Disclaimer: This is an amateur work of fiction, written purely for fun and is not intended to breach any copyrights dealing with the television production "The Sentinel".

* * * * * Falling Awake
by: ysone
ysone@otelco.net

Part 1

Detective Jim Ellison slid the key silently into the lock and let himself into his apartment. A cold breeze played across his bare face. Dammit, Sandburg! How many times had he warned his roommate against leaving the balcony doors open at night? What would it take to get through to him? Besides, what kind of idiot would want fresh air on a night as cold as this?

Jim made his way across the room to the double doors without turning on the lights. As he reached for the handles to close the doors, a ghost of an odor teased his senses. He stopped and concentrated on the smell, trying to identify it. The odor was so subtle it took a full minute to register in his mind. Cigarette smoke. That was odd. Neither he nor Blair smoked. It must be coming in from the open doors.

Jim closed the door and turned for the stairs to his room, making a mental note to have a long talk with his roommate first thing tomorrow.

* * * * *

The alarm from Blair's room woke Jim, but evidently not the anthropologist. It continued to ring for several long minutes. Jim pulled a pillow over his head and rolled over. Blair usually rose before the alarm sounded, saving Jim's sensitive ears. Several more minutes went by, and still the alarm rang. Finally, Jim kicked back the blankets with a curse and made his way down to Blair's room. The ringing got louder as he pushed open Blair's door and crossed the room. He slapped at the clock, somehow managing to hit the right button and stop the offending noise.

"Sandburg!"

The rumpled pile of blankets made no move.

"Sandburg!" Jim said again, shaking what he hoped was a shoulder beneath the blanket. Still no response. For a brief instant, concern flashed through Jim, and he reached out with his senses. There... a slow steady heartbeat. The kid was just sleeping. Irritation replaced the concern, and he shook Blair again. This time he heard a barely audible grunt. Satisfied the young man was waking up, Jim turned from the room and headed for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later he emerged, having shaved and showered and feeling a bit more civil. He passed by Blair's room and was surprised to see the young man still in bed asleep.

"Come on, Sandburg," he called loudly. "You must have somewhere to go, or you wouldn't have set that damned clock."

The figure under the blankets didn't move.

Jim crossed the room in three long strides and yanked at the blankets. "Get up, Chief..." He stopped in surprise. Blair was fully dressed. He grabbed the young man's arm and pulled him over onto his back. The movement seemed to rouse Blair a bit, and the young man pushed at the hand on his arm.

"I'm awake, already. Go away."

Jim almost laughed at the response. Blair sounded like an angry teenager, awakened for school. "Come on, Chief. Get up, and I'll believe you're awake."

After a long pause, Blair threw his legs to the floor and pushed himself into a sitting position, never opening his eyes. "Satisfied?"

Jim grinned and went upstairs to change. He listened as he dressed for sounds of Blair moving about. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he heard the young man head down the hall to the bathroom. Another minute, and the shower came on. By the time Blair had emerged from the bathroom and dressed, Jim had breakfast almost done.

"Good morning, Bright Eyes," Jim teased. Even after the shower, Blair's eyes were barely open. He still looked as though he could lay down and be asleep in seconds.

"Don't talk so loud, man," Blair muttered, headed for the coffee pot. "My head is splitting."

Jim chuckled at the pained expression on the younger man's face. "You're old enough to know by now that if you party at night, you're going to have to pay the price the next morning."

Blair sipped at the hot coffee then glanced up at Jim, a puzzled expression on his tired face. "Huh?"

Jim turned back to the eggs. "I've never seen you with a hang-over before. It's not a pretty sight, believe me."

Comprehension dawned on Blair's expressive face. "No, you're wrong, Jim. I only had one beer last night. Here, alone. No party."

Yeah, right. "If you say so."

"No, really, man. I had papers to grade last night. I worked on them alone until almost 1:00, then crashed. I was wore out."

"You must have been," Jim answered, still not convinced. "You didn't even undress."

Blair refilled his mug and sat down at the table, resting his forehead on the heel of one hand. "To tell the truth, I don't actually remember going to bed, only thinking about it."

Jim raised the spatula he was holding and shook it at Blair. "And while I'm thinking about it, what have I told you about leaving the balcony doors open at night? Besides the obvious danger, it's too damned cold."

Blair looked up in surprise. "I don't remember opening them."

"Yeah, well, you don't remember going to bed either, but you did." Jim went back to stirring the eggs. "Just be more careful, okay? We're both going to catch pneumonia." He dished up the eggs and placed them on the table.

"So, how did the stakeout go?" Blair asked, pushing his plate away with a grimace.

Definitely a hang-over, Jim decided with a grin. "A waste of time. Mayfield never showed with the artifacts. We've got a team still watching the warehouse, but I don't think he'll turn up. He must have gotten wind of us somehow."

"Now what?"

Jim chewed as he considered the question. It was the same one he had been asking himself all morning. "I don't know, but we'll figure out something." He indicated the plate Blair had pushed away. "Eat something, Chief. Might make you feel better."

Blair looked unconvinced, but pulled the plate back and picked up his fork. He managed two bites before lurching from the table and barreling down the hall. Jim could hear sounds of retching without even having to tune in his hearing. He smiled and took another bite of his own eggs.

"Yep, definitely a hang-over."

* * * * *

Blair pulled off his glasses and rubbed angrily at his temples. His headache had been growing steadily worse all day, and none of his usual remedies seemed to relieve it. Much as he hated to take over the counter medicines, he had finally given in and taken some of Jim's aspirin.

He picked up his glasses and turned back to the stack of papers he had been working on. He stared at the top one for several seconds. Light seemed to be glaring off of the white paper, intensifying the headache. He stood up and crossed his bedroom to switch off the overhead light and turn on the bedside lamp, then considered the light level again. Much better. Blair sat down and tackled the papers again.

It was almost an hour later when he heard Jim come in the front door and throw his keys on the table.

"How come I don't smell dinner cooking?" the detective called from the living room.

"Aw, man!" Blair slammed down his pen, instantly regretting it when a shot of pain stabbed through his head. "Sorry, Jim," he muttered, going into the other room. "I got busy and forgot. Give me a minute, and I'll have something ready."

Jim grabbed his arm as he went by. Blair winced slightly at the pressure, although it wasn't much. For some reason, his skin felt incredibly sensitive. Jim didn't seem to notice his reaction.

"Don't worry about it, Chief," he was saying. "I don't have time anyhow. I have to be on stakeout at Koppang's apartment in half-an-hour."

"I thought you said that was a dead end," Blair said, surprised.

"Simon's not ready to give it up yet. He wants to give it a little more time. Mayfield has to unload those artifacts sooner or later."

"You don't sound convinced."

"I'm not," Jim shook his head. "I think Mayfield got spooked somehow, and now he'll either lay low for a while or find another fence. But I could be wrong. Simon has good instincts."

"Simon going with you again?"

Jim shook his head again as he headed down the hall to the bathroom. "He can't make it tonight," he called over his shoulder. "He has other plans. I was hoping you would volunteer to keep me company."

Blair bit back a curse, knowing Jim would hear it. Perfect! His head was killing him. All he wanted to do was finish grading those papers and go to bed. But how could he refuse Jim? He couldn't expect the Sentinel to go on a stake out alone. He could zone out, and no one would be there to snap him out of it. No way he was going to take that chance.

"Sure, Jim," he said with a sigh. "No problem." At least it would be dark and quiet.

"Great," Jim said, coming from the bathroom. If he noticed Blair's reluctance, he didn't show it. "You make the coffee, I'll get the thermos. We'll pick up something to eat on the way."

* * * * *

Jim focused his hearing on the second floor of the apartment building they were parked beside. The only sounds coming from behind the dimly lit window were from the television. He focused tighter, picking up the heartbeat from within. Koppang was still alone.

Switching his focus to visual, he scanned the immediate area. Nothing stirred in the darkness around the building. Few cars were on the road at this time of night. He glanced over at his partner. Blair had reclined the car seat slightly and was leaning back, his eyes closed, though Jim could tell he wasn't asleep.

"You're lousy company, you know that?" Jim asked.

"So I'm not the life of the party. Sue me," Blair snapped, not opening his eyes. "My head hurts."

Jim was surprised at the irritation in the young man's voice. "You should have taken something," he replied, carefully keeping his tone neutral.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that." Blair sighed. "I did take something. Lots of somethings, in fact."

"You should have said something. You didn't have to come along."

Blair opened his eyes then and turned his head toward Jim. "You know better, Jim. You can't take a chance on zoning out while you're out here alone." He flashed a half-grin in Jim's direction. "Besides, I don't want to miss anything."

Jim chuckled, turning back to survey the area again. "Just a couple of more hours until our relief arrives. Can you manage that?"

Blair snorted and laid his head back against the seat.

Jim glanced back over at the young man and saw that he had closed his eyes again. Blair must be feeling bad. They had been here for several hours, and the young man had not suggested one impromptu test of Jim's sentinel abilities.

Suddenly, Blair jerked upright in the seat with a yelp of pain, grabbing at his leg.

"What's wrong?" Jim was both startled and concerned.

"Leg cramp," Blair ground out from between tightly clenched teeth. "Damn!"

"Get out, and walk it off," Jim suggested. "Just keep the noise down. Don't draw attention to us."

Blair opened the car door and stepped out into the cold. Jim watched from the warmth of the car as his partner paced up and down for a few minutes, the limp growing less noticeable with each step. After a few more minutes, Blair climbed back into the car.

"Better?" Jim asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the amusement from his voice.

Blair glared at him for a moment while he massaged the sore calf muscle through his jeans. "Not really. Thanks for the concern."

Jim laughed at the sarcasm in his friend's tone. "That's the liveliest you've been all night, Chief."

"So glad I could entertain you," Blair shot back.

Jim held up a hand to silence Blair. "Hold it. There's a car coming."

The two watched in silence as a small sports car turned into the parking lot of the apartment building. It slowed and angled into a parking space directly behind where they were sitting. The lights cut out, and, after a few minutes, a tall blonde woman stepped from the vehicle. Reaching into the back seat, she pulled out a couple of grocery bags and headed for the building.

A stab of disappointment coursed through Jim. He was sure Mayfield had abandoned Koppang, but some small part of him was hoping he was wrong. This case had dragged on for what seemed like forever, and he was more than anxious to wrap it up. Somehow, Mayfield kept eluding them, like he was anticipating their every move. Not for the first time, Jim considered the possibility of a leak in the department. Mayfield either had a source of information somewhere or a direct line to the Psychic Network.

Jim had jumped on this case eagerly when Simon had first presented it. He had known that Blair's expertise in South American cultures would prove invaluable in the investigation. And he had been right. Blair had provided a wealth of information on the artifacts that had been confiscated and traced to archeological thefts in South America. Too much information, in fact.

