple of cans of something Jim couldn't identify, a few odds and ends, but no substantial food. Jim turned toward Blair, not bothering to hide his anger.

"There's this guy who makes grocery runs for me," Blair attempted to explain, "but he couldn't make it this week. It's no big deal," he finished, sounding very much like a child trying to talk his way out of a punishment.

"Dammit, Sandburg!" Jim thundered, ignoring the way Blair flinched at the tone. "Were you planning on waiting until he makes his next run before eating? How long is that? A week? Why didn't you say something?" Jim felt himself growing sick at the thought of Blair's pride preventing him from asking for help. His anger quickly abated.

The change in Jim's emotions must have shown in his expression. Blair's eyes suddenly hardened. "I don't want your pity, Jim." The words were heavy with thinly veiled embarrassment. "And I don't need your help. I've been on my own for years. I'm a big boy now, in case you haven't noticed."

"It's not a matter of independence, Blair," Jim said as calmly as he could manage. Somehow he had to get through to Blair, make him understand.

"Then what is it a matter of, Jim?" Blair asked. "Need? Well, news flash, James Ellison, I don't need you, or anybody else for that matter." He flashed a glance at Simon to punctuate his meaning. "I've been making it just fine for months now. I don't need anyone. So just what is it a matter of?"

Jim took a step closer to Blair, his voice soft and low. "It's a matter of friendship, Blair. You said that yourself once. It's as simple as that."

Blair closed his eyes and shook his head. He didn't answer.

Jim took advantage of the silence to move closer still and place a hand on Blair's shoulder. Light tremors ran just beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"I can't do this, Jim." Blair's voice was full of despair. "Please, just go and leave me alone. Please."

A hand clenched Jim's heart at the pleading tone to the request. "Friends don't walk away from friends when they need help."

A single tear worked its way from the corner of one of Blair's eyes and slid silently down his face. "Don't do this, Jim. I'm so tired..."

Jim was monitoring Blair's too rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing. And when Blair gave a small gasp and fell limply forward, Jim was there to catch him.

There was no feeling of disorientation, no confusion. If anything, there was only a slight sense of deja vu. Blair knew instantly upon awakening that he was in the hospital...again. The only thing that wasn't entirely clear was the circumstances behind it.

He shifted slightly in the bed and reluctantly opened his eyes.

"Hello, there," Doctor Ruskin said, moving into his line of vision. She set aside the chart she'd been studying and took Blair's wrist, her fingers finding his pulse point. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

"What happened?" Blair asked, still unclear on exactly how he had ended up in the hospital again.

Ruskin set Blair's arm back on the sheets and sank her hands into the deep pockets of her lab coat. "It was a combination of things," she frowned. "It appears that the stronger medication was a bit more than your system could handle." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Under normal circumstances, I don't think it would have been a problem, but your system is run down, and I think we both know you've been under a bit of stress today."

Blair's confusion deepened as he tried to remember what she was referring to.

"Come on, Blair," Ruskin said, reading his expression. "I noticed how agitated you were this afternoon, and I know it had something to do with those two men you were talking to. And I've talked to Daniel, too. He said the men were at your place when he got there. He's convinced that you weren't too happy to have them there." Her eyes narrowed in concern. "Is there some kind of trouble, Blair?"

Jim! With a rush, the events of the day came back to Blair. He closed his eyes against the memory. He'd been talking to Jim and Simon in his apartment. Oh, man...they were there when he'd...oh, God!

"Blair? Are you all right?"

He felt Doctor Ruskin's hand on his arm. Opening his eyes, he met her concerned gaze and forced a small smile for her benefit. "Yeah, just tired."

Ruskin didn't look convinced. "Do you want to talk about it, Blair?"

"They're a couple of old friends," he explained, hoping she wouldn't push it. "I was just surprised to see them."

Ruskin stared at him a long few minutes, chewing her lip in thought. "Does this have anything to do with your decision to leave town?" When he didn't answer, she continued. "Blair, I was under the impression you had few, if any, friends around here. They've sure as hell seemed in short supply these past few months. Where have these guys been?"

Blair felt an irrational need to defend Jim and Simon. "They didn't know about...things. I didn't tell anyone."

"Why?" Ruskin asked softly.

"It's a long story."

After a moment's scrutiny, Ruskin took the hint and stood. "Well, we're going to have to get your medication straightened out before you can go home, Blair. We're going to try something new, and I want to monitor any reactions."

Blair nodded. He could remember a time when he would have argued until the doctor let him go home. Now, here or there, it didn't matter. Only difference was, "here" wasn't quite as lonely as "there".

"You have a visitor," Ruskin said cautiously, watching for a response. "Detective Ellison is waiting down the hall. I didn't want to let him in until I was sure you wanted to see him." Though it wasn't phrased as a question, she was obviously waiting for a response.

Blair was tired. What he really wanted was to close his eyes and forget the past 24 hours. He opened his mouth to tell the doctor he wasn't up to visitors, but stopped himself. There was no point in putting it off. Jim wasn't going to go away. "It's okay. You can let him in."

"I want you to understand, detective," Doctor Ruskin said, "Blair doesn't need any additional stress right now."

Jim nodded solemnly. The woman had made it clear earlier that stress was part of the reason for Blair's problems with his medication. The detective swore to himself that he would avoid upsetting Blair at all cost, even if it meant leaving him alone. For now.

Jim had no intention of letting Blair run away this time. Now that Jim knew the truth Blair had been hiding for the past few months, he was determined to make things right between them again. Despite the pain of admitting it, Jim was willing to accept the blame for letting the situation deteriorate to the point it had. He'd thought he was doing the right thing by relieving Blair of his obligation to back Jim up on the job. His motivation had not been completely selfish. He thought he was protecting Blair, removing him from the line of fire. He should've realized that Blair would take it as a sign of rejection. Hell, from what Jim had gathered, the kid had been pushed aside his whole life, bouncing from one place to another, never having a place to call home, to belong, until he had come into Jim's life. And unwittingly, Jim had pushed him away, too, snatching back the one bit of security the kid had come to rely on. And now it was up to Jim to rebuild the trust and security that had been inadvertently destroyed.

He wouldn't blow it this time.

"Good," Ruskin was saying. "Blair is in a good bit of pain right now, and he needs rest above all else. If he starts to get the slightest bit agitated, I want you to cut your visit short."

"Yes, ma'am," Jim replied, resisting the urge to salute. This woman was obviously reluctant to allow Jim in to see Blair and didn't care if Jim knew it, but she could hardly be faulted for putting her patient's well-being first.

Jim pushed open the door to Blair's room and peered inside. The young man appeared to be sleeping, but Jim's senses told him otherwise. As he stepped closer to the bed, the blue eyes opened. Jim was momentarily stunned by the depth of pain and exhaustion he saw there before Blair shuttered his expression.

"Hey, Chief. How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

Like two strangers. Blair wasn't going to make this easy.

Jim took a bracing breath. "Look, Blair, I realize I wasn't making things easy for you back at...your place." Why were those two words so difficult to say? "I'm sorry for pushing so hard. I was just caught off guard, you know? I wasn't prepared to see you, let alone..."

"In a wheelchair?" Blair supplied.

