The door opened with a soft whoosh, but I didn't bother to turn or even to open my eyes. It could only be a doctor or nurse. Or maybe Simon. None were a concern to me. I had other things to worry about, to concentrate on. One part of my mind tracked the progress of the soft footsteps as they crossed the room and stopped, but the silence of the darkened room remained. Not a doctor or nurse then, I surmised. A gentle whiff of a familiar aftershave teased my nose.

Opening my eyes at last, I raised my head and gave the man a tired smile. "Hey, Simon."

"I thought you were asleep."

"Meditating," I corrected with a shake of my head. I waited for the predictable eye roll, but it didn't come.

"How's he doing?"

I glanced at the figure on the bed. "No change." I hoped Simon didn't notice the break in my voice.

"Has the doctor been in yet this morning?"

"Yeah. About an hour ago."

"What'd he say?"

I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, my eyes still on the bed. "Nothing new. He's still in a coma. He's still holding his own. They still don't have a goddamn clue what to do for him." The pitch of my voice rose as frustration got the best of me, and I stopped to forcibly quell it, and finished in a near whisper. "I don't think they're holding out much hope."

"What do you think?"

Surprised that he'd asked for my opinion, I glanced up at Simon. His own gaze was still locked on the unconscious man in the bed. He looked troubled, concerned, more worried than I could ever remember seeing him before. I followed his gaze, trying to look through Simon's eyes, see what he saw, but I couldn't bear it. With a shudder, I dropped my gaze to my lap.

Little good did it do to turn away, the image was burned into my brain, forever etched onto the backs of my eyelids. Tubes crisscrossed over, around and into Jim, tangling with leads which led to monitors, which in turn, beeped, whistled, murmured or hissed. Bandages swathed his left shoulder, where a bullet had buried itself deep enough to require extensive surgery to remove. More enveloped his head, where another had forged a deep crease at the hair line.

Simon cleared his throat softly, as though he wanted my attention, but at the same time was afraid of disturbing me. I lifted my head and met his searching gaze. "Do you think...could Jim be...maybe..."

"Zoned?" I supplied.

He nodded, looking back down at Jim. "Could this be related to his senses?"

I took my time answering, considering my words carefully. I know Simon expected me to know everything there was to know about sentinels and how they worked, but the truth of the matter was, more often than not, I winged it. There was only so much I could research on the subject, after all. It wasn't like I could just do an internet search and download the latest information with the click of a mouse button. Sometimes, the best I could do was trust my instincts and hope to God they didn't steer me wrong. And God, that was hard to do when a man's life -- my best friend's life -- was at stake!

"I don't know," I leveled with Simon. "Maybe. If he had his senses wide open when the bullets hit him, then maybe he zoned on the overload of sensation." I stood suddenly, my feet needing to release some of the tension mounting inside me. "Or maybe the doctors are right. " I stopped before the window, though the blinds were closed, and I couldn't see anything but my reflection. "Maybe I just don't know what the hell I'm doing, and I'm only making matters worse..." I broke off and ran a hand through my hair.

"Why do I get the feeling there's more going on here than you're telling me?"

"I just mean..." I turned, but avoided meeting Simon's eyes. "I just feel so helpless, you know? Like I should be doing something, something constructive, rather than just sitting here waiting for him to wake up on his own." I brushed past Simon to the side of the bed. I searched Jim's lax face, though I wasn't sure for what. Whatever it was, I wasn't finding it.

"You need to get some rest yourself, kid."

"I'm fine." I met his gaze briefly, then reclaimed my chair.

"Why don't I believe that?" Simon came around the side of Jim's bed and stopped beside me. "Look, Sandburg, you've been here for three days straight. I'll call the station and get someone to cover for me today so I can sit with Jim. You run home, get a shower, a decent meal and a few hours sleep--"

"No!" I didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but there was no way I was leaving. Not yet. "I need to be here, Simon. I'm okay, really."

"Sandburg..."

I raised a hand to stave off his protest. "I'm staying, Simon, and that's the end of it." I took a breath. "Look, I'll go home tonight. I promise. The nurses have been threatening to throw me out anyhow." He wasn't satisfied by my concession, but I think he knew it was the best he'd get. He nodded and backed up a step. "All right. But don't think I'm not coming back tonight to make sure you keep your word."

I gave him a half-smile, hoping my weariness didn't show through too clearly. "I'm sure you will."

He grasped my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. I ground my teeth to hide a wince as pain shot through me.

"Call me if there's any change."

I nodded.

He gave another look to Jim's still form, then turned and left the room.

I waited a full minute, then let out a pain-filled sigh and closed my eyes. One hand lightly rubbed my shoulder where it still throbbed. After a few minutes, the discomfort eased, and I opened my eyes. I gave Jim a quick visual inspection, then made myself as comfortable as I could in the chair and began my meditation once more.