Jim smiled to himself as he remembered the look on the young anthropologist's face as he had examined the assortment of near-priceless ceremonial masks and weapons with almost reverent care. Once the initial speechlessness had worn off, Blair had rambled interminably, giving them not only the information needed, but enough useless data relating to the artifacts and their origin to fill an encyclopedia. More than a few officers had rolled their eyes and slipped away, Simon included.

"Hey, man, you zoning out?" Blair's voice brought Jim back to the present.

Jim shook his head in the darkness. "Just thinking. There's got to be a way to anticipate Mayfield's next move."

"If he was spooked, what makes you think he'll stay in the area? He could sell those things almost anywhere in the country, or even Canada, for that matter."

"I don't think so. It wasn't easy for him to get them into the country in the first place." Jim considered the question for a moment longer, then shook his head. "No, he's in the area already, and the more he moves the artifacts around, the easier it will be for him to make a mistake. If he's on to us, he'll more than likely lay low until the heat blows over. He can afford to take his time. He's already pulled in millions from the first two batches, and, if our information on this batch is correct, he stands to double that."

Blair lapsed back into silence, and this time, Jim let him be. He turned his thoughts to the case. He was determined to solve it. Mayfield's continued evasiveness had piqued something in Jim. He took it as a challenge. And Jim Ellison loved a challenge.

* * * * *

Blair pushed back the stack of papers he had just finished and reached for another. Half-way through the motion, he was stopped by a cramp in his shoulder. He jumped up from the chair with a curse and tried to rotate his shoulder to work the cramp out. It wasn't helping much.

"Damn!" Blair spit out angrily. This was beginning to get old. For five days he had been having muscle cramps almost regularly. First only in his legs, now in his arms and shoulders. His whole body was sore from the continual cramping.

The cramp began to ease up, and Blair sat back down with a sigh. He was tired of feeling bad. He hated being sick, and in the past few days he had been feeling increasingly worse. Probably just the flu or something, he reasoned, rubbing at his eyes in an effort to push away the headache that he was beginning to think had taken up permanent residence. Couldn't be the light this time, he thought, glancing up. He had replaced the bulb here in his office as well as the one in his room at the loft with low wattage ones. It helped a bit, but not enough. What he wanted was total darkness and a good night's sleep. Sleep seemed as elusive lately as Jim's smuggler, Mayfield.

Confident the cramp had been truly banished, Blair reached again for the stack of papers left to be graded. He had finished only two when another cramp hit him in the same shoulder. With a muttered curse, he worked it carefully. When at last it lessened, Blair reached for the phone book in his bottom desk drawer. Enough was enough. He found the number he was looking for, and quickly dialed it. Hopefully, his doctor could work him in this afternoon.

After a quick conversation, he hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh. A glance at his watch told him he'd better hurry. God, he hated going to the doctor, but he hated being sick even more. It was time to get something to knock this stuff out and get back to feeling human.

Blair had just stood to leave when the phone rang. He grabbed it on the first ring. "Yeah?"

"Have I told you lately how much I admire your analytical mind and comprehensive knowledge?"

Blair chuckled. "What do you want, Jim?"

"Did I say I wanted anything? Can't I just call to pay you a compliment once in a while?"

"What do you want, Jim?" Blair repeated with a snort.

There was a short pause on the other end of the line, then, "I need your help with something here at the station. Are you busy?"

"Now?" Blair frowned. Talk about bad timing.

"Well, unless you'd like me to call someone else who can identify South American artifacts..." There was humor in Jim's voice.

"What? You have the artifacts? How did that happen?" Blair stopped as a stabbing pain shot between his eyes. He rubbed the offending spot as the detective answered.

"I'm not even sure if they are from the batch Mayfield has. That's why I need you. Two pieces turned up in a small town up the coast. I'm sure they are part of the bunch we're looking for, but I really need someone to verify it."

"Sure, Jim," Blair answered, not even hesitating. His appointment would just have to be postponed. After all, it was just the flu. "I'll be there in half an hour."

* * * * *

Jim didn't need to glance up to know it was Blair approaching his desk. The young man's herbal shampoo and natural soap gave him a distinctive odor, setting him apart from the others in the room. Jim finished what he was writing and set the papers aside before looking up. Blair was standing in front of the desk, barely keeping a lid on his impatience. Jim smiled at the enthusiasm in his partner's face.

"Ready?" The detective asked unnecessarily.

Blair raised his eyebrows and gestured for Jim to lead the way. "You know," Jim said as they walked, "I was only half-kidding on the phone. It has certainly made this case easier to have an expert on these artifacts at my beck and call."

"Oh, so you admit you need me?" Amusement colored Blair's tone.

"Yeah," Jim admitted with a grin. "In a twisted sort of way, I guess you serve your purpose around here."

They reached the evidence room, and Jim signed them in. He was about to lead his partner to the area containing the items in question when he heard a familiar voice call his name. He turned to see Simon approaching.

"Jim," the captain said, "I need you a moment."

Jim turned back to Blair, gesturing to the back of the room. "Why don't you go ahead and get started, Chief. I'll join you in a minute." He waited till he was sure the young man was headed in the right direction before turning his attention back to Simon. "What's up, Captain?"

"We've got a positive ID from the man that had those artifacts. It's amazing what a person will say to save their own butt. He's willing to swear it was Mayfield that sold him those items. All we need now is for Sandburg to verify that these are from the Tacna dig."

Both men turned to watch the young anthropologist. He had donned his glasses and was closely examining a intricately carved wooden mask. He turned it over in his hands several times, running his fingers expertly over the engravings. Jim was so involved in his study of Blair's study, he almost missed Simon's question when it came.

"What's wrong with Sandburg?"

Jim looked up at the captain in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"He looks like hell."

The statement startled Jim. He glanced at Blair. The young man looked tired. Well, he should, Jim thought. Blair had taken to prowling the loft at night, lately. Though Jim could tell the kid made a conscious effort to be quiet, any noise tended to alert the Sentinel's senses.

Pushing aside his mild irritation at his partner's sleeping habits of late, Jim looked at him, really looked at him, and was surprised at what he saw. Blair had dark smudges under eyes that were squinted almost shut as he examined the mask. He appeared haggard, though Jim passed that off as an effect of not sleeping. The most startling was how drawn and thin he looked.

Jim ran the past few days quickly through his mind, looking for some reference Blair might have made to not feeling well. It didn't take long. He realized somewhat guiltily that he had not seen much of the young man in the past few days. He had been really overwhelmed with this case and had spent more time than normal at the station. When he had been home, Blair had stayed mostly in his room. Jim had assumed he had a heavy work load from the university. Now that he thought about it, Jim realized how odd that in itself was. Blair had not pestered him all week to follow him around while he was on the case, testing his abilities.

Simon's voice pulled Jim away from his thoughts. "Well, anyway, Cleburne will be brought in this afternoon for his statement. I'll let you know what time as soon as I hear." With that the captain left.

Jim crossed the room and stood, waiting for Blair to acknowledge him. After a minute, it became obvious that the anthropologist had not even noticed Jim's arrival. The detective cleared his throat loudly. Blair looked up, startled.

"Sorry," Blair said. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Did you say something?"

"Chief, are you feeling all right?"

"This is absolutely unbelievable," Blair said, ignoring the question. "The work that went into this is amazing. You wouldn't believe how primitive the tools were that were used for these carvings. Did you know that it took--"

Jim grabbed his arm, stopping the spill of words. He took note of the brief wince of pain that screwed up his partner's face, before it was replaced by one of mild confusion. "Hold up on that for a minute, would you? I asked if you were feeling all right."

"I'm fine, Jim," Blair said unconvincingly. "Why the sudden concern for my health?"

Jim felt a fresh pang of guilt at the words, though he knew Blair hadn't meant them the way he had taken them. Why hadn't he noticed his friend was sick before now?

"I'm fine," Blair repeated, turning back to the mask in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jim beat him to it.

"You don't look fine. You look like crap."

Blair grinned at the comment. "You've been saying that from day one, Jim. I think it's the hair."

Jim almost grinned back in response to that. "I'm serious, Chief. Are you sick?"

The question seemed to irritate Blair. He pushed his hair back with one hand and looked away. For a minute Jim thought he was going to ignore the question again. Then, "I've been a little under the weather for a few days. Nothing serious."

"Why didn't you say something?" Jim asked, wondering if Blair had said something, and Jim had been too preoccupied to catch it.

"Why? I just picked up a bug or something. It'll pass." Blair put his glasses back on and focused his attention solely on the mask he still held.

Jim watched him for a long moment, trying to decide if the kid was BS-ing him or not. Even after all this time, he still couldn't always tell. Before he could decide, Blair began speaking again, raving on about the cultural importance of the mask. Jim let him ramble on, pleased to see the light of enthusiasm return to the expressive eyes.

* * * * *

The aspirin bottle rattled loudly in Blair's hand, confirming his suspicions. He opened it and poured the lone pill into his hand, then tossed the now empty container in the bathroom trash can. Less than a week ago, the bottle had been nearly full. He hadn't realized he had been taking so many. He needed more than the one pill, but really didn't feel like going to the store tonight. He popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it dry. Maybe one would help. He closed the medicine cabinet on his way out the door and made a mental note to replace Jim's aspirin first thing tomorrow.

Blair headed for the kitchen. The thought of food sent his stomach into spasms of nausea, but it was his night to fix dinner, and Jim would be home soon. A quick perusal of the refrigerator turned up little. Man, it's time to do a some grocery shopping. Jim had been too busy and Blair just hadn't felt like it. He closed the door and searched the pantry, finally deciding on Hawaiian Chicken -- quick and easy, and maybe he could stomach the smell. He gathered the necessary ingredients and began putting the meal together.

Thirty minutes later, he was almost finished but struggling to control his nausea. The smell of cooking meat and simmering vegetables filled the apartment with an odor that, at any other time, would have whet his appetite. Tonight it just made him sick. A sudden surge of nausea hit him, and he lunged for the bathroom, barely making it in time. His poor stomach had not seen substantial food for so long, there was little for it to expel, but that didn't stop it from trying.

An eternity later, Blair sat back, letting his forehead rest against the cool tile wall. Damn, he was really sick! The thought took him by surprise. He so rarely got really sick that he was unsure how to react. He couldn't even remember his last cold. Oh, sure, he got hurt a lot, especially since taking up with Jim, but this was different. This was embarrassing!

Through the closed bathroom door, Blair heard the front door open, and Jim call out, "Why is it so dark in here, Chief?"

With an effort, Blair pushed himself to his feet and moved to the sink, splashing cold water on his face. A quick look in the mirror to see that all evidence of the episode was erased, and he made his way into the living room, wincing at the lights Jim had turned on. His headache increased tenfold.