Jim lowered his gaze for a moment. When he looked back up, Blair was watching him closely. Jim suddenly felt as though he were being tested, as though everything depended on his next response.

"Blair, I'm not going to apologize for what I did, cutting you out of my job like I did. It wasn't an easy decision. I agonized over it for weeks. But I wanted you safe. I couldn't deal with the danger I was placing you in day after day. I couldn't reconcile it with my needs as a sentinel. I lied to you and to myself when I said I could handle the senses on the job without you. I lied because I wanted to believe it, I had to believe it. Dealing with the senses alone was nothing compared to what would have happened to me if I lost you because of my job. I won't apologize for that, even if it was...wrong."

He watched Blair carefully, gauging the young man's reaction, but was met by a blank stare.

"I realized something, Chief, when you left. I realized that I am not a sentinel. We are a sentinel. The senses are in control only with the presence of the guide. Remove the guide, and you remove the control, and the sentinel becomes ineffective, no longer a sentinel. I don't know why I was too blind to recognize that before I forced you away.

"I didn't see how badly I was hurting you, Blair. I would do anything to undo the damage I've done to our relationship. I let you down, and I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I'm so sorry, but I don't know what to do about it. Tell me how we can get past this. How can we get back to where we were?"

Blair was silent for a long time, seeming to absorb what Jim had said. His expression was unreadable. Jim began to worry he'd failed the test.

When Blair finally spoke, his voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "I felt like, if you didn't need me anymore, what good was I, you know? I had put so much of myself into the sentinel stuff, and suddenly, there you were, telling me that it wasn't necessary anymore. I was scared about what Doctor Ruskin had told me to expect, I was worried about what would happen to you if I couldn't be there for you, and then, all of a sudden, it didn't matter anymore because you didn't need me."

He stopped and drew in a shaky breath. That's when Jim realized how close to tears the kid was.

Blair continued before Jim could interrupt. "If I didn't have anything useful to offer you, I had no right to complicate your life. I certainly had no right to burden you with a cripple. I didn't want you letting me stay out of some sense of pity or guilt." His voice dropped to a whisper and he turned his head away. "I couldn't have stood your pity."

The sudden stinging in his eyes caught Jim by surprise, as did the lump in his throat. He swallowed hard against it. "God, Blair, how can anyone so smart be so dumb?" Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and took Blair's chin in his hand, gently turning the young man back to face him. "Blair, what we had, what we have, is deeper than that. It's deeper even than friendship. We're family, not by blood, but by choice. You're an extension of me, a part of who I am. Maybe it's the sentinel/guide thing. Or maybe it's a family thing. I haven't had enough experience with either to know if this is normal. But I do know it isn't pity to care about someone. It isn't pity to hurt when they hurt, or to want to help them when they can't help themselves. That isn't pity, Blair, it's love." He smiled at the expression in Blair's eyes. "Don't go getting goofy on me, Chief. You know what I mean. I love you like a brother." He stopped and shook his head. "No, that isn't right either. I never felt as strongly about my relationship with Steven. But I think you know what I mean. We need each other, Blair. I was just too dense to see it until you were no longer there."

"Jim..." Blair's voice broke on the whispered word, and a tear slid silently down his face. Jim carefully pulled him into a tight embrace. It was there -- what Jim had been seeking for months, he had seen it there in Blair's eyes. Acceptance and forgiveness, but most of all hope. Jim closed his eyes tightly, aware of the moisture that leaked from the corners and left wet trails down his face, but not caring. They could work the rest out. Everything would be all right now.

"He refuses, Simon. I've talked to him until I'm blue in the face. The move to Dallas may be history, but he flatly refuses to come back to the loft with me."

"Jim, he has a point," the captain said needlessly. "His arguments are valid."

Jim sighed deeply, the sound echoing all of his frustrations. "I know. The loft isn't wheelchair accessible: The doorways are too narrow; there are too many steps; it isn't laid out to easily navigate. I've heard it a thousand times. I can have the loft renovated, but I can't do anything about the steps. I just...I can't let him go back to that roach motel, Simon. There has to be another answer."

"You could move," Simon suggested, only half seriously.

"Don't think I haven't considered it. I would do it in a heartbeat. But when I mentioned it to Blair, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He was livid. Doctor Ruskin almost had me banned from the hospital for upsetting him like that."

Simon sat chewing his unlit cigar for a long time. Finally, a smile lit his dark face. "We haven't considered all of our options here, Jim. I think I may have a solution."

Jim unlocked the door to Blair's apartment and stepped back to allow the young man to enter first. Blair pushed the wheels of the chair forward, but rolled to a stop just inside the doorway. Jim held his breath. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, watching Blair's expression flicker from surprise to uneasiness to embarrassment, he wasn't so sure.

There'd been little that could be done about the depressing exterior of the building or the neighborhood, but Jim, Simon and a few of the guys from the station had taken it upon themselves to transform the dreary interior into a livable space while the kid was in the hospital. A new paint job had gone a long way toward redeeming the place. Then it had simply been a matter of replacing the worn furniture and putting a few pictures on the walls. It hadn't been difficult to inject a touch of Sandburg to the room. Jim had lived with the young man long enough to know in which direction his tastes ran, and finding items Blair would like had been easy enough. A television, stereo and sturdier locks on the door had completed the transformation. Jim felt almost comfortable letting his friend stay here -- at least until he and Simon had time to implement their plan.

Seeing that Blair wasn't going to move on his own, Jim took the initiative and pushed the wheelchair far enough into the room to shut the door.

"Jim..." Blair's voice caught, and he had to pause and clear his throat. "Jim, I don't...what...I mean, why...?" He stammered to a stop.

"It was the lesser of the evils, at least for now," Jim explained. "I haven't given up on getting you out of here, but until I can make you see reason, at least I'll feel better about you staying here."

Blair looked around the room again, his expressive eyes taking in every detail. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Okay."

Jim breathed a sigh of relief, not realizing how tense he'd been until he relaxed. "Great, now that that's out of the way, how about lunch?"

"I haven't had a chance--"

Blair stopped as Jim opened the refrigerator door to reveal fully stocked shelves. The detective grinned broadly at the expression on his friend's face. The cupboard was filled to overflowing, also. Jim intended to see to it personally that Blair put back on each and every pound he had lost in the past few months.

"How 'bout it? Hungry?"

Blair raised his eyes to meet Jim's and the detective was astonished at the depth of emotion there. Blair opened his mouth, but nothing came out. After a minute, he closed it.

"Simple question, Darwin. You hungry?"

Still in a daze, Blair simply nodded.

Jim pulled a crock of vegetable soup from the refrigerator that Janis Willis, from records, had sent over. Janis, like most everyone at the station, had gone instantly into mothering mode upon hearing about Sandburg's circumstances.

Blair moved slowly around the room while Jim heated the soup. The young man noted every change with an expression of amazement. Jim was putting two steaming bowls of soup on the table when Blair finally spoke.

"Jim," he said, turning in his chair to face Jim, "who did this?"

Jim gestured for Blair to come eat, waiting for him to comply before answering. "It was a joint effort, Chief, but I think you can pretty well figure it out."

Blair nodded, taking a spoonful of soup. "The guys from the station, right? Joel, Henri, Rafe..."