"Sandburg!"

Slowly, I opened my eyes and met a pair of dark brown ones only inches away. I blinked slowly, trying to dispel the heavy gray fog that seemed to have settled in the room. The little bit of light seeping in through the open door caused a pain to flare behind my eyes.

I blinked again, then looked immediately to Jim. Nothing had changed, I noted, with a mixture of disappointment and relief. Though I'd have loved to have seen blue eyes looking back at me, I was just happy to find that nothing was any worse.

"You were sleeping pretty hard," Simon commented, backing up.

I decided not to correct him. It was easier. Besides, I wasn't sure I really had the energy to form the words. I was too exhausted to do much more than sigh.

Simon looked at me with not a little concern. Worried, no doubt, by my silence. 'Sandburg' and 'silence' were two words you didn't often use in the same sentence. I should have made an effort to put his mind at ease, but I just didn't have it in me. What I needed, I decided, was a good night's sleep. As much as I hated leaving Jim, I was suddenly glad I'd made the promise to go home.

Gingerly, I pushed myself to my feet. An intense wave of vertigo met the effort, and I swayed where I stood. My vision grayed out for a minute, and when it cleared, Simon had hold of my arms, lending me balance until I found my own.

"That's it, Sandburg," he growled, too close to my ear. My headache edged up a notch. "You're leaving. Now!"

I nodded, having no intention of arguing. When the dizziness abated, I pulled out of Simon's grip.

"Say your goodbyes, and let's go," he said. "I'm driving you, and I don't want to hear a word out of you about it."

I thought about protesting, but decided against it. I was in no shape to drive, and I knew it. Nodding again, I turned to the bed and let my hand rest on Jim's arm, trying not to disturb any of the tubes or leads. "I'll be back first thing tomorrow morning," I promised in a hushed whisper. I tried to ignore the rusty-hinge sound of my voice. "You stay put, Jim. I mean it. Just...just sleep until I get back, okay?"

I turned and reluctantly, feeling as though my soul was being torn in half, let Simon lead me from the room.

I heard the knock on the door just as I was taping down the last corner of the bandage. I quickly secured the tape and pulled my shirt closed, buttoning it before heading to the door to let Simon in.

"You look like death warmed over, Sandburg," he said, by way of greeting.

"Good morning to you, too, Simon," I replied, sarcasm thick in my voice. I headed into the kitchen and grabbed a mug from the cabinet, filling it from the coffee maker. "You want some?"

"I'll get it. Sit down before you fall down." He helped himself, then followed me to the table and sat. "I thought I told you to get some sleep."

"I did. Eleven hours straight through. I didn't even roll over."

Simon snorted. "Could of fooled me." He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. "Ugh! You could grease an engine with this stuff."

I bit back a smile and took a sip myself. Yeah, it was strong, but I'd made it that way on purpose, hoping to knock some of these cobwebs from my brain. "I called the hospital. There's been no change. Joel's with him."

"I know."

"You asked him to sit with Jim, didn't you?"

Simon didn't immediately answer. He sipped at his coffee, his eyes lowered. Finally, "I may not have the same connection with Jim that you do, but we've been friends a long time. I'm.. concerned."

"Scared, you mean."

He nodded, meeting my eyes. "I'm not above admitting that I am."

I set my mug down. "Don't be. He's going to be okay."

"You suddenly decided this?"

I smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. Jim's going to be just fine, Simon. Take my word for it."

"You know something I don't? Something the doctors don't?"

"Yeah," I answered, my smile growing. "I know Jim, and I know what a stubborn son of a bitch he can be."

Joel looked up as we entered the room. His eyes raked over me with a frown. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin, doing my best to put on my 'I'm fine' face. Be damned if I was going to let either him or Simon waste time worrying about me when it was Jim who was laying in that hospital bed. He was the one who needed our concern right now.

"The doctor been in yet?" I queried.

"You just missed him."

"What'd he say? No change?" I moved to Jim's side and let my hand rest on his arm. It was warm beneath my touch. I searched his face, looking for some sign of a change, no matter how small, but I saw nothing.

"Actually, no, he said there's been a slight improvement, but he was careful to emphasize the word 'slight'."

I looked up, shocked, and immensely relieved. "Improvement?"

A grin split Joel's dark face. "He said Jim's vital signs are stronger, and the fever's edged down a degree."

"Damn," Simon said, "that's good to hear."

"The doc said not to read too much into it yet, but it's a good sign."

I nodded, my gaze falling back down to Jim's face. "That's good, Jim," I whispered. "You're coming back to us, I know it. Take your time, okay, but don't take too long. We're getting impatient here, man."

Tuning out the low hum of continued conversation between Simon and Joel, I hooked the toe of one shoe in the chair Joel had been using and pulled it closer. Not letting go of my hold on Jim's arm, I sat down.