Jim looked up from the stove as Blair entered the kitchen, apparently not noticing the younger man's discomfort. "This smells great, Chief. Tell me it's made with normal ingredients. I'm starving."

Blair hid a grimace as his stomach rolled again at the smell. "Perfectly normal and highly edible. It'll be ready in about ten minutes." He picked up a spoon and made a show of stirring one of the pots.

"Great. That gives me enough time for a quick shower."

Blair watched Jim climb the stairs to his room, coming back down less than a minute later and heading for the bathroom. Blair waited until he heard the door shut before letting out a low moan and clutching his stomach. He made his way to the closest chair and dropped heavily into it. God, he felt bad! This was the worst bug he had ever picked up.

He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes against the waves of pain and keeping one ear tuned to the sounds of the shower. After a few minutes, the pain subsided somewhat, but he stayed put, enjoying the darkness behind his eyelids. This felt so good; he hadn't slept in forever. He sank back into the cushions of the chair and let his mind go blank.

"Sandburg!"

Blair didn't realize he had been asleep until he woke up. He sat up with a start and saw Jim watching him with a concerned look on his face. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Guess I'm a little tired." He rubbed his hands across his face and stood. "Food should be ready."

Jim pushed him gently back down into the chair. "Take it easy. I'll get it."

Blair let himself sink back into the chair, feeling slightly guilty, but mostly relieved. He didn't want to have to face the food again right now. His stomach was still a bit queasy. He watched Jim gather two plates from the cabinet and begin scooping the food onto them. It took him a few minutes to realize his friend was fixing a plate for him, too. "None for me, Jim."

Jim looked at him in renewed concern.

Blair quickly added, "I ate earlier, while I was cooking." He knew the lie was obvious, but he couldn't deal with the idea of eating. "I'm really tired, man. I think I'll just turn in early." He rose and headed for his bedroom.

Jim set his plate on the table and intercepted Blair before he could disappear into his room. "Are you okay, Chief?"

Blair pushed his hair back and tried to think of a lie Jim would believe. Before he could come up with anything, Jim spoke again.

"You don't look okay."

Blair sighed and looked up at his friend. He couldn't lie to Jim, no matter how embarrassing this was. "I just don't feel real well. Nothing serious. Like I said earlier, it's just a bug or something. A good night's sleep, and I'll be ready to tackle the world." He attempted to keep his tone light, though his head was screaming at him to get out of the light, and his stomach was threatening to roll over on him again.

Jim nodded, apparently satisfied at the half-truth. "Do you need anything? Medicine or something?"

"Nah, man. I'm fine." He didn't want to mention that he had already exhausted the supply of medicine in the loft, and he certainly didn't want Jim to have go out and get something for him to take. "I just need some sleep." He turned and went into his bedroom before Jim could say anything more.

* * * * *

Blair woke up to the sound of his alarm, surprised he had fallen asleep. He had spent most of the night tossing and turning and, occasionally, walking off a leg cramp. He was surprised Jim hadn't come in to see what the problem was. He slapped at the alarm, turning it off, and rolled from the bed. Making his way down the hall to the bathroom, he listened for any sounds of his roommate. Hearing none, he decided Jim was still sleeping.

Surprisingly, Blair felt much better this morning. Maybe the virus was working its way out of his system. That doctor's appointment he had gotten for later this morning might not be necessary after all, he decided. A quick shower, and he felt even better.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Blair had made the decision to cancel his appointment. No point wasting his time or the doctor's if this bug had run it's course. He headed for the kitchen, trying to keep the noise down, and was surprised to see the coffee had already been made. Helping himself to a cup, he stepped into the living room and spotted Jim's note on the table.

Early meeting with Simon. New developments in
the Mayfield case. Join me later if you can.

Jim

Blair set the note aside. Sounded encouraging. Maybe this case would soon be over. He knew it had been plaguing Jim for a long time now. The detective had run himself ragged trying to put a stop to Mayfield. Blair had been so busy at the university the past week, though, that he had not really followed it like he should have. He hadn't been much help to Jim, other that having an occasional bit of knowledge about the artifacts themselves.

Blair finished his coffee and set the cup in the sink. He would just have to make a quick call to the doctor's office to cancel his appointment, then he would head for the station, and see what the new information was.

He had just reached for the phone when it hit him. His stomach lurched so hard he doubled over with a cry. The rolling increased, and he thought for a minute he was going to be sick right there. Ellison Rule number one million and two: No hurling on the living room floor!

He dragged himself weakly to the bathroom and gave in to the impulses. After what seemed an eternity, his stomach gave up all attempts to expel his toes, and he laid down on the floor, thankful for the coolness of the ceramic tile.

Guess I'll be keeping that appointment, after all.

* * * * *

"With Cleburne's statement and this new evidence, we have the case against Mayfield sewn up," Simon said enthusiastically.

"We still have to catch him, Simon," Jim pointed out, but he had to suppress a grin of satisfaction as he said the words. If all went well, by tonight they would have the man. Mayfield was beginning to get desperate as they tightened the net around him, and desperate men tended to make mistakes. Mayfield's mistakes were in choosing his associates unwisely. Too many of them were coming out of the woodwork, roused by the ever-tightening net set out for Mayfield.

"Where's your partner?" Simon asked, drawing Jim out of his thoughts. "I figured he would want in on this bust."

"I don't know. I thought he would be here by now. I guess he got hung up at the university."

Simon glanced at his watch. "We've still got about an hour until show time. Maybe he'll show up."

"Maybe," Jim said, standing. "I think I'll go call his office. Maybe I can catch him."

Jim left Simon's office, heading for his own desk. He was really surprised and, he admitted to himself, a bit disappointed that Blair hadn't shown up today. He had left a note for the young man this morning telling him that there had been a breakthrough in the case, but as of yet, he had not heard from his partner. He had left the loft early and hadn't wanted to wake Blair. Jim had laid in bed, listening as the young man tossed and turned and walked the floor throughout the entire night, only falling asleep close to daybreak. When Simon had called with the new information, Jim couldn't bring himself to wake Blair, no matter how much his Guide may have wanted to join him.

That's why he couldn't understand why Blair had not called yet.

Jim was reaching for the phone when it rang. "Ellison."

"Jim," Blair's voice said through the phone, "sorry I didn't call sooner. I got hung up with something important."

"Chief, can you get over here in the next hour?" Jim was relieved to hear his Guide's voice.

There was a slight hesitation before Blair answered. "I don't think so. Actually, that's why I'm calling..."

Blair's voice faded off for a minute, and Jim took the opportunity to speak. "Chief, you're not going to want to miss this. We're about to bust Mayfield." He waited for a reaction. It wasn't long in coming.

"Oh, man, Jim! That's great! What happened? Are you sure you have him? I mean, he's eluded you before."

Jim smiled at the excitement in his friend's voice. He knew Blair wouldn't want to miss this bust. "So, how soon can you get here?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Blair said, "Man, this sucks! I really want to be in on this one." Another pause, then, "Sorry, Jim. Guess you're going to have to go without me. I just can't get away right now."

The disappointment in Blair's tone convinced Jim of the young man's sincerity. Still, he would have thought Blair would drop everything to be here. That thought gave Jim pause. When did he began thinking of police work as Blair's primary occupation? He sometimes forgot that Blair had a real job, a life beyond tagging along with him on these little outings. "That's okay, Chief. You probably won't miss much anyway. If all goes well, it'll just be a simple arrest."

"Since when does 'all go well' for you, Jim?" Blair said with a chuckle. "I'm sorry I can't be there. Hey, take notes, okay? I want a full rundown later."

"You got it. See you tonight."

* * * * *

Blair hung up the phone and sat down on the side of the hospital bed. Man, he really wanted to be in on this bust. With a sigh, he pulled his legs up on the bed and leaned into the pillows. Why did he have to pick now, of all times to get sick? Jim needed him, and where was he? Stuck in the hospital!

He had called Jim with every intention of telling him he had checked into the hospital for some tests. But once Jim had told him about the bust, he knew he couldn't say anything. Jim would feel obligated to come check on him when he should be concentrating on nailing Mayfield. Besides, what was the hurry? It was just a few tests. He would most likely be out of here by tomorrow afternoon. He would call Jim later tonight to see how the bust went. He could tell him then.

The door pushed open then, and Blair looked up as a nurse pushed a wheelchair into the room. "Ready for those x-rays, Mr. Sandburg?"

* * * * *

Jim opened the door of the loft quietly. It was late, and he hoped his Guide was sleeping. Inside the door, he paused instinctively to listen for Blair's breathing, to assure himself that all was well. It took less than a second to realize it wasn't there. He crossed to Blair's bedroom and looked in, confirming that his partner wasn't home. It was almost midnight. Surely, Blair wasn't still at the university. Jim reached for the phone and noticed a flashing light on the answering machine. With an uneasy feeling, he pushed the button to retrieve the message.

"Jim, this is Blair. Look, I hate leaving a message like this on a machine, but it's getting late, and they gave me something to make me sleep."

Jim frowned at the machine. Something to make him sleep? Who the hell were 'they'?

"I don't want to worry you. I just want you to know where I am." There was a short pause. "I'm in the hospital, but, before you panic, it's okay. It's just overnight, for some tests. Don't go off the deep end. I know how you are. I promise you it's nothing serious. There's no point coming up here tonight. I'll be asleep if this medicine's worth a damn. I'll call you in the morning and explain. Oh, and I'm dying to hear what happened with Mayfield."

Jim stared at the machine for several moments after it clicked off. In the hospital? How could that be? He had just talked to Blair this afternoon. Realization sank in slowly. Blair must have been at the hospital when he called the station.

Jim considered going to the hospital now, tonight. He needed to know what was going on. But Blair would be asleep, and the chances of finding a doctor who would answer his questions at this time of night weren't very good. He would have to wait for morning.

He walked slowly across the room and sank into a chair. Blair said it was just a bug, the flu or something. It must be more serious than that if his doctor had wanted to run tests. Wait a minute...His doctor? Blair must have gone to the doctor today. Why hadn't he said something? Was he that sick? How could Jim not have known?

Jim jumped up angrily from the chair and began pacing. Dammit! What kind of friend was he? His partner was sick enough to warrant a trip to the doctor, sick enough to be put into the hospital for tests, and Jim hadn't even noticed. It was that damned Mayfield case! He had been buried in that mess for so long that hadn't even really looked at Blair until Simon had said something.

Again, Jim almost gave in to the impulse to dash down to the hospital and demand answers. It took all of his will power to ignore that impulse. Slowly, he climbed the stairs and prepared for bed. Sleep, when it finally came, was restless.