"Among others, yeah," Jim confirmed. "I don't think you realize the impact you've had on that bunch of hard-nosed cops." He paused for a minute, and Blair looked up to meet his eyes. "They've missed you, Chief."

"They all know...?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded, suddenly unsure if it had been a wise decision to tell Blair's secret. At the time, Jim had only been thinking of ways to make his guide's life easier, and that had involved the help of mutual friends. Now...

"It's okay," Blair said, evidently reading Jim's expression. The younger man turned his attention back to the food before him.

Jim decided to take the comment at face value. "They wanted to come see you in the hospital, but Doctor Ruskin put her foot down."

Blair smiled. "She's a little bit protective."

"A little bit?" Jim returned the smile. "The woman threatened to have my badge if your blood pressure went up more than two points while I was visiting. I think she could've really done it, too."

"I don't know if I'm ready to see them, Jim," Blair said suddenly.

"Why not?"

Blair didn't answer, just stared at the tabletop between them.

"Chief, they know the situation. They know about the wheelchair. There's nothing to be embarrassed about." Jim noticed the slight heat of a blush touch the young man's face and knew he'd hit on the truth. "These are your friends. You know the chair won't make a difference to them."

"It's not just the chair," Blair admitted, not raising his eyes.

Jim waited, but Blair didn't continue. "Want to enlighten me, Chief?"

Blair's gaze flickered up to meet Jim's, then moved across the room. Understanding dawned slowly for the detective.

"You think they'll judge you for your circumstances?" Jim leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his eyes. "God, Blair, if anything they'll judge me for this. It's my fault you're living here like this, and they all know it."

"Jim--"

"You know it, too, Chief. Let's not pretend otherwise."

"Okay."

It wasn't the answer Jim had expected to hear. His gaze snapped up to meet Blair's, and he noticed a slight smile working at the corner of his mouth. Jim matched it with one of his own, accepting the forgiveness he read in the expression.

"Well, now that we have that out of the way," Jim said, "how about it?"

Blair pushed the still half-full bowl of soup away, ignoring Jim's frown, and leaned back in his chair. "I expected to be packed and ready to leave for Dallas by now, and instead, my whole life has been turned upside down. I just need a little time to adjust to these changes, okay?"

Jim nodded. He understood. But it was going to work out. No matter what it takes, Jim silently vowed.

"How's Sandburg?"

"Better, I think. This new pain medication he's on seems to be doing the trick." Jim took a deep breath. "At least for now."

Simon handed Jim a beer and took a seat on the sofa. He waited patiently for his detective to continue. It wasn't long before his patience was rewarded.

"Blair's still not telling me anything," Jim said after a minute. "So I went to see Doctor Ruskin this morning."

"I thought she didn't like you," Simon said, wondering how much the woman would've been willing to tell Jim.

Jim frowned. "It's not that she doesn't like me. She's just very protective of Blair, and she's not fully convinced I'm not a threat to him."

"But she did tell you something, something you didn't want to hear," Simon guessed. It was an easy call, given the other man's mood.

"That's why I needed to talk to you, Simon." Jim stopped and lowered his gaze to the beer bottle in his hands. He studied it in silence for a long moment. "Doctor Ruskin doesn't paint a very pretty picture of Blair's future," he said finally. "She believes that as the damaged vertebrae continue to weaken, the pain will increase to a level where the medication will do little good."

Simon shook his head slowly. "Does Sandburg know?"

"Yeah." Jim took a long swig of his beer, then set the bottle on the coffee table and leaned toward Simon. "Ruskin said there's an alternative. There's this operation..." His voice faded away for a moment. "There's an operation that might help."

Simon sat up straighter. "My God, Jim! Are you telling me that there's a chance Sandburg could be healed?"

Jim lowered his head to his hands. "It's not that simple, Simon. The operation is risky. If it doesn't go well, he could end up paralyzed...or worse."

Simon took a minute to absorb the unexpected information. Jim was saying there was a chance that Sandburg could be healed, that he could walk again, maybe reclaim his life. But at what risk? Paralysis? Or worse, Jim had said. It didn't take much imagination to know what that meant. Was it worth the risk? No one but Blair could make that determination.

"Have you talked to Sandburg about this?"

"Oh, yeah," Jim replied in a tone that left no doubt how that conversation had gone. "I was waiting for him when he came out of therapy this afternoon. Probably not the best time to have confronted him. He was exhausted and hurting, and I didn't really handle it well. He was furious with me for going to Ruskin behind his back and with Ruskin for discussing it with me."

"What did he say about the surgery?"

"He refused to discuss it. Said he'd made his decision weeks ago and there's nothing to talk about."

Simon had no trouble reading the expression on Jim's face. "It's his decision, Jim. You can't push him into it if it's not what he wants."

"Simon, there's a chance he could be healed, that he could walk again. I don't understand how he could refuse to even consider it."

"That's not fair, Jim. You've seen the pain he's in. Do you really think he didn't consider it very carefully before he making up his mind? It couldn't have been easy for him, but it was his choice to make. It's up to you to support that decision and its consequences, not try to change his mind."

"You're asking me to support a decision I don't agree with."

"So lie," Simon stated simply.

Jim stood and paced a few steps away, then spoke without turning. "I wasn't expecting you to take Blair's side in this."

Simon sighed deeply and stood, moving around Jim and forcing the detective to look at him. "I'm not saying I agree with Sandburg's decision, but it's his decision to make. You can't make it for him, Jim, and I don't think you should try to push him into it." He paused, softening his tone as much as he could. "Jim, how would you feel if you talked him into the surgery and something went wrong? If he ended up in worse shape than he is now," -- or dead -- "would you be able to forgive yourself?"

Jim's face paled, and Simon knew that although Jim was aware of the risks, the implications hadn't really sunk in until now. "God, Simon, what am I doing?" Jim backed away from the captain, his turmoil echoed in his expression. "All I could see was the chance for Blair to walk again. I never considered that the operation wouldn't be successful." He turned and ran a shaky hand through his short hair. "I was so angry with him for not taking this chance to be whole again. My God, I never stopped to think about what the decision was costing him, how hard it must have been."

Jim dropped heavily onto the sofa, burying his head in his hands. "I'm a selfish bastard."

Simon sat down beside Jim and rested a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "Why did you want Sandburg to have the surgery, Jim?"

Jim looked at him, his expression clearly stating how obvious that answer should be, but he voiced it anyway. "I want him to walk again. I want his pain to stop. I want him to have his life back."

"Those don't sound like selfish reasons to me," Simon observed.

Jim shook his head. "No, Simon, not just for him. I want it for me, too. I want my guide, my friend, back. I want him whole, like it was before. Tell me that's not selfish."

"It's human, Jim." Simon allowed a small smile. "That's how it is with friendship. You want what's best for your friend, and sometimes, if you're lucky, that parallels what's best for you." Simon shook his head sadly. "You have to accept that, in this case, what's best for Sandburg may not be what you want."

Jim's stoic mask slipped for a moment, and his anguish was easy to see. "I just..." Jim stopped and cleared his throat. "When the doctor mentioned the surgery...I thought...I..."

"You grabbed at the hope," Simon supplied, knowingly, "like any friend would do."