"Sandburg."

I looked up, meeting Simon's eyes. "We're going to head out to the station."

"I'll call if there's a change."

Simon nodded, and the two headed for the door. Before leaving, Simon turned back. "I'll be back this afternoon. I'd better hear that you ate something for lunch, you hear me?"

I graced him with a half-smile and a nod. Once they'd left, I made myself comfortable and closed my eyes to begin my meditation.

"They removed the respirator?"

I smiled broadly. "Right after lunch."

"Damn."

"Yeah," I agreed, my eyes locked on Jim's face.

"So, he's doing better."

"Yeah."

"Damn."

We seemed to be reduced to monosyllables. I unfolded my legs from where I'd curled them under me in the chair and considered standing to return the circulation, but the effort seemed too great.

"He's still not waking up, though."

"Not yet." I slumped down far enough in the chair to rest my head against the cold vinyl behind me and closed my eyes.

"What are the doctors saying?"

"Only that it's a good sign."

There was a long silence. I tilted my head to one side, letting it rest against my shoulder. I was almost asleep when Simon spoke again.

"Sandburg...you okay?"

I cracked one eyelid briefly, dismayed at the return of the vision-impairing fog. I considered lying, but there was little point. "Headache."

"I don't doubt it. Come on."

I opened the eye again, peering up at him. "Where?"

"Dinner and home."

I started to protest, but one look at the man's face, and I knew it would be hopeless. Frowning, I opened both eyes and sat up. Using the rail of Jim's bed, I hauled myself slowly to my feet. I made a pretense of watching the rise and fall of Jim's chest while I waited out the familiar vertigo. Once it had passed, I leaned down, whispered a quick goodbye, then turned and followed Simon from the room.

I slipped out of Jim's room, smiling at the nurse at the desk as I passed on my way down the hall. I felt like I was moving through molasses. The simple effort of picking up my feet and moving forward seemed overwhelmingly monumental. I stepped into the restroom and closed the door behind me, engaging the lock to buy myself a measure of privacy. I needed a minute, just one, to collect myself, to re-center and recharge. I leaned against the cool wood at my back and closed my eyes, letting the silence envelope me with its peace, false though I knew it to be.

Finally, with a pained sigh, I straightened and headed for the sink. I turned on the faucet and watched a pencil-sized stream of water fall into the basin, splashing into a multitude of tiny droplets, which then traced a path down the white porcelain to disappear through the drain. I don't know how long I stood there, but I do know it was the imagined scolding from Naomi about wasting a precious resource that spurred me to action again. I leaned down and, filling my cupped hands with the cold water, splashed my face several times. It helped. A little. I grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and dried myself, taking care as I approached the tender spot on my temple.

I frowned at my reflection in the mirror. Hell, no wonder everyone looked at me with such concerned glances. I looked like the gym floor the morning after prom night. The cold water had done nothing to wash away the exhaustion I could see in the red-tinged eyes staring back at me.

My hair was wild, sticking out in all directions. I couldn't remember if I'd bothered to even run a comb through it this morning. I searched for and found an elastic band in my pocket and pulled it back, securing it in a vague imitation of semblance, but I caught a glimpse of the tender spot on my temple and quickly loosened it again. Better to leave it unkempt than to deal with unwanted attention. I settled for running wet fingers through it, trying in vain to tame the curls.

It was the best I could do, I decided. I quickly tended to the business that had brought me here and headed back to Jim's room. I was just about to reclaim my seat when I noticed something was different. Jim's head was now facing the window. I moved to the side of the bed, trying to reign in my hope. It didn't necessarily mean he had moved his head. A nurse could have been in while I was gone. Or the movement could have been reflexive.

Tentatively, I stretched out my hand, letting my fingers rest lightly on his cheek. There was no response. A little firmer, I stroked the side of his face, whispering softly as I did, "Jim? You ready to wake up, man?"

Still no response. I bit back my disappointment, but kept at it. "Jim, you need to wake up now, okay? You've scared us long enough. It's time to wake up."

His eyelashes flickered, the movement so slight it could very well have been the product of wishful thinking. "Jim?" I held my breath.

A million years and one minute later, the eyelids fluttered again, and this time parted, ever so slightly. I took a second to close my own eyes and whisper a prayer of gratitude. When I opened them again, a sliver of blue was looking back at me.

"Hey, man." A grin curled my lips and filled my tone. "You ready to wake up now?"

Jim's lips parted, the tip of his tongue darting out in a feeble attempt to wet his lips.

"Pretty dry, huh? Maybe they'll let you have some ice chips."

"...b'air..."

My grin grew at the sound, weak as it was. "Yeah, man. Who else?"

"...you l'k...like shit..."