* * * * *

Jim pushed open the door to Blair's hospital room slowly. The steady breathing Jim picked up from within told him that his friend was still sleeping, but he wanted to see him anyway, assure himself that Blair was really okay. He crossed the darkened room and looked down at the sleeping young man. He was struck by how deceptively young his partner looked in sleep. Jim suppressed an urge to brush Blair's hair back from his face, afraid of waking him.

The door opened behind him, and Jim turned toward it. A woman in a white lab coat entered carrying a clip board. Jim studied her as she crossed the room to stand beside him. She was petite, no more than five-two, with short, curly black hair and skin two shades darker than Simon's. Jim could see she was older than she first appeared, probably in her mid- to late-forties. She stuck out her hand as she approached.

"I'm Doctor Charita Meharry, Blair's physician," she said softly. "You are...?"

Jim returned the handshake, surprised at its strength. "Jim Ellison. I'm Blair's friend."

Doctor Meharry glanced down at the chart she was holding. "Ah, yes. Blair has you down as an emergency contact." She looked back up and gestured to the door. "We should talk out there, and let him sleep for a bit more."

The woman stepped into the corridor and stopped, waiting until the door closed behind Jim before saying, "You're here awfully early, Mr. Ellison. Visiting hours don't begin for another two hours."

"I was concerned about my friend," Jim explained. "I didn't know he was in the hospital until I got home at midnight and found a message on my answering machine."

Doctor Meharry nodded. "I understand. I wasn't going to lecture you, Mr. Ellison. I was just curious." She paused. "What exactly did Blair tell you?"

"Only that he was in overnight for some tests. What's going on, Doc? I know Blair has been sick for a few days, but I thought it was just the flu."

"It's definitely not the flu, I can tell you that much." She sighed lightly. "I haven't finished the tests yet, so I don't want to begin speculating. At his visit yesterday, there were a couple of things that bothered me. I just want to run a few tests, see if I can pin down exactly what we're dealing with."

"What are you looking for?"

"I'm not specifically looking for anything, Mr. Ellison. I just want to rule out the more extreme possibilities. All I've been able to pin down so far is an abnormal platelet function in the initial blood studies, which would account for the bruising."

"Bruising?"

The doctor looked up at Jim. "The bruises on his arms and legs. Surely you've noticed them?"

Jim clenched his jaw tightly, but didn't answer.

"I guess not. It's nothing too serious in itself, but it is an indication of a deeper problem. Other than that, each of his symptoms on their own-the headaches, nausea, muscle cramps-are not that serious. I am a bit concerned about the photophobia, but, again, it could be as simple as a viral infection. In the meantime, I can prescribe some medications to help with the discomfort he has been experiencing." She glanced at her watch. "I'd better get him up and moving. We have a sonogram scheduled for 7:00."

Jim followed her back into the darkened room and watched as she performed a quick examination of his friend before waking him.

"Blair..." She watched until his eyes slowly opened. "Good morning, Blair. Time to start moving around. I want you to try to eat something before we take you down for the sonogram."

Blair grunted something incoherent and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

Meharry smiled down at him. "That sedative is a bit difficult to shake off, isn't it? But I think you'll agree it was worth it. According to the nurses, you slept pretty much straight through the night. How are you feeling?"

Blair closed his eyes for a second. "Tired...but not too bad. Maybe it's passing."

"Maybe..." Meharry didn't sound convinced. "I'll have someone bring you some breakfast. I want you to eat as much as you can, okay? Let's get some meat back on those bones." She glanced up at Jim. "You have a visitor."

Blair looked over at Jim as Meharry left the room. "Hey, man. I was going to call you. You didn't have to come out here."

Despite his words, Jim could see Blair was really glad to see him. The detective pushed away from the wall and moved closer to the bed. "Nothing better to do," he said casually. "With the Mayfield case wrapped up now-"

"You got him?" Blair interrupted, sitting up. "Hey, man, that's great. You gotta tell me everything. Start at the beginning."

Jim smiled at the excitement in Blair's face. He certainly didn't look sick now. Pulling over a chair, Jim sat down and prepared to tell the story. Before he could begin, a nurse came in with a breakfast tray. She set it on the rolling table and pushed it within reach.

"Every bite, Mr. Sandburg," she warned sternly. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes to get the tray."

Jim suppressed his laughter until the woman was gone. Blair glared at him, but Jim could detect an amused twinkle in his friend's eye. Jim stood and pushed the tray closer, then sat down on the edge of the bed. Blair attempted to eat the food while Jim relayed the details of the night's successful bust. With every bite, Blair seemed to grow paler. Finally, he pushed the tray away and laid back against the pillows.

"Are you okay? Do you need the nurse?"

Blair shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Just a little queasy. It'll pass." He closed his eyes. "Go ahead, what happened next?"

Jim watched his friend with concern as he finished his story, unsure if Blair was really fine or not. The nurse returned as he finished the tale. She took one look at the almost full tray and frowned. "How do you expect to get well if you don't eat?"

Blair opened his eyes and looked at her. He opened his mouth to answer, but instead, jumped from the bed and lurched for the bathroom. Jim winced as he heard the unmistakable sounds of his friend retching. The nurse wet a cloth and followed Blair into the small bathroom. Jim could hear her speaking soothingly, as though comforting a child -- a total reversal from her earlier attitude.

Several long minutes later, the two emerged from the room. Blair seemed a bit unsteady, and Jim took his arm to help him into bed. The nurse pulled the blanket over him and gently tucked it around him.

Blair pulled his hand out from under the blanket and ran it over his face. Jim noticed, for the first time, the series of dark bruises on the underside of Blair's arm.

"God, I hate this!" Blair moaned. "It's so embarrassing!"

"Nonsense, Mr. Sandburg," the nurse scolded, offering him a cup of water. "It's not like you did this to yourself on purpose. No one likes to be sick, but sometimes, you just have to accept it." She set the cup on the table beside the bed and picked up the breakfast tray. "I'll go check with Doctor Meharry. She may want to increase your medication." The nurse patted his arm and left.

"I'm fine, Jim," Blair said, anticipating Jim's question.

"I'm not sure I believe that, Chief," Jim said softly. "But that's why you're here, right?" He pulled the chair close and sat down. "I was impressed by Doctor Meharry."

Blair sat up, pushing the blanket out of the way. "She's great. A real dynamo. She trained in Germany and practiced there for a while. She's only been back in the country for about five years."

Jim studied his friend for a long moment. "Blair, why didn't you call me yesterday?"

"I did call you," Blair objected.

"But you didn't tell me you were in the hospital."

Blair sighed and played with the blanket over his legs. "When I called, you were getting ready to go after Mayfield. I know how important that bust was to you, Jim. You've been working toward that end for weeks. I just didn't want to be the reason you missed it."

"That bust would have gone down rather I was there or not."

"But aren't you glad you were there?" Blair raised his eyebrows. "I'm only here for tests, Jim. It's no big deal."

Jim let out a breath and shook his head. "You should have told me you were sick."

"It's no big deal," Blair repeated. "I just really, really hate being sick, you know? It's so damned embarrassing. And I figured it was just a bug that would run it's course in a few days and be gone."

"I should have noticed--"

"Uh uh," Blair interrupted. "Don't even go there. You didn't notice because you had more important things going on. Stopping Mayfield had to take precedence over a stupid virus. Besides," he grinned broadly, "you should see the nurse that works afternoons. It was worth the trip just to get her phone number."

They were both laughing when the nurse came back in. "Well, I guess you're feeling better," she smiled. She refilled the cup with water from the pitcher and handed it to Blair, then produced two pills in a small paper cup. "Doctor Meharry okayed these for the nausea. They should settle your stomach right down." She watched him down the pills, then took the cup. "Do you feel like trying breakfast again?"

Blair grimaced and shook his head. "Maybe later."

The nurse nodded. "We'll try again when they finish with you downstairs. There will be an orderly in for you in about twenty minutes." With that, she left.

"Go to work, Jim," Blair said, turning in the bed.

"I told you, Chief, we wrapped up the case. I don't have anything pressing at the station."

Blair shook his head. "I don't need your sentinel senses to know you're lying." He rubbed a hand across his eyes and leaned back in the bed. "I know how much paperwork there is following a bust. And with me not there to do it for you..." He stopped with a grin.

"Exactly," Jim returned the grin. "I would rather wait for you to do it for me."

"Simon may not agree with that."

"You said you were getting out this afternoon, right?" He waited for Blair's nod. "The paperwork can wait."

"I'm serious, Jim," Blair argued. "Go to work." He sighed and sat back up. "Look, I'm going to be busy all morning with these stupid tests. If you stay around here, you'll just end up sitting here with nothing to do. I'm okay, really. Go to work. Get that paperwork out of the way. I'll call you when they spring me, and you can give me a lift home."

Jim stared at his friend for a long moment, then nodded. "All right, Chief. I'll go, but I'll be back this afternoon." He headed for the door, pausing before stepping through it. "Do you need anything?"

Blair shook his head, and Jim left. Outside the room, he stopped and listened. When he heard Blair let out a shaky breath, he almost changed his mind and returned to the room. Only the memory of Blair's embarrassment at being sick in front of him changed his mind. With an effort, he turned and walked away.

* * * * *

"In the hospital?" Simon looked up from the report he was working on. "When did that happen?"

Jim took a seat facing the captain's desk. "Yesterday afternoon. I didn't find out about it until I got home last night. There was a message on my answering machine."

Simon set his pen down and leaned back. "Is it serious?"

"I don't think so. They're just running tests. I think they are planning to release him this afternoon."

Simon studied his hands for a moment. "I'm sorry for the kid. I hope everything works out all right." He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. "I have to admit, I'm beginning to get used to having him around."

Jim smiled at the admission. He knew that was as close as Simon would ever come to actually saying he liked Blair. He felt a small sense of pride that the two were finally beginning to find common ground.

Jim stood. "I'm going to finish up the report on last night's bust, then I'm heading back over to the hospital. I just thought you would want to know about Sandburg." He left the office and headed for his desk.

The day dragged by. Jim had trouble concentrating on the report before him. His thoughts kept wandering to his partner in the hospital, wondering what tests they were running now and what they were finding. Several times he was interrupted by fellow officers and detectives asking about Blair. Word of his illness had spread quickly around the office. Jim was amazed and touched by how many people were concerned about his friend. He hadn't realized Blair had made so many friends around the station.

"Ellison!"

Jim looked up in surprise. He hadn't heard Simon approach. "What?"

"I called you three times. I was beginning to think you were zoning out on me. How does Sandburg put up with it?" The captain shook his head. "Have you finished your report?"

"Yeah," Jim said gathering up a handful of papers. "I was just finishing up."

Simon took the stack of papers and glanced at them. "All right, get out of here."

"What?" Jim wasn't sure he had heard him right.

"I said, get out of here. You're no good to me sitting there with your mind somewhere else. Go check on your partner." He turned to go, then stopped. "Let me know how he is."