Jim nodded. "It's not going to happen, is it? There isn't going to be a miracle cure that's going to solve this for us." The despair in his voice echoed the despair in his eyes.

"No, Jim," Simon said, hating himself for killing the last spark of hope in his friend. "No, there's not."

"Maybe I should've let you call ahead to tell them, you know, that we're coming." Blair turned his head up to look at Jim, and the detective had no trouble reading the nervousness he saw there. "That way they would've had time to...well, to prepare, so they wouldn't be surprised or anything."

"Relax, Chief." Jim smiled reassuringly. "It's going to be fine."

Blair was silent for a minute, but Jim knew another burst of nervous speech was coming. He could detect the rapid heartbeat and shallow breaths without even trying. He grinned as the young man began rambling again.

"I don't think this is such a good idea, Jim. The therapy really tired me out. I probably look like hell. I should go home first and get some rest. We can come back later this afternoon, or maybe tomorrow. And you know Simon, he'll be--"

"--delighted to see you," Jim interrupted. "Besides, it's too late, we're there."

The elevator door slid open, and Jim exited with his guide.

Simon sensed the hush that fell across the bullpen even through his closed office door. He glanced up from the report he was reading to see every head turn toward the door. Not able to see what the problem was from where he was seated, Simon rose and moved to the window. A wide smile spread across his face at the sight that greeted him, a sight he hadn't been sure he'd ever see again. Ellison and Sandburg, sentinel and guide, side by side, enter the bullpen.

Simon watched from his office as the shock wore off of the room and the detectives moved as one to greet their too-long absent friend. The captain smiled at the anxious, almost fearful expression that crossed Blair's face. Whatever Sandburg had expected, this wasn't it. Simon also saw the inevitable expressions of pity in some of the faces, and he prayed that they would manage to hide it before the kid noticed.

Simon opened his door and leaned against the jamb where he could hear the good-natured bantering directed at Sandburg. The kid was beginning to relax and was even returning some of the ribbing.

Jim extracted himself from the small crowd and made his way to Simon.

"You could have warned us," Simon commented.

"He asked me not to," Jim explained, his gaze still on Blair. "He didn't want anyone making a fuss."

Simon chuckled. "So much for that happy thought."

"Yeah," Jim chuckled, "I think he realized that in the elevator on the way up here."

"I take it you two worked out your little argument?"

"It was simply a matter of sitting down and discussing it like two reasonable, mature adults."

Simon studied the man beside him for a moment. "So you apologized."

Jim cast a glance in the captain's direction. "Right after I admitted to being an ass."

Simon made no attempt to hide his amusement.

"I also had to take a blood oath not to go behind his back to any of his doctors ever again as long as I live."

"Well, then it's a good thing I wasn't there," Simon said, "because I have an appointment this afternoon with his physical therapist." In the face of Jim's confusion, he continued, "I have some questions. I want to be sure we're doing everything right, not forgetting anything important. If all goes well, I think we'll be ready by the end of next week."

Blair waited until Jim brought the chair around to the passenger side of the truck, then eased himself slowly to his feet. As his weight shifted to his legs, an agonizing streak of fire shot up his back. He grabbed onto the truck door to keep from losing his balance as the pain hit him full force.

"You okay, Chief?"

Blair quickly lowered himself to the chair, then looked up to see Jim watching him carefully, his face lined with concern. "Yeah, just give me a minute."

Jim stood patiently for several long minutes while Blair worked to get the pain back under control. Finally, Blair took a deep breath and rolled the wheelchair away from the truck, toward the sidewalk. "We'd better get going before Simon puts out an APB on us." He was pleased that his voice was again steady.

As Blair approached the front porch of the captain's house, he slowed, then rolled to a stop. The steps that Blair had been trying to figure a way to navigate had been replaced with a gently sloping ramp, complete with hand rails. "Jim?"

Jim grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and pushed it up the ramp to the porch. "Problem, Chief?"

"Did..." Blair turned in his chair to face Jim. "Simon did this for me?"

With a perfectly straight face, Jim said, "Nah, Daryl's taken up roller-blading, so Simon had this put in for him to practice on."

Blair shook his head with a smile. "That was really nice of him. For Daryl's sake, I mean."

The front door opened before they could ring the bell, and the boy in question rushed out. "Blair! Hey, man!"

Blair smiled broadly at the teenager. Simon had brought Daryl by a couple of times to see him, so the awkward stage was behind them. In fact, Daryl seemed to be the most accepting of everyone of Blair's condition.

"You guys want to come in, or do you want me to just bring supper out there?"

Daryl rolled his eyes at his father's quip and stepped back to allow Jim to push the chair through the door.

"Simon," Blair said, "about the ramp, man, that was really nice of you, but you shouldn't have gone to that much trouble."

"Sandburg, don't you think it's a little bit pointless to say I shouldn't have when I already have?" Simon led the way into the living room. "Dinner will be a few more minutes. The pre-game coverage should be starting if you want to turn the television on, Jim."

"Daadd!" Daryl complained, drawing everyone's attention.

"Something wrong, son?" Simon asked, his face a mask of innocence.

Blair looked from one to the other as unspoken communication passed between father and son. Finally, Simon's face broke into a bright smile.

"He's the same way at Christmas," the captain laughed. "He just can't stand suspense."

Blair turned to look at Jim, confused to see the same amused expression on the detective's face. Evidently, Blair was the only one in the room not in on the joke, and he was beginning to feel decidedly uneasy.

"Go ahead," Simon told his son, gesturing toward Blair. "He's all yours."

Daryl replaced Jim at the handles of Blair's chair, rolling him toward the back of the house. "Come on, man. I've got something to show you in my room."

Before Blair could protest, they were in the doorway to the boy's room. Daryl pushed the chair just inside the door and stopped, giving Blair a chance to survey the room. The first thing he noticed was that the doorway had been widened to accommodate his wheelchair. He let his eyes wander slowly around the room, taking in each and every detail. His heart quickened its pace as he realized the implications of what he was seeing.

The light switch had been lowered. Blair could easily reach it without having to stand or strain for it. The bed had been replaced with one which sat lower to the floor and had a control by the headboard, much like the ones on the hospital beds which lowered and raised the head of the bed. Above the bed hung a trapeze, similar to the one over his bed at his apartment, for helping him in and out of bed without having to put too much weight on his legs.

Blair looked up at Daryl, who was watching him closely with dancing eyes. "You haven't seen anything yet," the boy declared, taking control of the wheelchair again. "Wait until you see the bathroom!"

Blair sat in stunned silence as Daryl maneuvered the chair through the room to a private bathroom that Blair was certain hadn't been there the last time he had visited the Banks' home. It was the same story in the small room, everything had been built to accommodate Blair's situation, right down to the lowered sink, hand rails on the wall, and bench in the shower.

This isn't right, Blair thought, slowly shaking his head. He backed the wheelchair up, out of the bathroom and into Daryl's room again. Once free of the confined space, he turned the chair around only to find Jim and Simon standing there watching him, both of them with embarrassingly huge grins on their faces. By the speed with which those grins faltered, Blair decided that he must have looked as stricken as he felt. He glanced toward Daryl and felt a pang of guilt at the disappointment clearly etched into the boy's face.