I lifted an eyebrow. "This from a man who could give Boris Karloff a run for his money?"

One corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, but it was enough to send a shaft of joy through me.

"I hate to break up this Hallmark moment, man, but I think there's a doctor somewhere who will want to know you're back with us." I jabbed at the call button and informed the answering nurse of the miracle I'd just witnessed.

Within seconds, the room was filled with medical personnel, and I was unceremoniously exiled to the hallway. I leaned against the wall beside the door and closed my eyes. A wave of emotion washed over me, so intense I thought I was going to hit the floor. I couldn't help the wide grin that once more split my face. There was one more thing I needed to do, and it was something I was greatly looking forward to. I opened my eyes and pushed away from the wall, swaying slightly. Taking a brief moment to regain my bearing, I headed for the waiting room down the hall. Inside, I patiently waited for an elderly woman to finish with the pay phone, then dropped some change into the slot and punched in a familiar number.

"Banks."

"Simon...he's awake!"

"Get him out of here, Simon."

Insulted, I raised an eyebrow in Jim's direction. He pointedly ignored it.

"Take him home. And make him eat something."

"Jim--"

"Ahnt! I don't want to hear it, Chief. Hell, anyone would think you were the one shot to look at you."

"I'm--"

"--fine. Yeah, we've heard it a thousand times already. Go home. Eat. Sleep. Come back in the morning looking like a human being again, and maybe we'll believe you."

A quick glance at Simon's face told me I'd get no help from that quarter. "Fine, fine. I'll go."

"And you'll eat."

"And I'll eat." Slowly, carefully, I pushed myself to my feet, grateful that the anticipated vertigo was a no-show. In fact, save for the ever present exhaustion, I felt pretty damn good. I grinned happily at Jim, propped up against a stack of pillows.

"What?" he asked. "I got jello on my face or something?"

"Nah, man, just..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "You look good, man. Really good."

He lifted one corner of his mouth. "Can't say the same for you, kid." In spite of his teasing words, I saw a seriousness in his eyes. He understood.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak around the sudden lump in my throat.

"Come on, Sandburg," Simon said, a hand resting on my shoulder. "Let's get out of here before we're thrown out."

It was hard to turn and walk out of that room. Too many days I'd spent in that hard plastic chair, willing Jim back from the edge. I wanted to stay and enjoy the results of my labors, but we both needed sleep now, a chance to recharge our batteries. Tomorrow would come soon enough. Reluctantly, I let Simon take me home.

To my chagrin, Simon followed me up to the loft. Leaving him to his own resources, I shuffled tiredly toward the bathroom. Gingerly, I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it toward the hamper. I could hear Simon puttering around in the other room, the 'fridge opening and then closing, pots clanging, and then water running. I foresaw a full course meal in my immediate future.

I studied my reflection in the mirror for a long moment, trying to decide if I felt like shaving, or if I just wanted a shower and bed, in that order. In the other room, the phone rang, but I ignored it, knowing that either Simon would answer it or the machine would pick up.

My eyes lifted to meet the ones in the reflection. Still red, still tinged with exhaustion, but not nearly as somber or as soul-weary as they'd been when last I'd taken the time to look.

My gaze drifted lower. I lifted a hand to trace my fingers lightly over the puckered skin on my shoulder. It was pink now, nearly healed, but still sore to the touch. Another week, maybe, and it would be gone. Testing, I moved my arm, satisfied to feel only an uncomfortable twinge.

"Sandburg, that was--"

Startled, I turned toward the door, dismayed to see it hadn't quite closed. Simon was standing there, his mouth open, and his eyes on my shoulder. Too late, I lifted a hand to cover the tell-tale mark.

Still wordless, he lifted his eyes to meet mine. I resisted the urge to look away. Questions filled his dark gaze, but he didn't voice them. He stepped forward, and raised a hand to lift my hair away from my face on the left side. I knew what he was looking for, and I knew he'd find it.

"I don't want to know, do I?" he asked after an eternity.

I swallowed audibly, not quite meeting his eyes. "Probably not."

"It's a sentinel thing?"

I choked back a laugh. "Not this time, Simon. I think...I think it's a 'guide' thing."

"Does Jim know?"

"No. And I'd rather keep it that way. At least for now."

Simon took a deep breath and stared at the fresh scar on my temple for a long moment. I held my breath, awaiting his verdict. It was a lot to ask, I knew, but it was his call, his choice to keep my secret or not. Finally, he dropped his hand, and my hair swung down to cover the damning evidence. He took a step back and cleared his throat. "That was Naomi on the phone. I took a number and told her you'd call her back."

I grinned, and nodded. "Thanks, Simon." I think he knew what I was talking about.

He raised a finger between us. "One day, Sandburg. And it'd better be a hell of a story."

I nodded solemnly. "One day," I promised.