Jim smiled at Simon's back as he walked away, then grabbed his coat and headed for the elevator.

* * * * *

Doctor Meharry was just exiting Blair's room when Jim stepped from the elevator at the hospital. She looked up as he approached.

"How is he, doctor?"

"Blair's sleeping at the moment, Mr. Ellison. It think it would be best if you didn't wake him. He's had a rough morning." She sighed and scribbled something on the chart she held before looking back up. "I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to release Blair this afternoon, as expected. He is showing signs of dehydration that need to be addressed."

Jim looked at the diminutive woman, waiting for her to continue. She glanced around the corridor, then back to Jim. "I think it would be best if we talked in private, and I can really use a cup of coffee." She gestured down the hall.

Jim followed Meharry down a few doors and into a lounge. She indicated the coffee pot, and he shook his head. Once she had her cup fixed, she sat on the sofa. Jim hesitated, then took a seat on a chair opposite her position.

"I need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Ellison, if I may." She set her cup down on a low table beside the couch and glanced at the chart in her lap. "The only relative listed in Blair's records is his mother, Naomi Sandburg, but Blair has asked us not to contact her. That leaves you, Mr. Ellison, though I usually prefer to discuss a patient's condition only with relatives."

A strong sense of foreboding began to work its icy fingers up Jim's spine. "Why do I have the feeling what you're about to say isn't good?"

"I'm sorry if I'm alarming you," Meharry said. She took a long sip of her coffee before continuing. "I don't have all of the results of the tests back yet, so I can't give you a firm diagnosis. The nausea is not responding to prescribed medications, hence the dehydration. I've started him on IV fluids. That should give him a bit of strength, but I won't be satisfied until I've identified the underlying cause. I've been operating under the assumption to this point that we were dealing with a viral infection. If that is the case, it's one of the best camouflaged infections I've ever seen. The blood studies aren't turning up anything." She paused and took another sip of coffee. "I have a friend, a virologist, in Seattle. I talked to him a little while ago, and he's agreed to take a look. He specializes in the unusual. I'm having blood samples sent to him as we speak."

She looked at Jim intently for a minute. "I understand you and Blair are roommates?" At Jim's silent nod, she said, "In the last week, have you had any unusual symptoms? Headaches, nausea, unexplained bruising?"

Jim widened his eyes in surprise. "No, nothing. You think he may be contagious?"

"No, there's no indication of contagion, but you may have picked it up from the same source. I would like to take a blood sample from you. Unless my friend in Seattle identifies something in the blood the lab here missed, I won't really know what to look for, but we can start with a platelet count."

"Of course," Jim nodded.

"Good." She drained the last of her coffee and stood. "I'll show you to the lab and get things started."

Jim submitted to the blood tests, waited for conformation that there was nothing unusual to be found, then headed back to Blair's room. He pushed the heavy door open and looked inside the darkened room. A nurse looked up at his arrival and smiled. "He's asleep," she mouthed.

Jim nodded and moved silently to the bedside. The nurse adjusted a damp cloth that was across Blair's eyes and checked the IV line in his arm, then, smiling again at Jim, she left. The detective hooked his foot around the leg of a near-by chair and pulled it to the bedside. Determined to hang around, he dropped into the chair and prepared to wait.

* * * * *

Blair's thoughts were so fuzzy he was convinced he was still asleep. And that's the way he wanted it. He wanted to sleep for a week. But a nagging pain behind his eyes was slowly forcing him toward consciousness. He wanted to fight it, but the pain seemed to increase with the effort, so he allowed himself to give in to the process.

"Chief?"

That was Jim, wasn't it? What was Jim doing in his room? Realization flooded back suddenly. He wasn't in the loft. He was in the hospital. "Damn," he whispered. "I was hoping it was just a bad dream." Reaching up with a suddenly heavy hand, he pulled away the cloth from across his forehead. He opened his eyes and winced at the light glaring around the edges of the closed blinds at the window.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned toward it, still squinting against the light. "Jim?"

"Right here, Chief," his friend answered. "How do you feel?"

Blair swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "I'm okay," he lied. God, the pain behind his eyes was getting worse. He hoped Jim wasn't tuned to his heartbeat at the moment. It must be racing. He attempted to divert the Sentinel's attention. "I guess Doctor Meharry told you I won't be going home today?"

Jim sat down on the side of the bed, moving his hand to Blair's arm. "Yeah, I talked to her earlier. She said you're feeling kind of rough."

Blair closed his eyes against the pain and swallowed again. "Just a bit. I think she just likes having me where she can get to me easily." He grinned without opening his eyes. "Did I tell you I think she wants my body?"

Jim laughed out loud at the comment. "You mean for medical research?"

Blair made a face but still didn't open his eyes. The darkness behind his lids seemed to bring the pain down to a manageable level. "You been here long?"

"A couple of hours. Simon threw me out of the station. He said something about my morale depressing him."

Blair heard the door open but couldn't convince himself to open his eyes. Jim stood up, keeping his hand on Blair's arm.

"Is he asleep?" That was Simon's voice.

Blair was a bit surprised the captain had taken the time to drop by and check on him. He forced his eyes open, trying not to wince as the pain increased. "No, captain, 'he' is awake."

Simon moved closer to the bed. "I hear you're going to be stuck here a while, Sandburg."

"Just a day or two, till they can pump some fluids into me." Blair gave up the battle against the pain and let his eyes close again. "Jim tells me you got Mayfield," he said, wanting to shift the topic of conversation away from his health.

"Yeah, that's right. Prettiest bust you would ever want to see. He'll go down this time."

Simon went on to explain what had happened, repeating Jim's earlier version almost word for word. Blair tried to listen, but the concentration seemed to increase the pain. Simon must have sensed he had lost Blair's attention, because he switched the conversation to Jim. The voices moved away slightly, and they talked in low tones for a while.

The pain was increasing. Blair tried to control it. He concentrated on his breathing, hoping it would calm his racing heart before Jim heard it. It wasn't working. All of his efforts to control the pain just made it that much worse. Man, he was pitiful if he couldn't even deal with a headache. Maybe he could ask for something for the pain. Maybe someone could stop it. Maybe...

* * * * *

"Jim..." The word was whispered, but the Sentinel had no trouble hearing it. He was at Blair's side in an instant. He was surprised to see the young man was trembling slightly.

"I'm right here, Chief," he said softly. "What do you need?"

"Jim..." Blair repeated shakily. He hadn't opened his eyes. "Get...the doctor."

Jim almost panicked at the amount of pain in the voice. He heard the door open behind him and turned to see Simon hurrying into the corridor. He knew the captain was going for help. He turned back to Blair and took his hand. "Blair? What's wrong?"

The Guide didn't answer, only clenched his jaw tighter. The shaking increased to a visible tremor. Sweat beaded across his forehead, and his breath was coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

"Blair!"

The door opened and a nurse hurried in, followed by Simon. "I've had Doctor Meharry paged, Mr. Sandburg," the nurse said, reaching for Blair's arm to take his pulse. "She'll be here shortly. What is the problem?"

Blair was making a visible effort to unclench his jaw. After a minute, he managed a hoarse whisper. "My...head..."

"Your head is hurting?" the nurse ventured.

Jim flashed her an incredulous look. How could she sound so calm when Blair was obviously in so much pain? Something was wrong, dammit! Where was the doctor?

As if on cue, Doctor Meharry entered the room. "What is it?" She addressed the question to the nurse. Jim reluctantly let go of Blair's hand and moved back out of the way.

"He's having difficulty responding," the nurse answered, "but he indicated his head is hurting. His pulse is 140 and escalating." She reached for a blood pressure cuff and began attaching it.

Doctor Meharry removed a penlight from the pocket of her lab coat and bent over Blair, speaking as she reached for his eyelid. "Blair...it's Doctor Meharry. I need you to try to answer some questions, okay?" She finally succeeded in prying open one of Blair's eyes and shined the light into it.

Blair's reaction startled even the doctor. He cried out and flung his head violently to the side. He pulled his arm away from the nurse and covered his face with his hands. Meharry recovered and reached out to place a comforting hand on Blair's shoulder.

Jim stepped forward at Blair's reaction, but was stopped by Simon's hand on his arm. "Don't, Jim. Let them work." Jim turned back to Meharry to see her speaking to the nurse, who quickly left the room.

"Blair," Meharry said softly, "I've ordered something for the pain. Just try to relax."

The nurse returned with a syringe. She handed it to Meharry, and the doctor injected it into the IV line. "This is morphine, Blair. It may make you feel a little fuzzy, but it will deaden the pain a bit." After a few minutes, the young man's shaking began to subside somewhat. A few more minutes, and Meharry was able to pry his hands away from his face.

"I'm sorry, Blair," she said, "but I'm going to have to try that again. It shouldn't be as bad this time." She looked over her shoulder at Jim. "Mr. Ellison, could you help me hold him still?"

Jim stepped hesitantly closer to the bed. He had no desire to help Meharry inflict more pain on his friend, but he knew it was necessary. He placed his hands on Blair's shoulders while the nurse secured his head. Meharry pried up each eyelid in turn and gazed into the eye with the aid of the light. Blair cried out and attempted to push away Jim's hands. Jim tried to ignore the pain his partner was in, focusing instead on what Meharry was doing. It didn't take his Sentinel vision to see that Blair's pupils were unfocused and unequal in size. The doctor stepped back from the bed, and Jim relaxed his hold but didn't remove his hands.

"I want a cerebrospinal tap immediately," she said to the nurse, "and set up a head CT just as quick as that's finished." The nurse turned to follow the orders. Meharry stopped her. "And give him another ten units of morphine."

She turned her attention to Jim and Simon, seeming to notice the captain's presence for the first time. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you two to wait outside. We're going to be busy in here. I'll come out and talk to you as soon as I can."

Jim allowed Simon to pull him out the door but refused to move any further away. For the next few minutes there was a procession of medical personnel in and out of the room. Jim attempted to focus his hearing on the various conversations behind the door, but Simon, realizing what the detective was doing, was talking almost nonstop, distracting him from focusing.

When Meharry at last emerged from the room, Jim was far from encouraged by the grim expression on her face. She forestalled any questions with an abortive gesture. "Let's find somewhere where we can sit down."

Jim's reluctance to move away from Blair's door must have been evident.

"It's going to be a while before you can see Blair, Mr. Ellison. Doctor Helford, a neurologist, is in with him now. They'll be taking him down for the CT scan in a few minutes."

Jim allowed Simon to lead him down the hall behind the doctor to the lounge where she and Jim had talked earlier that day. Once all three were seated, Meharry extended her hand to Simon. "Doctor Cherita Meharry, I'm Blair's primary care physician."

Simon returned the handshake. "Captain Simon Banks, Cascade P.D. Blair is a friend, as well as a colleague."