Suddenly, Blair felt trapped. His flight instinct was kicking in big time, but he was unable to make good on it. Even if he could get out of the room with both Jim and Simon blocking the door, where could he go? He'd never felt as totally helpless as he did at that moment. He felt his breath catching in his chest and forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. After a moment, he felt calm enough to speak.

"Maybe..." Blair stopped and cleared his throat, then tried again. "Maybe someone had better explain this to me."

Jim sat down on the side of the bed. "I think it's pretty obvious, Chief," he said softly. "You wouldn't come back to the loft, and no one's happy about you staying at that horror you're calling home now. This just seemed the most practical solution."

"So you just went ahead and had all of this work done without asking me what I wanted? I don't understand, man." Blair blinked hard to hold back tears of frustration. "This had to cost a fortune. Why didn't you ask me about it first?"

"Because we knew you would say no," Simon said, moving closer. "Even though it's what's best."

"No, listen, you guys don't understand." Blair turned back to Jim. "You talked to Sharon, Jim. She told you where I'm headed, what's going to happen."

"Yeah, and...?" Jim prompted, with feigned innocence.

"Come on, man!" Blair brushed angrily at his face as a tear broke free. "Don't make me say it."

"Blair," Jim said gently, "no one but you sees this as a charity case. Simon and I...and Daryl," he added, casting a smile at the teenager, "are trying to make things easier for you. Okay, so Ruskin thinks you're going to get worse. No one's going into this blind to that fact. We all know what we're doing."

Blair looked up at Simon, who smiled broadly.

"If you can be independent living by yourself," the captain said, "then you can be independent living here. The only difference is you'll have a nicer room to be independent in." He dropped his smile and affected a gruff expression, the one Blair was used to seeing on the big man. "Besides, I plan on you earning your keep around here. I really hate to cook, and Jim tells me you're halfway decent in the kitchen. And I'm hoping you'll be able to do something about my son's grades. That alone would earn you a bed for life in this house."

"Aw, Dad," the teenager complained.

Blair glanced over at Daryl and saw that the boy was grinning from ear to ear at his father. Another tear slipped from Blair's eye, and he wiped at it with the heel of his hand. He was unsure now whether to be embarrassed or touched by all of this. A month ago, he had been completely alone and planning his departure to a city full of strangers. Now... God, what had he done? How could he have turned his back on these friends? It amazed Blair that Simon would go to such lengths to bring him into his home. But did the man understand what he was getting himself into? Did he know what a responsibility he was taking on?

Blair looked back at the captain. The expression of complete acceptance in the dark man's face startled Blair and answered his doubts. More tears began the trek down Blair's face, and he abandoned the fruitless effort to brush them away. A hand gently grasped Blair's shoulder and he looked up into Daryl's concerned face.

"Hey, man, it's okay. We want you here."

"This is your room," Blair pointed out needlessly.

Daryl shrugged. "No big deal. I'm not here that much, and besides, the view of Tricia's backyard is better from the room down the hall."

"Tricia Markam," Simon explained. "The older woman next door. She likes to sunbathe in the backyard."

"She's only two years older than me," Daryl argued with a frown.

Blair found himself smiling at the gentle teasing between father and son. He glanced toward Jim and saw the detective studying him carefully. Jim was afraid, Blair could tell, worried that Blair was going to refuse this gift of friendship from the three of them. How could he do that to them after all the trouble and expense they'd gone to for him?

For him!That thought kept pushing its way to the front of Blair's brain. Blair had lived alone for most of his adult life, until he'd met Jim. But even then, he'd had to con his way into the living arrangements. Oh, sure, it had worked out fine once the two men had gotten used to one another. But now...God, this was different. He hadn't had to con his way into this. If anything, he was the one being conned. Simon wanted him here. The irony of that realization wasn't lost on Blair.

The tears started again, and Blair hung his head to hide them.

Two strong arms worked their way around him as Jim pulled him into a loose embrace. "It's all right, Chief. If you don't want this, it's okay. We'll work something else out."

Blair shook his head against Jim's shoulder. "No, Jim," he said, the sound muffled. "I want this."

Jim pulled back, his hands still on Blair's thin shoulders. "Then what's wrong?"

Blair wiped at his face with both hands, waiting until he was somewhat composed before answering. "I'm just not used to...to actually being...you know," he faltered, unable to say it, "especially with all of this...this baggage." He gestured at his chair.

"God, Chief." Jim leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling as though searching for insight. When he looked back down, there was a smile in his eyes. "Just for once in your life, accept something at face value, without trying to rationalize it in that genius brain of yours, okay? Simon wants to do this, in fact, it was his idea in the first place."

Blair shot Simon a look of disbelief.

The dark man smiled and pulled a cigar from his pocket. "He's right, Sandburg. On both counts. It was my idea, and I want to do this. And if you think James Ellison has some house rules...welcome to Banks Manor."

Blair rolled his head to the left and squinted at the flickering numbers on the alarm clock. After a moment of intense concentration, they coalesced into something he could understand, and he groaned. Simon would be getting up in another half-hour. If Blair wanted to have breakfast waiting, he would have to get up now. Not that Simon would say anything if he didn't, but it was one of the few ways Blair felt he could actually earn his keep.

He was just so tired. It took him hours to fall asleep at night, a combination of his medications and the pain that never seemed to let up anymore. By the time he finally did manage to relax enough to fall asleep, it was time to get up.

He closed his eyes and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Maybe just a few more minutes...

Blair jerked suddenly, aware that he had dozed off again. He checked the time and muttered a curse. He only had a few minutes before Simon would be up. He'd have to hurry if he intended to get something on the table for breakfast.

The trapeze swayed slightly as Blair grasped it, but stilled as his weight pulled it taut. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and slowly worked his legs over the side of the bed. That little bit of movement left him breathless and in pain. He had to wait an eternity before he had the strength to pull on his clothes. When he finished, he sat back, breathing hard. After several long minutes, he eased himself into his wheelchair. He was still sitting there, trying to regain a little composure when he heard Simon moving around in his bedroom.

Blair quickly rolled into the kitchen and started pulling pans from the cabinet. By the time Simon had emerged from his shower and dressed, Blair had the table set and breakfast almost finished.

"Sandburg," the captain growled, "I thought we settled this."

Blair looked up in what he hoped was an innocent expression.

"That look might work with Ellison," Simon grumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee, "but I'm not falling for it. You know exactly what I'm talking about." He turned and leaned against the cabinet. "I know for a fact you didn't fall asleep until almost daybreak this morning. You should be sleeping now while you can."

Blair looked away. "I'm fine, Simon."

"You're not getting enough sleep, Sandburg. Don't argue with me. If you don't do something about those tire tracks under you eyes, people are going to start hounding me about it. Jim already thinks I'm not seeing to it you take care of yourself. You want Doctor Ruskin jumping on that bandwagon?"

Blair forced a tired smile for Simon's benefit. "I'll talk to Sharon about getting something to help me sleep, okay?"

"You do that," Simon said. "Just make sure she knows I'm doing my best here. That woman is hell on wheels. I don't want to have to face her wrath." He took the plate of eggs from Blair and set it on the table. "And sleep in tomorrow. I do know how to cook, you know."

Blair pulled his chair up to the table and fixed himself a plate. He wasn't really hungry, but he had learned weeks ago that it was easier to eat than to argue with Simon. Besides, even he had to admit he was getting too thin.

"You see Ruskin today, right?" Simon asked around his glass of juice. "You need a ride?"

"No, I've got it covered." The same question every week. Sort of a ritual. And later, Jim would come by, asking it again. Blair knew the routine by heart.

Simon nodded. "What about your medications? Anything need refilling?"

Blair bit back a sigh of frustration. And he thought Jim was a mother hen! "I've got plenty...Dad."

Simon bit back a smile and continued eating. After a few moments, he said, "Daryl is coming this afternoon."

Blair looked up in surprise. "I thought his mother had him until next Friday."

"She does." Blair couldn't miss Simon's grin of delight. "But Daryl's grades have improved so dramatically since you started tutoring him that she actually suggested he spend more time here. I guess I owe you big for this, Sandburg."

Blair found himself grinning happily in return. He was pleased to know he was contributing in a useful way.

Simon stood and began clearing the table. "Joan said something about Daryl needing help with a history test. That won't be a problem will it? I know you have therapy this afternoon. Do you think you'll feel up to it?"

"Sure, no problem," Blair assured the captain. Not much of one anyway. Therapy left Blair feeling drained and dealing with a little extra pain. He knew that by the time he got home, he would want nothing more than to get out of the chair and get the pressure off of his spine. But he owed Simon. He owed the man more than he could ever repay, not just for letting him move in here, but for not making him feel like a charity case in the process. Simon made him feel like he was really welcome in his home, something Blair had never felt with anyone other than Jim, and that meant more to Blair than he was willing to admit to anyone but himself. So, if he could repay that by helping Daryl out with a little school work, then Blair was more than willing to do just that.

As usual, Jim's hearing was focused on the house even as he pulled his truck to the curb and parked. He heard laughter coming from within and instantly identified the source as Blair and Daryl. Blair laughed so seldom anymore, and almost exclusively with the captain's son. Jim couldn't help but feel a small stab of envy that his guide only relaxed with the teenager. Simon was convinced it was because Daryl was the only one who didn't try to mother Blair, but Jim had brushed that explanation aside, dismissing it as nonsense. Now, though, as he listened to the easy conversation coming from within the house, he replayed the captain's words and wondered if there wasn't some shred of truth in them. Blair was so much more at ease around Daryl, but then Daryl was so much more at ease around Blair than either Jim or Simon were. The teenager seemed to accept Blair's situation with an understanding that life wasn't fair sometimes -- something that Jim had been unable to come to grips with. Maybe that was the secret. Maybe the key was to quit trying to analyze and justify it, and just accept it.

Simon's car pulled into the driveway, bringing Jim out of his thoughts. He headed for the house, meeting the captain at the door.

"Doesn't sound like they're getting much studying done," Simon observed, as the sound of more laughter drifted through the door.

The way the laughter faded as the two men entered the house would have aroused suspicion even if the two young people in question hadn't turned an amusing shade of red.

"Something I should know?" Simon inquired, surveying the decidedly uncomfortable expressions on the two faces turned toward him.

Blair was the first to recover, wiping the guilty look from his face and replacing it with one of practiced innocence. "No, nothing."

Daryl took his cue from his partner in whatever mischief was afoot. Almost successfully switching expressions, he shook his head. "Not a thing. We're just studying."

"Now, tell me why I don't believe that." Simon gave both of them a stony glare, but when neither seemed inclined to retract the denial, he gave up and headed for the kitchen.

Jim watched in thinly veiled amusement as the two young men exchanged relieved glances, almost bursting into laughter again. He didn't even need his sentinel hearing to catch Daryl's whisper to Blair. "I'll finish the story later, man. I haven't even gotten to the funny part yet. Wait until you hear how Aunt Vida got even with Dad."

Blair grinned again, flashing a quick 'keep our secret' look to Jim, knowing the man had overheard the boy's comment. Jim returned the grin, silently agreeing to the conspiracy.

Simon returned then with a couple of beers, handing one to Jim before heading for the couch. "I don't know what you have in the oven, Sandburg," the captain said, sinking tiredly into the cushions and reaching for the remote, "but it smells like heaven itself."

"Shepard's Pie," Blair said absently, already turning back to the books on the table. He and Daryl lowered their voices as the studying resumed.

Jim studied his friend for a moment. He could tell at a glance that today's therapy had taken a toll on the young man. Blair looked exhausted in spite of the familiar light of enthusiasm that had returned to his eyes. There were tight lines of pain bordering those eyes. He wanted to ask Blair about the therapy and, more importantly, about the appointment with Ruskin, but was reluctant to disturb the study session. Instead, the detective took his beer and joined Simon on the couch to watch the evening news.

Jim had become an almost permanent fixture at the captain's house since Blair had moved in. He spent so many evenings there, staying until Simon practically threw him out, that the captain had jokingly offered to remodel the basement into an apartment for Jim. Jim grinned inwardly at the thought. He didn't need the basement, he would be willing to settle for the couch on a permanent basis.

He was drawn from his thoughts by Daryl's renewed giggling and protest.

"Oh, really?" the teenager smarted back to whatever comment Blair had made. "And what are you going to do? I'm pretty sure I can outrun you."

"Don't be too sure of that, kid," Blair returned. "I'm getting pretty damned good with this thing."

This prompted another round of giggles from the boy. "Oh, man, I can see it now -- you running me down and doing wheelies on my face." He tried unsuccessfully to stifle the laughter. "That's a really scary thought, Professor Sandburg. I'd better straighten my act up."

Blair just rolled his eyes and shoved the stack of books at the boy. "Okay, kid, you're on your own, but if you don't ace this test, your ass is grass. You got that?"

Daryl finally recovered enough to make his own grimace back at Blair. "Don't worry, man. I know this stuff backward and forward. I'll pass, no sweat. You wait and see."

"You'd better do more than just pass," Blair said. "You'd better ace it. I don't want your dad thinking I'm not doing my part around here."

Though the tone was teasing, Jim heard the underlying tension beneath the words and shook his head. No matter what he or Simon said to try to reassure Blair that he didn't have to 'earn his keep', remarks like this reminded Jim that the kid was still insecure about the situation. Insecurity, now there's a trademark Sandburg trait, Jim laughed to himself.

Jim settled himself deeper into the couch cushions, tuning out the television news in favor of the bantering which continued from the two young men at the table. Yeah, Simon, Jim thought with a sigh of contentment, forget about remodeling the basement. Just let me sit right here for the rest of my life.

Blair set the book down and stretched as best he could without putting a strain on his back. It was exceptionally sore today for some reason, spasming painfully nearly every time he moved. As careful as he was, the stretch set off another spasm. Blair bit his lip and waited it out.

By the time the cramp passed, he was shaking. In spite of his refusal to admit it even to himself, Blair knew that the spasms were getting stronger and more frequent with each day that passed. He was terrified that this was only the beginning, but he couldn't bring himself to even mention it to Doctor Ruskin, afraid that she'd tell him his only recourse was bed rest, and Blair was determined to remain up and active as long as possible.