Jim barely noticed the admission from the captain. He was waiting for the formalities to end so that Meharry could tell them what the hell was going on with his partner.

"Colleague? Blair is working for the police department? I thought he was a teaching fellow at the university."

"Officially, Blair is a police observer," Simon explained. "Unofficially, he is Detective Ellison's partner."

"I see," Meharry said, though her tone belied the words. "Perhaps that explains the number of hospital stays that young man has had this year alone."

Though the words were said with a tone of lightness, Jim winced at the implication. Okay, so being Jim Ellison's partner wasn't the safest job in the world, but it had always worked out in the long run. Perhaps Blair wouldn't be so consistently placed in danger if he hadn't decided to hang around with one of Cascade's finest, but they had had that conversation before; many times, in fact. Usually right after Blair was hurt or endangered in the course of a case. Blair had assured Jim that he had long since reached the age of making his own decisions and that Jim would be the first to know if Blair decided it was too much and wanted out. Jim had chosen to believe the young man because he had needed to believe him.

Meharry sighed deeply. "Doctor Helford is one of the top neurologists in the state, if not the country. Blair is in good hands. I can't give you anything definite until Doctor Helford has had a chance to study the results of the CT scan, but I think you have already figured out that this is serious. You saw that Blair's photophobia has increase dramatically. That is normally an indication of a serious underlying problem. Doctor Helford will speak to you once he has concluded the tests. I would prefer you wait for him with any questions in that regard. He is much more qualified in that area than I am."

The doctor paused for a moment when an orderly entered the lounge, pushing a cleaning cart. As the man began emptying the wastebaskets, she continued. "I talked to my friend in Seattle a short while ago. He is a virologist I've asked to look at Blair's blood tests," she added for Simon's benefit. "He had some questions that I couldn't answer. Since I can't ask Blair at the moment, I thought maybe you could help. When I told Greg that Blair is an anthropologist, he became very interested. Has Blair been out of the country recently?"

Jim shook his head. "Not in over a year."

"To your knowledge, has he been in contact with anyone that has recently been out of the country?"

"Not at the station," Jim answered, "but I don't know about the university. I can check it out and let you know."

Meharry nodded. "That would be a help, detective. Now, this will be harder due to the nature of his work, but in the past few weeks, has Blair been in contact with any goods or property from out of the country?"

Jim and Simon exchanged looks. Jim's stomach began to knot painfully.

Meharry noticed the twin expressions that crossed the men's faces. She raised her eyebrows in question.

Jim cleared his throat. "He's been helping out on a case at the station that involves stolen artifacts from South American archeological digs. Blair has been helping us identify and trace the origins of these artifacts. He has been in close contact with them. Do you think his illness could be related?"

"We're just speculating right now, Detective Ellison," Meharry assured him. "Greg is flying in tomorrow morning to follow up on this. He's always been fascinated by puzzles," she added with a small smile. "He won't let go of this bone until he's satisfied with the answers. That's why I wanted to ask his advice in the first place. He's going to want to examine the artifacts, perhaps run a few simple tests. Will that be a problem?"

"Not at all," Simon answered. "I'll make the necessary arrangements."

"Good." Meharry rose and helped herself to a cup of coffee, gesturing for the two men to do likewise. They both declined politely. The orderly finished his cleaning and pushed his cart back out into the corridor, closing the door behind himself.

"Blair is not the only person to have contact with the artifacts," Jim pointed out. "He's not even the one to have the most contact with them. No one else has shown any symptoms like his."

"That we know of," Simon added. "I'll have someone check that out."

"I think we should take a blood sample from everyone that has had close contact with these artifacts," Meharry suggested. "Can you get me a list, Captain?"

"I'll have it to you this afternoon."

"Thank you," Meharry said. "I know you are concerned about your friend, gentleman, but we're doing everything we can at the moment. Just trust that he is in capable hands. I'll check on Blair's status and let you know what's going on. You are welcome to wait here if you would like."

Jim waited until the woman had gone before jerking to his feet and angrily pacing the length of the small room. Simon watched for a moment in silence, then took out his cell phone and made a call to the station to have someone begin gathering the information Meharry wanted. Jim was still pacing when he completed the call.

"Calm down, Jim," Simon said, knowing it was a waste of time. He knew exactly what the detective was feeling.

Jim glared at him and kept moving. "How can I calm down, Simon? I did it again. Knowing Blair was seriously ill was bad enough, but now, I find out he's sick because of me. Again, I've placed him in danger because of my damned job."

"You weren't listening very well, were you? For someone with such remarkable hearing, you miss an awful lot. Doctor Meharry said it was only a speculation that Blair's work with the artifacts was related. It sounded to me like they are grasping at straws here, Jim. I think right now the cause of Sandburg's illness is anyone's guess."

Jim's pacing slowed slightly as he considered the words. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. If this were a police case, he would never make that leap on a mere speculation. He would wait until he had something more solid to go on. He stopped pacing and faced his captain with a small smile. "Thanks, Simon."

"It's in the job description," the dark man said tiredly.

Before Jim could respond, the door opened, and Joel entered, carrying flowers and followed by Brown.

"The nurse told us we could find you two in here," Joel said, setting the flowers down in an empty chair. "Sandburg wasn't in his room. Is there a problem?"

* * * * *

It hadn't really been difficult to administer a second dose. At least, no harder than the first had been. Of course, he hadn't had to get past all the medical personnel then. It had been a simple matter to break into Ellison's loft and surprise the kid. Sandburg had not even had time to acknowledge his presence before he had taken him out. Frank had administered the mictephene and been gone in a matter of minutes. Only, the effects hadn't been exactly as planned. Sandburg had gotten ill, yes, but it had taken much longer than originally thought. Because of the delay, however, a second dose had been necessary. It was risky, dosing him again here in the hospital, but there had been no choice. Ellison thought his partner had been sick up until now? Well, the detective was about to learn a whole new definition of the word!

The elevator door opened and the man stepped out into lobby of the hospital. He headed for the parking lot, suppressing his smile of satisfaction until he was alone in his truck. Ellison was so stupid. He and Banks both. The two high and mighty cops actually thought the kid's illness was caused by some stupid South American artifacts. He cranked the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Well, the doctors weren't much smarter. What a wonderful coincidence, for Ellison and Sandburg to be working on such a case at the precise time he had chosen to enact his revenge. Life was really just too good.

* * * * *

"Detective Ellison?"

Jim looked up, surprised to see a tall, middle-aged man in a white lab coat standing in the doorway of the lounge. He hadn't heard anyone approaching, but he had turned down his hearing to avoid the soft conversation of Simon and Brown nearby. Joel had been called back to the station not long ago, making them promise to call with an update as soon as they heard anything. Jim stood as the doctor approached.

"I'm Doctor Helford. Doctor Meharry asked me to keep you informed of Mr. Sandburg's condition. I'm pleased to say the news is better than I had feared. There was a build-up of pressure in the subarachnoid region of Mr. Sandburg's brain. It wasn't substantial enough to warrant surgery, but it was enough to cause the pain and vision problems. We've relieved the pressure, and we'll be monitoring him closely to prevent further problems. As to the cause of this..." He paused and scratched at his nearly bald head. "We're looking on this, at least for the moment, as a development of the viral infection, if indeed, that's what we're dealing with. Which leads me to our second problem. Doctor Meharry was treating Mr. Sandburg for dehydration. With the presence of surplus fluid in the brain, we're going to have to limit his intake of fluids. The brain is like a sponge, it absorbs and swells with extra fluid. We'll have to walk a fine line to balance out both problems. We'll continue to monitor him closely and adjust treatment as it becomes necessary."

"Can I see him?" Jim asked.

"I wouldn't recommend it. He was in a great deal of discomfort and has been heavily sedated. It would be best not to disturb him tonight."

"Jim," Simon said, once the doctor had gone, "let me take you home. Sandburg's in good hands. He'll be fine." To his surprise, Jim nodded. He had expected the detective to argue against leaving.

It wasn't until they were halfway to the loft that Jim spoke. "I think it's time to call Naomi."

* * * * *

Blair was content to lay quietly, as still as possible, with his eyes closed. He knew if he moved the illusion of comfort would be shattered. As long as he didn't move he could pretend he was at home in the loft, in his own bed. He could believe that the pain and sickness were gone, though he knew it was merely building for a new attack. He knew he couldn't hide forever here in this misty half-world, with no connections or anchors to reality, but he intended to stretch out this existence as long as he could.

Soft voices floated around the room, occasionally registering in his brain. He had been half listening to them for a while now, but felt no desire to decipher the words or identify the speakers. It would take more energy than he was willing to expel. It didn't matter anyhow. He would worry with that when he had to.

"Blair?"

No, go away! You'll make the pain come back! Leave me alone!

"Blair, honey, are you awake?" The voice was soft but insistent. And familiar...

He didn't want to open his eyes, but they fluttered open in spite of his wishes. After a minute, he was able to focus on the face above him. Naomi...

She smiled at him, and stroked his forehead. "Good morning, baby. How do you feel?"

Blair licked his dry lips and swallowed. "Fuzzy." He smiled at his mother. He had no idea why she was here -- he had specifically asked Doctor Meharry not to call her -- but he was really glad to see her.

"That's because of the pain killers. You've been drifting in and out all morning."

Blair looked around the room, careful to move his head slowly. There was a dull ache behind his eyes, and he was afraid of awakening the intense pain of yesterday. Someone had covered the window to prevent any light from seeping around the edges of the blinds, for which he was grateful. There was barely enough light in the room to see by, but Blair could see that there were flowers on every available surface. His face must have registered his surprise.

"I had no idea you had so many friends," Naomi laughed. "Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You always did make friends easily. I shouldn't be surprised either that most of these are from females."

Blair smiled at her gentle teasing. The door opened, and he turned to see Jim coming in with two steaming paper cups.

"Hey, Chief," the detective said, handing one of the cups to Naomi. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." His throat was too dry for much conversation. He considered asking for water but didn't want to tempt his stomach. "I'm just tired."

Jim nodded and set his cup down. "That's the painkillers. They've got you on some pretty strong stuff. I don't know how much you remember, but you were in bad shape for a while there yesterday."

Blair remembered perfectly. But he had no desire to discuss it. It was embarrassing enough as it was. He turned back to Naomi. "What are you doing here?"

"Jim called me last night. Did you think I wouldn't come the minute I heard you were sick? What kind of mother do you think I am?"

"I knew you would be on the first plane out here. That's why I didn't call you myself. It's just a virus. It'll pass." Blair didn't see the expression that darkened Jim's face for a brief moment. "I'll be fine in a few days. You didn't have to come all the way out here, but I'm glad you did. It's good to see you."

Naomi's eyes filled with moisture, and she turned away. Blair stared at her in surprise. Naomi had never been particularly emotional before. She was a very 'in control' kind of person. He looked at Jim in confusion.

"You know how women are, junior." Jim's attempt at levity fell flat. Blair could detect the undercurrent of tension in Jim's tone. A warning bell went off in Blair's head. Suddenly, his stomach felt like the bottom had dropped out, and he couldn't tell if it was the atmosphere in the room, or if he was getting sick again.

Blair reached for the bed controls and raised the head of the bed until he was almost sitting up. Jim helped him shift the pillows to support his back and head. Once he was situated, Blair faced Jim. "Tell me." He knew the words needed no explanation. Jim was keeping something from him. He had known the detective long enough to read the signs even without Naomi's reaction.

Jim lowered his gaze for a moment. Blair could tell he was debating the issue. What was it? What could be so bad that both Jim and Naomi were freaking out on him? "Jim, you're scaring me, man."

The detective met his eyes and forced a smile. "Doctor Meharry will be in to see you in a bit. You should let her explain it to you. If I try, I'll probably make it sound worse than it really is."

The uneasiness in Blair's stomach doubled, and he had to close his eyes for a minute to get his focus back. "Jim," he said, opening his eyes, "either tell me what's going on, or go get the doctor."

* * * * *

Jim picked at the food on his plate with no intentions of eating it. There was no room for food in his stomach with the lead weight that had lodged there. He didn't think he would ever eat again.

"How long has it been?" Naomi asked, raising her voice to be heard in the noisy cafeteria. They had reluctantly come down here at Blair's request while Doctor Meharry spelled out the situation to him. Jim knew Blair had wanted them far enough away that Jim wouldn't be able to eavesdrop on the conversation, so the detective had honored the request, granting his friend his privacy, though Jim knew already what the doctor was saying. He knew because Meharry had spoken the same words to Jim and Naomi just a few hours ago, while Blair slept off the sedatives.

"The antibodies are destroying the nutrients before they can be absorbed by Blair's system," Doctor Meharry had explained. She had even gone so far as to have Doctor Mosley, the virologist, explain it again for them. Essentially, the antibodies were transforming the nutrients they were pumping into Blair's system into poisons. They had been forced to discontinue the intravenous feedings.

"This virus is like nothing I've seen before," Mosley had told them. "Frankly, I don't know at this stage how to combat it."

Meharry had gone on to assure them that Mosley was the best in his field, and that everything possible was being done to find a solution. Her assurances had done little to comfort either Jim or Blair's mother. Jim had insisted on a bottom line. Reluctantly, Meharry had given it. Blair's already weak system having trouble fighting the virus. If an answer wasn't found soon, Blair would die.

"Jim!"

Jim shook away the thoughts and looked at Naomi. Her face was concerned.

"I had to call you three times before you heard me. Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I was thinking."

Naomi smiled knowingly. "It's all right. Jim, you have to keep positive thoughts. Blair is strong, you know that. He won't let a little virus slow him down for long."

Jim forced a smile he didn't feel and glanced at his watch. It had been only twenty minutes. Meharry and Mosley were probably still in with Blair. He was anxious to get back up to his partner's room, but he had to give them more time.

Jim knew he should call the station and give Simon the news. The captain would want to know, as would a lot of the other guys. Blair had made a lot of friends at the station. It hadn't been easy, either. It had been an uphill battle for the young man. By nature, policeman were a closed group, not easily accessible to outsiders. And Blair had definitely been an outsider when he had first come to work with Jim. No one had understood why, after refusing to work with a partner for so long, Jim had been willing to let this long-haired kid follow him around like a puppy-dog. It hadn't taken long, however, for people to begin to see Blair's worth. The anthropologist's intelligence and insight had proven helpful on case after case. Even without the knowledge of Blair's guidance of Jim's sentinel abilities, few questioned their partnership anymore.

But Jim couldn't bring himself to call Simon. He wanted to talk to Blair first. See how much the young man wanted his friends to know.

"Do you think we've given them enough time?" Naomi asked.

Jim glanced at his watch again and nodded. They left their untouched plates behind and boarded the elevator. Doctor Meharry was waiting for them when they passed the nurses station on the way to Blair's room.

"Blair asked me to tell you to go home and get some rest. I think he needs some time alone."

"How is he?" Naomi asked.

Meharry sighed deeply. "It's times like this, I hate my job. He seemed to take it well, but I don't really know him well enough to say. I think he just needs time to think about it, let it soak in."

Time to adjust to the idea of dying? How much time would that take, doctor? Jim pushed the angry thoughts away. Meharry wasn't the culprit here.

"Greg has completed his tests of the Tacnan artifacts," Meharry said, turning to Jim. "He's found nothing to indicate they are in any way involved with Blair's illness. The blood work on the other people that handled them would seem to back that up."

Jim didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Selfishly, he was relieved. At least, he didn't have to deal with his own guilt for involving Blair with the Mayfield case. But where did that leave them?

"Now what?" he asked.

Meharry sighed. "Greg is still working on it. He's going to find out what this thing is, detective, and when he does, we'll be able to treat it. In the meantime, there are measures we can take. We're firing blind here, but we might just get lucky. It's just a matter of time."

"How much time does my son have, doctor?" Naomi's voice shook a little.

"We'll find an answer, Ms. Sandburg,"

* * * * *

This was no fun at all. All of his carefully crafted plans, the months of research, the perfectly executed revenge -- it wasn't bringing Frank the satisfaction he had expected. The kid's suffering was hurting Ellison, sure, but that idiot detective had come to the conclusion that it was the cruel hand of fate that had doled out the punishment. That wasn't good enough. Taking the man's partner was not punishment enough for what Ellison had done. He wanted Ellison to know the reason for the loss. He wanted to make Ellison suffer. He would take from the detective what had been taken from him.

It wouldn't be the same, Frank knew, but it was as close as he could get. Ellison had a brother, but wasn't as close to him as Frank had been to Bobby. It would have been a waste of time to bother with the brother. But Ellison's partner...now there was a relationship to die for. Frank laughed at the pun. A cop's relationship with a partner was legendary, and these two seemed to have developed something beyond even that. Frank smiled to himself. He almost felt sorry for the kid. Sandburg hadn't even known Ellison three years ago, but that was just the kid's dumb luck. He was the perfect pawn, and Frank wasn't about to miss this chance just because of a little misguided compassion. No, Sandburg's suffering was incidental to the overall plan. Besides, he could make up for that later, after the kid was dead. The irony of the thought warmed Frank, and he laughed out loud, drawing more than one glance as the orderly pushed an empty gurney down the hospital corridor. It was that thought alone that convinced Frank not to reveal his hand this soon. Let Ellison blame himself. Let him think fate had just randomly chosen his partner. It would all be revealed soon enough. Frank could be a very patient man.

* * * * *

"Maybe we should go and let you get some rest," Rafe said, as Blair felt his eyes drift shut for the third time in as many minutes. He was making an effort to stay awake, but was beginning to fail. He cursed the painkillers, not for the first time. He didn't want to spend so much time sleeping, but neither did he have the energy to deal with the pain.

"Sorry, guys," Blair apologized. His voice sounded as weak as he felt. "I'm just a little tired."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Carl Waugh said. "This is too many cops for anybody to have to deal with at one time."

Blair smiled at the teasing, too tired to laugh. Carl was right, as the nurses had quickly pointed out when the half-dozen men had shown up to visit. But it had been good for Blair's spirit. He didn't particularly want to be alone. It had been awkward at first. Though Blair had insisted that Jim not tell anyone how serious the illness was, he knew it had taken only one look to reach their own conclusions. Blair had lost too much weight and scarcely had the energy to lift his head. The guys would have to be stupid not to figure it out, and he knew they weren't stupid. Only Simon had been told the truth.

Now, as the guys said their good-byes and filed out the door, Blair caught the captain's eye. "Simon, wait up, man. I need to talk to you."

The dark man stopped beside the bed and waited until the last of the cops had departed.

Blair turned to his partner. "Hey, Jim, could you take Naomi down for something to eat? I think she forgets she's suppose to have three squares a day." He hoped the message to his partner was clear -- 'don't listen'.

"I'm fine, Blair," Naomi began. Thankfully, Jim seemed to get the message and led her out the door, still protesting.

Blair waited until he was sure they had had time to get on the elevator before turning back to the captain. "Simon, I need to talk to you about Jim."

The man's eyes darkened with some unreadable emotion, and he turned away for a minute, pulling a chair closer to the bed and sitting. When he looked back up, his face was again impassive. "Sandburg, if you're going to tell me to make Jim go home and get some rest--"

"No," Blair managed a dry chuckle. "I know better. Even Doctor Meharry and Mom have had no luck with that. I wouldn't even dream you would have a chance." He paused, catching his breath. Talking took way too much energy, but he had to say this. "Simon, I need you to do something for me. I can't ask Jim, because...well, I just would rather not. I want you to take my keys -- I think they're in that drawer over there," he gestured weakly across the room, "and go to the loft when Jim's not there. Under my bed, there's a stack of notebooks. You can't miss them, they're the only ones under there. There're about twenty of them." He stopped again to catch his breath.

"You want me to bring them to you? Do you think you're up to studying?"

"No, man. I want you to keep them. They're the journals I've been keeping of my work with Jim. A lot of it's on my computer, but the notebooks are more complete. I wrote them for myself. The computer stuff is more formal." He stopped and swallowed. Why was this so hard? Just say it. "Jim's going to need a guide, Simon. He won't admit that, of course, but you and I both know it's true."

"Sandburg!"

Blair jumped a little bit at the sharpness of the tone. "Don't say it, Simon." Blair was too tired to argue this. He just wanted to say it and get it over with. "Don't tell me how I'm going to be fine; that Mosely will find a miracle cure minutes before the end. I don't want to hear it. This isn't the movies." He was surprised at how harsh that sounded. With a controlled effort at calmness, he continued, softer, "Just humor me, okay? Let me do this my way. I've given it a lot of thought. If you can't do this for me, let me know now, and I'll find someone else. I just thought since you were Jim's friend, you would want to help him."

There was a long awkward silence. Blair almost told Simon to forget it, but he knew his options were limited. Finally, the captain cleared his throat. "I'll do this, Sandburg, but only because I know you'd really get someone else. You're as stubborn as your partner."

Blair relaxed into the pillows. He wanted to close his eyes but knew he would be asleep in seconds if he did. "Thanks, Simon. Look, this is going to be hard on Jim." He caught the look on the captain's face and hurried to add, "Please, let me say this. I need to. Jim isn't going to take this well. He likes to think he's in control all the time. Remember that, Simon," he said with a smile. "That's the secret to keeping him in a good mood. Just let him believe he's in control, then go ahead and do what you want anyhow. It's worked for me all this time." He stopped and took another breath. "This has got to be eating at him. He really doesn't deal with helplessness well. You should make him take another partner right away. If you don't, he never will. But pick someone you can trust. I always thought he and Carl would work well together. They have a lot of the same styles. God, what am I doing? I'm laying here trying to tell you how to do your job. I'm sorry, man. I just worry about Jim, you know? Naomi will be okay. She has a really strong network of friends that she can turn to. Jim, though...Jim will turn inside, and that's not good. Don't let him brood, Simon."