He glanced at the clock. Daniel wouldn't be here with his next shot for hours, but Blair couldn't wait that long. Before Simon had left this morning, Blair had taken two of the tablets that Ruskin had prescribed to help him between shots, and he knew he wasn't supposed to take anything else until Daniel arrived later, but he really couldn't see how one more dose could hurt him, and he had to have some relief.

Blair could remember a time, not so very long ago, when he would have balked before taking even a simple aspirin. But now, all he could think about was relief, however short lived. His only other option was to go to bed and wait for Daniel, and he would be damned if he was going to become a vegetable any sooner than he had to.

All he had to do was figure out where Simon was keeping the prescription. The captain had secreted away all of Blair's narcotic medications, and Blair was pretty sure it had been Doctor Ruskin's idea. While he understood in theory that some people in his situation were considered a risk for addiction, he resented having Simon treat him like a child where his medications were concerned. Blair was the only one who could determine when he needed additional help, and he had determined that he needed it now.

Blair wheeled his chair into the kitchen, deciding that was the most logical place to start looking. He ruled out the lower cabinets and concentrated his efforts on the higher ones, specifically the one above the sink. He knew Simon kept his own medications there, and it seemed a likely place to store Blair's.

Eyeing the high cabinet uneasily, Blair weighed the inevitable pain of standing against his need and reached a quick decision. He locked the wheels of his chair, braced both hands on the arm rests and pushed himself up. The spasm that shot through his back dropped him back into the chair with a cry. Blair waited until it passed and his breathing had evened out again, then gave it another try. This time he managed to get his feet under him before another spasm hit. He leaned heavily on the counter and focused on his breathing until the pain began to lessen, then straightened completely, his full weight on his legs and back. He waited, his hands gripping the counter for support, but another spasm didn't occur.

"There, that wasn't so bad," he told himself. "I can do this."

Blair looked up at the cabinet, still a half-foot or so above his head. He could do this, he had to do this. He wasn't helpless. He let go of the counter, stretched up to open the door of the cabinet, and waited again. Nothing. Feeling a bit more confident, he gazed at the contents, immediately locating the bottle of pills he needed.

It was just as his hand closed on the bottle, that the spasm hit. Unprepared for it, Blair dropped the bottle, crying out as his legs buckled beneath the unbearable pain. He grabbed for the counter as he felt himself falling, but he wasn't fast enough, and he felt his forehead connect with the granite countertop on the way down. And then he was on the floor, still, afraid to move, and he wasn't sure if his eyes were opened or closed, because the room was strangely dark, and surprisingly, the darkness grew even darker, and he felt the pain grow dim, and then fade completely, and then, he just didn't care anymore.

There was no clock in the kitchen. Blair had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. It could have been hours or only minutes. Slowly, he opened his eyes, relieved to note that, contrary to the last thought he could remember, his vision was fine. Okay, maybe fine was overly optimistic, considering the blurring at the edges of his vision, but he wasn't blind.

Memory flooded back as he stared up at the ceiling, but the seriousness of the situation didn't hit him until he tried to move. Agony like he'd never known spread rapidly through his lower back, pinning him to the floor in its intensity. He couldn't suppress the cry that escaped his throat, echoing loudly through the small room.

Blair relaxed back onto the floor, abandoning the effort to rise, and after a moment, the pain dropped to a level that was almost bearable. Hot tears worked their way from the corners of his eyes and trailed back into his hair. He angrily wiped them away. It wasn't until the fingers of his right hand touched something sticky that he remembered hitting his head on the countertop as he fell. A brief exploration of the area revealed an open gash across the right side of his forehead that was oozing a steady stream of blood into his hair. He dropped his hand back to his side with a painful sigh.

"Okay," he reasoned aloud, "the blood's still wet, so I couldn't have been out long. That's got to be good, right?" He gingerly rolled his head to the side. His wheelchair wasn't far. If he could pull himself up a little, he should be able to reach it.

Tentatively, afraid of increasing the already unbearable pain in his back, he grabbed the closest cabinet door handle and started to pull himself up. The answering flash of agony stopped him before he could make any headway, and he fell back to the floor, openly sobbing against the pain.

Then, through the tears, he began to laugh, a hysterical edge to the sound. "I've fallen, and I can't get up," he told the ceiling. The absurdity of the joke both frightened and amused him. "You're losing it, man. Get a grip."

Blair took several deep breaths, calming his racing heartbeat and bringing a bit of order to his thoughts. Okay, options...Simon wouldn't be home for hours. Considering the intensity of his pain, Blair wasn't sure he could wait that long. Normally, he could count on Jim to come by on his lunch break, or at least call if he couldn't make it, but Jim was in court today. He wouldn't be calling.

"So, if help isn't coming on its own," Blair said into the silence, "then you have to summon it."

He turned his head, wincing at the pain, until he could see the phone hanging on the wall. It was only a few feet away, but it might as well be on the other side of the city for all the good it was going to do him. If he couldn't reach his wheelchair, how could he expect to reach the phone?

Despair washed over him, and he fought back another sob. Don't do this. Don't lay here in the floor crying like a helpless baby. But that's what he was, wasn't it? Helpless, dependent for the first time in his life on those around him. And it was only going to get worse. It wouldn't get better, it wasn't going to ever get any better. Another sob racked his thin body as he lay there on the cold floor, unable to move, knowing that this was what his life had come down to. This was all he had to look forward to, all the future held for him.

He gave up fighting the sobs, giving in to them and to the despair and panic that darkened his thoughts. There was no reason to fight it anymore, and so he didn't.

Blair had no idea how long he had been laying there. He had long since given up trying to keep track of the time. What did it matter anyhow? He would lay here until Simon came home from the station and saved him, because he was too damn weak and helpless to save himself. Simon would take one look at him laying on the floor and shake his head in disgust.

'I can't do this anymore, Sandburg,' Simon would say. 'You need a full-time baby-sitter, and I don't have the time nor the inclination for that. I have a life of my own, you know.' And he would call someone to come and take Blair away.

Blair wouldn't blame Simon. When the time came, and Blair had to leave, he wouldn't hold it against the captain. God knows the man had tried. He'd gone to so much trouble to make Blair welcome and comfortable in his home, but this...this was just too much. Now Simon would see what a burden Blair had become, how unbelievably useless he was, and the captain would have no choice but to send Blair somewhere where he could be watched day and night, protected from his own helplessness. Jim might argue at first, but Simon would make him see that it was for the best.

Too tired to even pretend to care anymore, Blair closed his eyes. And dreamed.

Nightmare images swirled red and black around him, but he lacked the strength or desire to do much more than notice. In his dream, he lay on a fast moving raft that made its way down a faster moving river, catching occasionally on an outstretched limb from the shore before ripping free and continuing its journey. As the raft bucked and shuddered beneath him, Blair stared silently up at the violently swirling sky above him. The roar of the river flooded out all sound but a persistent humming in his ears. Blair ignored the humming until it began to take on the shape of words, growing more insistent as they increased in volume.

"Blair, come on, man, open your eyes."

It took another minute for Blair to realize that the words weren't a part of his dream. He made a colossal effort to open his eyes, which resulted in the lids cracking the tiniest sliver.

"Oh, thank God, man. I was so worried, Blair. But you're gonna be okay. I called 911, and help is on the way. Just hang in there, man."