"Blair," Simon's voice was scratchy. He coughed to clear it. "Don't worry about Jim. He'll be all right, I promise."

"Thanks, man, that means a lot to me." Blair allowed his eyes to close. The hard part was over now, and he hadn't broken down after all. Maybe he could get through this. "There's just a couple of other things. I wrote it all down somewhere." He opened his eyes and looked around for the pad he had been writing in. He spotted it on the bedside table. "It's just some minor stuff, like what of the artifacts in my room belong to the university, where I hid my emergency money, stuff like that. Will you take care of that, too?"

Simon nodded and retrieved the notebook, then the keys from the drawer. "I'll take care of everything."

Blair could tell the dark man was just saying that to please him, but he didn't care, not as long as Simon knew his wishes. Blair closed his eyes again. Now that he had finished, he didn't seem to be able to stay awake. He felt a hand on his arm, but couldn't find the energy to open his eyes.

"Get some rest, Blair. I'll take care of everything."

* * * * *

Enough was enough. Frank hated himself for the weakness, but he really didn't want to see the kid suffer anymore. Sandburg might have poor taste in friends, but he was, after all, just an innocent pawn in the game. Ellison could be made to suffer without dragging this out for the kid. It was time to move on to stage two. The plans had been made for weeks now; there was nothing to stop him.

Frank stopped his cleaning cart close to Sandburg's room and pushed the door open a crack, checking to be sure the kid was alone. Satisfied, he went back to the cart, and with a quick glance down the hall, he removed the cap from a bottle of cleaner and pulled out a syringe. He shoved it into his pocket and slipped quietly into the room.

Sandburg was sleeping soundly. It was amazing how much like Bobby the kid looked. A little older maybe, it was hard to tell, but the same in a lot of ways. Both wore an innocent, vulnerable look while sleeping that made you think they were much younger than their years. Frank shuddered at the thought of Bobby lying here, in so much pain, dying...He shook away the thought. That's why he was ending it now. No need for Sandburg to suffer anymore. His 'death' would be so much more meaningful than his life. It was time.

Frank emptied the syringe into the IV line and, with one last look at the sleeping man, left the room.

* * * * *

Doctor Meharry stepped back from the bed, her small shoulders slumped in defeat. There was only one thing left to do now, and she had to steel herself to manage it. With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, she announced, "Time of death...4:36 p.m." One nurse scribbled the information down, while another lifted the sheet over the young man's head.

Dammit!! This was not suppose to happen! Meharry turned away to hide the sudden moisture in her eyes. She was suppose to be used to this. Death was a part of the job, but how did one ever get used to it? Blair Sandburg was so young, with such a promising life ahead of him. How could this happen? She had been convinced that Greg would come through with a miracle. He was so close. They had just needed more time, dammit! And she had thought they had the time. Blair shouldn't have been this sick yet. They should have had more time!

She wiped her eyes and turned back to face the still form on the bed. Now came the worst part of her job, the part that kept her awake nights. She knew Blair's mother and Detective Ellison wouldn't be far. They seldom left the hospital. Probably down in the cafeteria. God, grant me the wisdom and strength to do this.

* * * * *

There was a knock on the door. Jim heard it, but it wasn't registering in his brain. It was just a noise, a distraction. He tuned it out and continued to stare at the darkened television screen. The knock repeated, or at least he thought it did. He wasn't sure because he wasn't really paying attention anymore. He didn't hear the key in the lock, though he should have, or the door softly open. He didn't even hear his name being called. It wasn't until Simon touched his arm that he realized he was no longer alone.

"Jim!"

Jim turned his head and looked at the man.

"I just heard, Jim. God, I'm sorry." The big man's voice shook slightly as he talked. "Are you okay?"

Jim just continued to stare. Okay? No, Simon, not really. Did you think I would be okay? But nothing came out of his mouth. He just stared in dumb silence.

"Where's Naomi? Is she here?" asked Simon.

Naomi...where was she? Oh, yeah..."No." There, that came out okay, didn't it? "She wanted to be alone. I don't know where she is." Whole sentences, that was good.

"Jim, what can I do? How can I help you?"

Pull this knife out of my chest, and let me breath again.

"Jim?" Simon pulled the detective around to face him. "Jim, talk to me. You're scaring me. Tell me what you're feeling."

Jim slumped further into the couch and looked at his captain. "I feel...nothing. Just nothing, Simon."

"You're in shock," Simon concluded. "It hasn't sunk in yet."

"I've thought about this before, you know. After Lash, after the Golden, after Quinn. I've lived with the realization that one day something could happen to Blair. It's a dangerous life I dragged him into, Simon."

"You didn't drag him--"

"Yes, I did," Jim interrupted. "If it hadn't been for my senses, there would have been no reason for him to have become involved with police work. I put him out there every day knowing that eventually the odds were going to come down against us." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I always thought that if something...if something happened, I would lose it. Like with Danny, only worse. But..."

"But, what?" Simon prodded.

"There's nothing. My senses are fine, they're not out of control or disappearing. I can still smell the pasta Naomi cooked for dinner last night, and Blair's herbal shampoo in the bathroom," his voice shook a bit, but he continued, "I can still see the blood stain in the carpet, over by the chair, where Blair cut himself on a broken picture frame. It won't come out no matter how hard I scrub." He closed his eyes. And I can still hear the silence from his room where a heartbeat should be." He gave up the struggle against the fatigue and laid his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes. Why was he so tired?

There was a long silence. Jim felt Simon shift on the couch, but didn't open his eyes. That would take too much energy. From the open balcony doors, a cold breeze entered the loft, reminding Jim suddenly of that night -- how long ago was it? -- when he had come home from a stakeout to find the doors open, and Blair blissfully sleeping. The next morning Jim had had a devil of a time waking the young man. He remembered laughing it off as a hangover, though Blair had adamantly denied it. Blair had begun to get sick right after that, Jim realized. Is that where it had all begun? What did it matter now? He filed away the thought, not even aware he was doing so.

"I'm okay, Simon, you don't have to stay with me."

For a long moment there was no response. Then Simon cleared his throat. "Maybe I need to be here, Jim."

The detective opened his eyes and looked at his captain. He was suddenly aware that this was hurting Simon. There was moisture in the dark man's eyes. Jim nodded in understanding and turned his attention back to the empty television screen. For some reason it was easier to focus on the blankness that faced him there. Sounds floated to him from the balcony doors. On the street below, vehicles eased their way to unknown destinations; pedestrians made their way down the sidewalk, hurrying about their business; all completely ignorant that life as Jim knew it had ceased barely two hours ago.

"It wasn't your fault, Jim," Simon said suddenly into the silence. "This wasn't the result of a stakeout gone bad, or some crazed idiot with a gun. It had nothing to do with you. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this."

Jim didn't answer, but he let his thoughts consider what Simon had said. He knew it wasn't his fault; there had been no blame. Queerly, that had made no difference. The knife in his chest was just as deep, breathing just as difficult.

"Jim?" Simon prodded gently.

The television screen suddenly lost its appeal. Jim found himself looking into the captain's eyes. Simon wanted to talk, maybe needed to talk, but Jim couldn't find words to fill the void.

Simon seemed to understand and continued on his own. "I didn't get up to see him today. I was going to go by later tonight." He paused for a moment, and Jim had no trouble detecting the raggedness of the man's breath. "I suppose I need to call the station. The guys will need to know. They should hear it from me." Simon made no move to get up. "I should talk to Daryl, too." Simon's voice broke on the last statement. He bowed his head, and Jim knew without listening that the man was crying.

For a long moment, Jim simply stared as Simon's shoulders shook with a silent grief. Then, spurred by either compassion or guilt, Jim leaned over and embraced the man. Simon leaned into Jim and continued to cry. Dry-eyed, Jim held his friend, wishing he, too, could find the comfort of release. But there was no anger, no grief, no tears. There was nothing. Nothing but deep pain in his chest and the blessed numbness of his mind.

* * * * *

Simon pulled away from Jim's loft into the sparse traffic of the early morning hours. He didn't want to leave the detective, but Jim had finally convinced him to go home. Jim had sworn he was going to get some much needed sleep. Simon knew better, but he hadn't argued. Perhaps Jim would deal with this if left alone for a little while. God knew he hadn't dealt with it while Simon was there. The detective had not shed one tear, and though Jim had offered comfort, he had accepted none in return. The quiet calmness Jim had exuded worried Simon, but he put it down to shock. God help them all when the reality of Sandburg's death struck Jim.

The shrill ringing of the cell phone startled Simon from his thoughts. Instinctively, he grabbed the phone and thumbed it on, not stopping to wonder who would be calling at this hour. The news that greeted him dug deeper into the wound that, just moments ago, he had been convinced was at its limits.

Simon pulled to the shoulder of the road and listened in horror as a sympathetic voice on the other end of the line described a break-in at County Hospital that had resulted in the disappearance of three bodies from the morgue. Simon knew before he heard it that one of those missing was Sandburg.

Somehow, Simon found the presence of mind to thank the man and hang up. He rested his head against the steering wheel with a growing sickness at the cruelty of fate. He had no idea how long he sat there, but when he at last pulled back onto the road, the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. He made a U-turn and headed for Jim's loft, wondering how in the hell he was suppose to break this news.

* * * * *

"It's time to wake up!" Frank gently slapped the sleeping man's cheeks. For a long moment there was no response, and Frank worried that he had miscalculated. At last, Sandburg's eyes fluttered and opened. He focused on Frank briefly before closing his eyes again.

"I know you aren't feeling too good right now," Frank said, mustering as much sympathy in his voice as he could manage. "But it'll pass."

The young man's eyes opened again, and he managed to keep them open despite the obvious fatigue and pain. He turned his head and looked around the room, confusion replacing the pain in his expression. "Where..." He stopped and licked his lips. Frank quickly lifted a glass of water and helped Sandburg raise up enough to sip at it. Laying back, the young man tried again. "Where am I?"

Frank patted the young man's arm. "It's okay. The doctors told me to expect some confusion when you woke up. You're in your room; you're home now. They released you from the hospital yesterday. Do you remember that?"

Frank breathed a silent sigh of relief as the confusion deepened on the young man's face. It was obvious that Sandburg remembered nothing, just as Frank had planned. "You've been sick, Bobby, really sick, but it's all right now, little brother. Frank is here, and he'll take care of everything."

* * * * *

Continued in Part 2