Blair forced his eyes wider and worked at focusing on the face above him. Daryl...Oh, God, no! Please, God, not Daryl. The tears Blair had thought long since spent, returned, working their way down his face.

That seemed to upset Daryl, and he moved closer, putting his hand on Blair's forehead in an awkward attempt to comfort him. "It's okay, Blair. Help's on the way. Just lay still, don't try to move."

"No...Daryl." The words almost choked Blair, and he had to stop to cough. Daryl wasn't supposed to be here. God, why did it have to be Daryl who found him? Simon would never forgive him for doing this to his son. "I'm sorry," Blair sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Daryl."

"Just lay still," the boy repeated, his expression panicked. "It'll be okay."

"Dad?"

Simon heard the lost tone in his son's voice even through the phone line and was instantly on alert. "Daryl, what is it, son? What's wrong?" In the short silence that followed, Simon's mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. Daryl's mother was supposed to drop him off at Simon's house after school to talk to Sandburg about some kind of essay or something that the kid was having trouble with. Simon had been meaning to call Sandburg all day to let him know to expect the teenager, but he kept getting sidetracked.

"Dad...it's...it's Blair."

Simon's heart leaped into his throat. "What happened, Daryl?"

There was a soft sound on the other end of the line, and Simon realized that his son was crying. "Where are you, son?"

"I'm at the hospital. Dad, do you think you could...could you come get me? Please?"

It was all Simon could do not to slam down the phone and race to his son's side. Instead, he closed his eyes and forced his voice to remain calm. "I'll come and get you, Daryl," he assured his son, "but I need to know what happened. Take a deep breath, son, and tell me what's going on."

He heard the intake of breath as Daryl complied. When the boy spoke again, his words came in a hurried rush. "Blair is hurt, Dad. I don't know what happened, but he was on the floor when I got there, and there was blood...I couldn't wake him up at first, so I called 911. I don't know why I didn't call you, but I saw the blood and I guess I panicked, so I called for an ambulance. Then I got him awake, but he got really upset, and he started crying, and I didn't know what to do. I thought about calling you then, but the paramedics got there, and there was just no time until we got here. I rode with them in the ambulance. I didn't know if I should, but Blair was upset, and I thought that maybe it would help if I went with him. I called you as soon as we got here. Do you think you could come? Please, Dad?"

"Of course, Daryl," Simon assured him. "I'll be there just as quickly as I can. Stay put and wait for me, okay? Stay right there in the emergency room until I get there, even if they move Blair, so I can find you. All right?"

"Sure, Dad, just hurry, please?"

By the time Simon located Jim, filled him in on the way to the hospital, and reached his son, the captain was a good bit calmer. A lot of it was self-defense in the face of Jim's near panic at the news. Simon decided that at least one of them had to be in control, and Jim was obviously not going to be the one. But one look at his son's face, and Simon felt that control slip just a bit. The boy launched himself at his father, burying himself in an embrace that held all of the comfort they both needed at the moment.

Simon looked over at Jim, standing at the desk, firing questions at the woman on duty there. Simon could see the tight clenching and unclenching of the detective's jaw even from where he stood, and guessed that the answers weren't pleasing the man one bit. After a few minutes, Jim turned and headed back to where Simon stood, still holding his son.

"All she would tell me is that the doctor is still in with him."

Simon nodded and gestured toward an empty row of seats, leading Daryl to the closest one and pushing him into it.

"I tried to ask, too," Daryl said, wiping at the tears streaks on his face. "They wouldn't tell me anything. They asked me who his doctor is. It took me awhile, but I remembered her name. I think they were going to call her."

"Daryl," Simon began gently, "we need to know what happened. Do you think you could start at the beginning and tell us what you know?"

The boy nodded and took a deep breath. "Mom dropped me off at your place around three. I knocked, but there was no answer, so I used my key to get in. I thought maybe Blair was napping or something. I checked his room, but it was empty, so I just figured he was gone to therapy or the doctor. I went into the kitchen to get a soda, and...and..." He stopped and looked up at this father. "Blair was laying on the floor and his eyes were closed and...and there was blood on his face and on the floor under his head. I tried to wake him up, but I couldn't, so I called 911. I should have called you, Dad, I know I should, but all I could think about was getting an ambulance. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, son. You did good."

"Really?" There was a desperate need for reassurance in the question, and Simon was pleased that Jim took note of it and answered.

"You did the right thing, Daryl. You kept a clear head and called for help for Blair. And you called your dad as soon as you were able. I don't think anyone else could have handled it any better."

The boy looked immensely relieved at the words and even managed a small smile.

"Detective Ellison?"

Jim and Simon looked up as one, standing as Doctor Ruskin approached.

"How is he?" Jim asked.

Ruskin smiled tiredly. "At the moment he's resting comfortably. We're going to be moving him into a room in a few moments. Blair tells me he fell, striking his head in the process. He has a concussion, but it's mild. It took a few stitches to close the laceration on his forehead, but it should heal nicely." The doctor stopped and looked up at Jim. "Do you have any idea what caused him to fall, detective?"

Jim shook his head. "Blair was alone when it happened. Daryl," he nodded toward the teenager, "found him and called for an ambulance. Blair was unconscious when Daryl found him."

Ruskin smiled at Daryl. "So you're Daryl. Blair has been very concerned about you. I promised him I would make sure you were all right."

"He's fine," Simon assured the woman. "He's just a little shaken up."

"Well, it's no wonder," Ruskin told the teenager. "Blair must have looked a sight, but head wounds bleed a lot, you know. They almost always look worse than they are. Blair's going to be just fine. I'll be sure to let him know that you will be, too."

She turned her attention back to Jim. "I'm concerned about what caused Blair to fall. He's being a bit closed mouthed about it, but I suspect that his spine just simply couldn't support his weight anymore. I'm going to keep him here for a few days and run some tests."

"When can I see him?" Jim asked predictably.

"I think it would be better to let him rest tonight. He's had a rough day."

Simon thought Jim's eyes were going to bore a hole right through the doctor, but the lady was not one to be easily intimidated. She returned the glare, tapping her foot impatiently.

"I'm not going to back down on this, Detective," Ruskin informed him icily. "This whole episode has upset Blair, and in my opinion, he needs a chance to get himself back together before he has to play twenty questions with you."

At the shocked look on Jim's face, Ruskin's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Detective Ellison. I didn't mean that to sound so harsh." She stopped and ran a hand through her short blonde hair, spiking it in the front. "Let me start again and see if I can do this right. I'm sure you've noticed that Blair has been handling his situation remarkably well. I mean, let's be honest with one another, his prognosis isn't very encouraging. I'm sure everyone here is well aware that it's only a matter of time before he becomes completely bedridden. Blair has known that for months now. But have you seen him react to it?"

She paused and gauged Jim and Simon's expressions. "No, I didn't think so. That's because he hasn't reacted to it. Oh, sure, he's had moments of depression and anxiety, but he hasn't yet had his 'breakdown'. Until today."

She stopped again to let that sink in before continuing. "From what little Blair told me, I gathered that he fell hours before he was found. Think about it, Detective. He lay there on the floor, unable to move, completely helpless for hours. I think its sa